#i had this tiny thought during the first few hours of like 'oh. is the king . . . Siffrin? another Siffrin? cause of time stuff?'

[lyssafreyguy]

oh i knew i wasn't gonna be disappointing looking into these answers

[just-jordie-things]

just like my crush - fushiguro megumi

word count: 3.8k warnings: swearing, reader is doped up from anesthesia summary: confessing that you have a crush on someone really isn't that hard. all it takes is anesthesia clouding your judgment. a/n: brought to you by my lovely nanami flowershop anon's beautiful brain !!!

___

Injuries in this line work wasn’t unusual.  Someone was always occupying Shoko’s little infirmary and keeping her busy.  Nasty gashes, sprained wrists, broken bones- it was practically a part of the job description.  No, it wasn’t pretty, but at least with a master of the Reverse Cursed Technique on site, the mishaps that came with assignments never lasted too long.

Because of this expectation, Megumi had never been put in a position where he worried over someone’s well being after an exorcism gone awry.  He’d had life threatening wounds get healed more times than he could count on both hands, hell, Yuji lost a hand and got that back! 

So why did he feel sick to his stomach when she took a bad hit during an assignment? Why did his throat close up too tight for him to explain the situation to the manager on the assignment? Or to Ieiri when he got her back to campus? Why was there a cold sweat racing down his spine, but his insides felt like they were on fire? 

Despite all of Ieiri’s insisting that (y/n) was fine, that she’d gotten here just in time, that she was healed and would wake up at any time- likely without the memory of what happened- and that she would still be fine then… Megumi didn’t tear himself out of that room in the infirmary even once.  

When she does wake up- two days and a couple hours later- he doesn’t look too good.  He’d pale and he’s been bouncing his leg for so long it’s gone numb, but the relief that washes over him brings some color back to his face.

Her eyelashes flicker about a few times before she finally opens her eyes, but his attention is drawn to the way her hand twitches above the stark white sheets.

“Hey,” He murmurs, as quiet as he can stand to speak.  He didn’t want to startle her, and he thinks that if she were to flinch back at him, he’d flinch too.  “(y/n), you awake?” He asks when she doesn’t say anything right away.

Then her eyes finally find him, and with a hazy gloss over her blown pupils, she smiles.  It’s slow, and so, so impaired, but it’s pretty nonetheless.

“Oh, wow,” 

Her voice is strained, likely from not having been used for a couple days, but the light and breezy way in which she speaks is enough for him to know that her anesthetics haven’t worn off.  The stoner-like smile also tipped him off pretty well, but Megumi’s sure now.

“You know who you look like?” 

It’s not the question Megumi’s expecting, and his confusion is obvious in the way a tiny knot forms between his brows.  He would’ve thought  ‘where am I?’ or ‘what happened?’ would be in order, but maybe the anesthesia was more on top of her than he would’ve thought, so he hums in response and waits for her explanation.  Surely she’ll have something silly to say, it wouldn’t be the first time she called him a sea urchin for his messy hair.

“You look jus’ like my crush” (y/n) half-slurs back.  She tilted her head in his direction, trying to get a better look at him from where she was laying, but the rest of her body felt too heavy to move.

Megumi’s eyes widen, and before he can stop himself a small laugh comes out.  Confusion, humor, and disbelief blend into the overwhelming relief in knowing that Ieiri hadn’t been lying to him to protect his feelings.  (y/n) would be completely fine.

Maybe a little bit high, but still, completely fine.

Her shoulders shake in the slightest when she laughs in response to his own little chuckle, delighted purely by his reaction.

“I’m serious,” She mumbles out, eyes falling heavy for a minute the longer she stares at him.  “And it’s a compliment too, b’cause he’s, like, really cute”  “I didn’t know you were crushing on anyone” Megumi hums, leaning his elbows against the edge of her cot so that he could prop his chin in his hands.  Amusement flickers in his eyes when her expression noticeably shifts.  Her eyes widen and her lips part but no words come out.  Was he actually making her nervous? Who the hell did he look like in her eyes right now that had her reacting like this? 

Megumi can’t recall a time she’d ever talked to him about crushing on anyone.  Nothing of the sort, not even a hint.  And he’d definitely never seen the ruthless sorcerer appear so… 

Well, she looked like a girl with a crush.  A blush was forming on her cheeks the longer he held eye contact with her, and the way the corners of her mouth twitched and betrayed her as she tried to bite back a smile.

“Y-yeah, duh,” She stammers back at him with a sassy roll of her eyes.  Megumi’s quick to push his hand against his mouth to stifle his laughter.  “The point of a crush is it’s secret” 

“So you’re not gonna tell me then?” He asks curiously.

She probably didn’t know it, but (y/l/n) (y/n) was the only person in the world that got to see the playful side of him.  It was hard not to act on his intrigue, though.  It was too entertaining to see her in this state… and the rapid beating of his heart in his ribcage made him ache to know more.

But she shakes her head against her pillow, sealing her lips shut to further prove her point.  She’s still smiling, though, and she hasn’t torn her eyes off of his since she woke up.

“How’re you feeling, anyways?” Megumi decides to steer the topic back to one of more importance.  “Anything hurt? Can I get you anything-?” 

“Even your eyes are pretty like his,” She interrupts him, and then sighs as though this was a large inconvenience for her.  “You must be related,” She says matter-of-factly.

He hopes that when the drugs wear off she doesn’t remember this moment, because Megumi knows his face is as red as a tomato with how fiery his skin feels.  A nervous laugh bubbles out of him before he could choke it down, and her whole face lights up in response.

“You must not get compliments often, huh?” She teases in a slow drawl.

“I… I guess not,” He says, followed by more nervous laughter that happens against his will.  “But thank you, (y/n).  That’s very… kind” 

He’s painfully awkward, and he knows that as soon as he leaves this room he’s going to overthink this entire interaction, but for now he tries to bask in the warmth that sparks from knowing she thinks he has pretty eyes.  Or at least, she does when she’s so doped up she can’t quite focus on a conversation.

But at least she's obviously not in any pain.  Megumi’s worries begin to melt away, but that might just be the work of her flattery.

“You’re welcome,” She grins back at him, but she just as soon furrows her brows and regards him curiously.  Even after staring at him so shamelessly, she suddenly doesn’t appear to recognize him one bit.  “I thought Megumi only had a sister, though”

It comes out in a mumble, and he’s sure that she’s talking to herself in her deluded state, but the rush of heat that floods his chest and shoots up his neck is nearly too much to bear.

She actually didn’t recognize him this whole time? Was she talking about him this whole time? Was the flattery not a drug-induced misconception and actually-?

Before he can settle on a question to ask her to clear his confusion, she’s settling back into her pillow and her eyes are falling shut.  Megumi opens his mouth, ready to force out the first thing that comes to mind, but she drifts off almost immediately.  Her chest rising and falling in slow, steady movements.

It felt like a cruel prank.

Now he was left sitting and gaping at her unconscious form.  His heart is racing and his leg is bouncing again, and Megumi thinks he might be even more anxious for her to wake up this time.

He decides then and there that when she does, and when she’s of sound mind again, he’ll ask her about it.  Because if she really did have a crush on him he’d have to finally get over his ridiculous anxiety and make a move. ___

A week after making a full recovery, (y/n) comes to the decision that if she wants Megumi to talk to her, she’ll just have to corner him.

She’s not sure why he hasn’t been talking to her- hence her cornering plan- but ever since her last assignment had gone awry and she’d been put on a minor hold, he’d been dodging her.  And sure, Megumi wasn’t always the most sociable guy, but he was a friend and even if he didn’t feel like hanging out, he wouldn’t completely ghost her like this.

Of course she’d tried asking Yuji and Nobara about it, but they were a dead end.  They’d been just as surprised as she was that he’d been avoiding her.

I thought you were best friends, Yuji had frowned at the idea of a falling out between his two friends that he cared about so much.

Maybe he realized you have a crush on him and pussied out, Nobara had cackled at the scenario, not feeling an ounce of worry that this weird bump wouldn’t get resolved.

Needless to say, (y/n) was quick to steer her investigation far away from them, before the blabbermouths could do what they do best and blab around the wrong people.

She corners him while doing laundry, of all things.

“Hey,” 

And when she walks into the room while he’s tossing his freshly washed laundry into the dryer, Megumi hits his head on the lid when he swivels around in shock to see her there.

“Oh god, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine- it’s fine,” He answers all too quickly, before she’s even finished her question.  “I’m almost done with the washing machine” 

(y/n) can’t help but chuckle a little bit, seeing as she wasn’t currently holding a basket of laundry, but Megumi’s already back to filling up the dryer.  It appears every piece of clothing he tosses in is monochrome- mostly black, but a few gray pieces here and there.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it is a bit funny.

“I actually was looking for you,” She tells him, leaning against the doorframe.  It’s half casual, and half to block his only escape.  Megumi responds with a small hum, still putting all of his focus on moving the laundry.  “Are you upset with me?” 

The question has him swiveling again, finally giving her his undivided attention.  It’s a bit unnerving, the way he straightens up and goes rigid as he stares back at her in bewilderment.  She wants to be annoyed that he has the audacity to look confused when he was the one that had been avoiding her for days, but she gives him the benefit of the doubt 

“Upset? No.  No of course not” He answers, and his words are so certain, that she believes him straight away.  But the small bit of truth doesn’t provide much relief.

“Then how come you’ve been dodging me?” She asks, unable to help her frown.  What other reason could there be? If he’s not mad at something, why would act so flaky?

“I haven’t been dodging you” 

“That’s a lie” 

“It’s not?” 

“It is,” She crosses her arms defensively.  “You haven’t been answering your phone and you always have some excuse to not talk to me.  Did I do something?” 

“Not really” 

He winces as soon as the answer leaves his mouth.  It wasn’t like him to get so careless- but it also wasn’t like him to avoid her.  Really, he was falling apart at the seams and trying quite desperately to appear as though everything was normal.  

It wasn’t working.  (y/n) could see the panic in his eyes as clear as day.  Not to mention the way his lips twitched like he was holding back further explanation.  She narrows her eyes as she studies him carefully.

“Not really?” She repeats his lame answer.  “So sort of? So I did do something?” 

Megumi’s certain that she chose to stand in the doorway so he couldn’t make an easy escape.  Would it be immature to summon the rabbits? 

“(y/n) it’s- it’s fine.  It’s me, alright?” He’s not very convincing.

“So you did something?” Another question he doesn’t want to answer.

“No- just- not really- it was just-” He stammers, and then groans, tilting his head back and glaring at the fluorescent light hanging over him.  

He recalls the way he’d sworn to himself that he’d talk to her about her little anesthesia-induced confession, and kicks himself now for cowering out of it.  Megumi never really ran away from a challenge, even when he knew he was in over his head.  But something about standing before her now and explaining how she’d inadvertently confessed to having a crush on him makes his heart beat out of sync and his throat go dry.

“Look I just don’t want things to be weird between us,” (y/n) sighs, giving up on interrogating him so heavily.  “So just… whatever it is, can we talk about it?” 

And he swoons, actually swoons.  His knees physically feel weak and he has to resist the urge to let all of his muscles relax and sink towards the ground.  It was so sweet, so considerate of her to want to mend the nonexistent conflict between them.  Megumi didn’t think it was possible to like her more than he already did, but she had a knack for proving him wrong.

So with an anxious breath, he thinks screw it and just lets it out.

“Do you remember waking up and talking to me in the infirmary?”

Her brows furrow, giving him her answer, and then her features soften with realization.

“You visited me in the infirmary?” She asks, almost in a whisper.  No, she didn’t remember, and no one had told her she’d had any visitors during her short stay there.

Megumi nods his head.

“Yeah, I… I stayed till you woke up.  And you did, for a couple minutes anyways, but you were pretty out of it.  Anesthesia and all” He explains.

She tries to rack her memory for any hazy glimpse of talking to Megumi in Shoko’s clinic, but nothing comes to mind.  She feels a little guilty now, having forgotten so easily.

“Okay…” She trails off, waiting for the rest of his explanation.  “So… something happened then?” 

Megumi hesitates, his expression twisted in mild displeasure, like he just stubbed his toe or has to deliver an oral presentation.  (y/n) tries to be patient, she really does, but the longer he draws this out the larger the pit in her stomach grows.

“Yeah,” The word comes out through a heavy breath, and he pauses for just a moment longer before admitting the last detail.  “You… you sort of confessed that you have a crush on me” 

“Oh,” 

Relief settles into her bones, and then a spike of panic.

“Oh” 

Her eyes are widening and her arms wrap tighter around herself, fingers digging into the sides of her ribs as if she could possibly ground herself with her anxiety reaching an all time high.

For fuck’s sake, she wasn’t this anxious when that Grade One tried to take a massive bite out of her body.

“You were really out of it, though,” Megumi says quickly.  “You were just… high.  You probably just couldn’t see or think straight-” 

“No, I wasn’t just high,” She cuts him off with surprising calmness in her voice, and a short shake of her head.  “I do.  Have a crush on you, I mean.  I didn’t… obviously I didn’t intend to tell you that, but, I guess high-me can’t keep a secret, so…” 

She trails off with a bashful giggle that would have embarrassed her if she wasn’t already filled to the brim with embarrassment.  Megumi’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything.  The corner of his mouth twitches a few times too, and still, he’s standing in bewildered silence before her.

It’s not that he didn’t believe her, he was eighty-five percent sure that she’d meant what she said while she was still under the influence of the anesthetics, but that fifteen percent of uncertainty was his paranoia getting the best of him.  But now she was of sound mind, dead sober, and dead serious as she stared at him and awaited some sort of reaction.

No real reaction came, unless you counted the drumming of his fingers against his side, slow at first, but picking up speed the longer they both stood there and waited for the other to say something.

Megumi knows he should say something, and probably something along the lines of; well that’s a relief because I’m actually crushing on you so hard I don’t know what to do with myself… but unfortunately, he really didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Do I even want to know how badly I embarrassed myself?” (y/n) breaks the silence with a nervous but curious smile.

“You said I looked just like your crush,” He explained, heat flooding to his face as he recalled the other things she said.  “It was actually the first thing you said when you woke up,” 

She has to laugh at that a little, to which Megumi feels some of the tension in his shoulders disappear.  The tension in the room also starts to thin out, much to his relief.

“Then you went on about how cute your crush was.  And when I tried to ask how you were feeling, after, you know, surgery and all that, you ignored me and said…” He rubs the back of his neck, growing shy as he realized he was rambling and the subject matter already had his heart racing.

“Oh god… what?” (y/n) gasps, eyes widening, hoping she didn’t let out some dirty thought that she worked very hard to keep in the back of her mind.

“You said I had pretty eyes, and then you sorta let it slip that I was your crush, so I guess you didn’t realize you were talking to me the whole time… and then you passed back out” 

She’s laughing again, but this time she covers her face with her hands in a pitiful attempt to hide her blush until it goes away.  A small groan dies at the back of her throat.  The second hand embarrassment from her past-inebriated-self was just too much.

After all this time she's done so well at keeping her feelings under wraps, of never letting it be known with a slip of tongue or lingering touch, only to tell him so brazenly while in a hospital cot… it was ridiculous.

“God… I’m so sorry, that’s… wow, that’s probably the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done” She starts off looking at him, but ends up muttering to herself and looks away, still overwhelmed by the mortification of it all.

A small smile graces Megumi’s face, and in a moment of being true to his word, he musters up the courage to speak up before she could walk away and pretend this didn’t happen.

“It was more cute than humiliating,” He tells her, and she peeks back up at him in soft surprise.  “Maybe just a little embarrassing, just a little… but… still cute” His voice gets softer the longer she looks at him and he starts to lose the confidence he started out so strong with, but he still holds her gaze, hoping that she’ll know he means it.

“Cute?” She repeats in quiet disbelief.  Megumi nods back at her with absolute certainty and sincerity.

He gives into another bout of a confidence boost and takes a few steps forward, closing some of the space between them.  (y/n) practically scrambles to straighten up away from the doorframe, her shoulders squaring and her eyes widening as she watches him move towards her.

“And for what it’s worth, I think you have pretty eyes, too,” 

It’s quieter than he intends, but his words are effective in replacing the nervous tension in the room with something much more palpable.  The electricity buzzing between them was so thick they were practically choking on it.

(y/n) smiles, slow at first, processing the sudden compliment, and then all once.  Every inch of her skin warmed from the sweet words, and she’s not sure she’s ever felt flattery like this before.  She’s never taken a compliment so to heart, never known that she was going to go to sleep that night playing it over and over in her head.

Megumi’s eyes flicker between hers for a moment, admiring the way she lights up with delight before him, and then he opens his mouth again.

“They look just like my crush’s” 

Her brows furrow and despite that feeling of embarrassment spiking in her chest again, the corner of her lips curl into a smirk that gives into a smile almost immediately after.  Megumi’s clearly amused by this reaction, laughing to himself like he was so proud of his own tease.

“That’s so corny” She mutters, before stepping away from the doorway and closing the last bit of distance between them.

Despite his nerves he anticipates her movements, large hands finding purchase on her hips and practically yanking her the rest of the way that it takes to have her body against his.  There’s no extra time for words before their lips crash fast.  The kiss is surprisingly tender for how rushed their movements were, but it had them both melting into the other right away.

Her hands are gentle as they smooth over his shoulders before wrapping lightly at the nape of his neck.  Her fingers poke into the dark strands of hair that hang there, and when she curls a few locks between her index and middle finger, he presses his lips against hers with a little more fervor.

Even once they part from one another, neither one goes very far.  Gasping for air with lips still brushing each other’s, noses bumping, and hands still holding on tight all in the name of not putting an inch of distance between them.

Still no words are exchanged as they share a look before both glancing at the open doorway behind them.  It doesn’t take verbal communication for Megumi to reach behind her to grab the door by the handle and swing it shut.  The only sound that fills the room is the white noise buzzing from the dryer cycle, and the soft giggle that’s immediately suppressed by warm, inviting lips pressing against hers again.

___

a/n: thank u again my amazing nanami flowershop anon for this really fun idea. also i just love playful megumi. he's so cute n shy <3

xoxo ~ jordie

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[inf3ct3dd]

streamer!ellie headcanons

warnings: yo no se

content : streamer!ellie headcanons 🔥🔥

authors note : the streets r calling and they’re telling me to write streamer ellie hcs….

- def started off as a faceless streamer. she wasn’t really comfortable on camera, and she just thought it would be way easier. you can only see her shoulders-down leaving her (deliciosu. scrumptious. yummy) arms in the cameras view.

- her twitch user is “creeperewman” cuz shes like…discreetly hiding her initials and referencing the best minecraft parody ever 😕!!!

- bought the most random shitty mic and webcam and started streaming 🔥🔥 she never got rid of either of them its part of her odd loser charm

“‘fartmaster69:it’s probably cuz your camera’ it’s probably bc of YOUR CAMERA!!! theres nothing wrong w my camera bro 😞”

“don’t listen to them…ur perfect 🤫 IM NOT TALKING TO U GUYS IM TALKING TO MY CAMERA”

- only had a few viewers the first couple times she streamed, and it was some random 10 yr old who kept spamming “yassss” in the chat and some dude who said she was shit at minecraft 😞 he was LYING

- started off doing minecraft speed runs (or trying to) and got like way good over time

- she randomly started getting more and more viewers, because people kept posting abt her and calling her fine on tiktok , making edits of her hands and her voice 😭😭 (real)

- as she got more and more viewers, she started branching out more with the games she’d play. def loves shooter games like cod and pubg, but she’d also play like indie horror games like faith (omg markiplier fans would know)

- she has a orange cat she named garfield (cuz…of course she does) and he’s always sitting on her lap during her streams or messing w her setup 💔💔

- def put stickers all over her headset and showed them off all proud on stream

- designed her own cute banners and stuff for streams 😞!!!

- def had a subreddit/disc server with her viewers where she’d let them give her game recs or make memes of her

- ppl saw her guitar in the back of her streams and BEGGED HER to play it and she had her own lil concert stream !!! she was so freaking nervous and messed up a bunch the first like minute or two but like after that she was in the ZONE

“‘ewswife: i wish i was that guitar’ oh!! you guys are so…kind!!!”

- when she INSANELY hit 1k, she did a face reveal and she hit 10k the same day 😦 the amount of edits that ppl made was actually insane. ESP ONES MAKING FUN OF DREAMS FACE REVEALLLL

- started doing much more random shit on stream after she got more famous. she LOVES cooking on stream, and she’d start reacting to random shit ppl sent her on the subreddit

- she cut her hair on stream once, and everyone in the chat kept spamming “yo bob…is fye” for like 5 minutes 😪

- “you’re at work watching me? i hope you get fired. i mean. i hope you don’t get fired 😞”

- she gets so many thirst comments and like…is terrible at responding to them

“‘ewleftbicep: you look so vulnerable today’ WHAT”

- she has her own apartment cuz of her awesome streaming money 🔥🔥🔥 soundproofed walls too cuz she’s. loud.

- one day, you were walking on campus to a class. you had your headphones on, listening to your main playlist on shuffle, when you got stopped by someone. you pulled your headphones off your ears and gave the man in front of you a confused look. you looked down to his hands, holding a tiny mic, and another dude holding a camera.

“what song are you listening to?” he held the microphone towards you, awaiting your response.

you quickly responded “uhm, last goodbye, by jeff buckley.” and stood there awkwardly, pushing a piece of hair out of your face.

the man quickly thanked you and you walked away, slightly suprised.

- after a couple hours, the video had blown up and the comments were filled with people complimenting you.

pickleluna: jeff buckley girl is so fine

minyonlala: 3rd girl is so bad

rilakkila: I NEED JEFF BUCKLEY GIRL

and unknown to you, someone else found you on their fyp.

creeperewman: guys what is the 3rd girls @. im literally BEGGING BRO PLEASEEE

- ewleftbicep: BEING DESPERATE ON MAIN IS CRAZY

- ewsgirlf: random tiktok girl stole my wife 💔

- elliewilliamsidechick: guys im literally the 3rd girl 😂😂😂

- it didn’t take long for your phone to be blown up with people sending you the video, tagging you in funny comments, and finding your instagram. you watched the video, and saw ellie was the top comment. you checked her profile, and saw how FINE she was, and immediately responded

- y/nmainn: guys 😳😳😳 what if i was the third girl 😳😳

- ellie checked her phone and saw thousands of people tagging your comment, and she wasted zero time following you on tiktok. and your instagram. its not stalking if its in your bio, right?

- you two immediately hit it off, and ellie loved the fact that you had absolutely no idea who she was. to you, she was just some hot girl. not some famous streamer you were obsessed with.

- she didn’t even realize you two went to the same school until she saw you in her astrophysics class one day, and she almost had a heart attack when you waved at her and walked over to sit next to her.

“what a coincidence.”

- she took you out on your first date to a planetarium, and not even a week after, asked you to be her girlfriend.

- she definitely teaches you how to play her favorite games. but she gets wayyyy defensive when you beat her.

“im just letting you win.”

“beginners luck.”

but shes SO COCKY when she beats you

“hey, don’t be so hard on yourself after this. not your fault im a professional!”

“aw, maybe one day you’ll be as good as me”

- definitely helps you build your own pc.

- loves watching you play things like animal crossing or stardew valley, always lays on your shoulder while you’re on the couch.

“why are you being so mean to gaston :((“

“because hes UGLY and he has an ugly house and he’s ruining my village.”

“wowww you’re bullying a little bunny man because he doesn’t fit your aesthetic 😒 so mean”

- if you like more aggressive games like cod, she loves listening to you talk shit while you play and always makes fun of people with you. (she thinks its hot when you’re mean to people)

- her chat absolutely loves you, and every time you stream together its a continuous stream of “me and who” and “when is it my turn 😪”

[hoseoksluna]

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can. 

Or you wish you were as stony as them. 

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle. 

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning. 

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon. 

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them. 

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind. 

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined. 

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up. 

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to. 

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time. 

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too. 

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you. 

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?” 

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did. 

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with. 

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.” 

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor. 

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens. 

This is good. 

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well. 

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.” 

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you. 

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve. 

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep. 

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.” 

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality. 

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart. 

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in. 

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you. 

Hoseok, the prince of peace. 

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him. 

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.” 

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere. 

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.” 

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well. 

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it. 

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall. 

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you. 

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips. 

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.” 

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him. 

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly. 

“You want it from the back?” 

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more. 

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin. 

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit. 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant. 

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later. 

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint. 

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?” 

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.” 

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for. 

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know. 

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised. 

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him. 

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp. 

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did. 

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole. 

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare. 

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks. 

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red. 

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger. 

A breath of fresh air, he is. 

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you. 

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok. 

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed. 

What would the angels do in your place? 

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms. 

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead. 

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared. 

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time.  “Go, I’ll get the car ready.” 

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you. 

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you. 

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him. 

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately. 

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand. 

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.” 

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time. 

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service. 

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness. 

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight. 

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do. 

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor. 

Doesn’t say anything. 

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?” 

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.” 

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe. 

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.” 

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.” 

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.” 

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly. 

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being. 

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go. 

Three weeks ago. 

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck. 

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love. 

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness. 

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat. 

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard. 

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?” 

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?” 

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.” 

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.” 

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat. 

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them. 

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust. 

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest. 

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?” 

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?” 

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care. 

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together. 

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to. 

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him. 

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi. 

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency. 

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it. 

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up. 

You don’t really think that’s a good idea. 

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.” 

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook. 

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more. 

But he surprises you with the words he says next. 

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.” 

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[moonit3]

Can I get a uhhhhh dragon yandere (it's ok if u don't btw!! I just love getting presents and the unusual)

yes, you can get a yandere dragon, anon.

WARMTHLESS

➥ warnings/notices: yandere male, obsession, manipulation, kidnapping, forced relationship, age gab (like the dragon is imortal and reader is a young adult), there is a child here, gn! reader, readers uses a cane later in the story, implied violence, implied death.

➥ yandere! dragon x gn! reader

➥ synopsis: the great dragon of the south never expected to become a caretaker of a human child, but luckily he has someone to help him with the task.

➥ a/n: did I love writing this one? yes. however, be warned that it takes a while to the yandere show up his tendencies as I try to make this one feel more ‘realistic’, to make the dragon slowly fall in love with reader with everything going on with their lifes. also, be aware this is quite long.

the great dragon of the south always lived by himself since the beginning of humanity. staying by his own lair on the coldest mountains, he spend most of his cleaning his treasures and watching the humans from a village nearby the mountains.

it’s a lonely life, but that was dragon made for, to live by themself til one day their bodies stop working and then to ascend to the afterlife. that’s what oberon’s ancestors told him, he is destined to be a lonely dragon til his last breath on earth, but that changed after a day.

during the coldest winter that passed in earth, oberon was waking throughout the abandoned path once used by merchants and to his surprise, he finds a human shelter. it’s destroyed, corpses are everywhere and so is blood. what did happened here? it couldn’t be simply raiders who attacked, the marks on the now dead bodies shows sharp claws and the scene is too messy to be made by humans.

his eyes notice one the tents moving, so he steps closer to see what is inside and he made a great discovery. a baby.

“oh, a tiny human.” shaping into his human form, oberon hold the children into his arms as gently as possible and analyze the little one. few drops of blood in their face and despite everything, they aren’t crying like he thought they would. “a brave one, i see…”

the first thing that came to his head was going to village nearby and hand the child to the people there, hoping to find a living relative to raise them. however, there is too much snow for him to travel and using his dragon form is out of question, it would only scary the villagers. so another idea came to his mind, he would take care of the child in meanwhile until the weather changes for good.

inside his lair, the great dragon managed to make a makeshift bed for the tiny human made of old vests and fur of ancient animals he once hunted for fun. despite not being the most appropriate place to a baby rest, the little one probably found to be comfortable as their eyes closed in seconds, leaving oberon alone with his thoughts.

why would an expedition bring a baby with them? any human should know how the cold mountains aren’t a suitable place for a newborn, but he can’t ask it as the child’s probably parents are dead, meaning that he will have to go the humans’ village soon.

the next morning, before the sun raise on the sky, oberon put the heaviest coat to cover his human form and the little one who rest on a handmade baby sling on his chest. with that, he began walking down the mountain and sing a sweet melody to the child stay calm during the trip, it’s working as the two made their way to the village.

step by the step and a three hours late, oberon arrived at the small village after a snowstorm had calm a little, luckily no house or building seems to be torn apart. and pulling the hood down, the baby awake by the soft light of the sun and their giggles made the dragon smile as both approach the closest house.

he knocks at the door and someone opens it quickly, “oh my! what are you doing in a weather like this? please, come in.” oberon enters the tiny house and takes off the hoodie when the door closed behind him. “take a cup of tea, dear traveler.”

the dragon observes how small is the house. the bed serves the same purpose of a couch to watch the fireplace and the only walls inside are the one to separe the bathroom from the rest of the home. it’s so small, but it’s fit a human to live in comfort on their own.

“thank you for let us in.” oberon sit on the edge of the bed, carefully holding the baby and put them to rest on the warm blankets. with his hands now free, he removes his heavy coat and grab a cup of tea to take a sip from it. “may I ask if you have anything to feed a child? if that isn’t too much to ask, my fruits are long gone to the child’s belly.”

“I do have some berries,” the gentle voice of the human make oberon smile, this person simply didn’t notice the horns on his head or they just don’t care at all? “and I think that I might have some strawberries that I brought some days ago…”

as you search for the fruits, oberon analysis the interior of the house. there are a few portraits on the walls, photos that include you with other people he believes to be your family. it’s something that oberon envy from most humans, they can have family and relationships without worrying about immortality, as they live together til the end. while dragons get to live forever with one at their side.

“here I found some, mr…”

“oberon, just oberon.”

a small basket of fruits is now at his side, waiting to be eaten by the time when the child wakes up later. for now, the two share true same roof til the snowstorm ends and for what it’s look, they will have to be together for a while.

“so, why did you came to the village? the snowstorm won’t stop anytime soon and bringing a child so young isn’t the best idea.” the human pour another cup of tea to the dragon before taking a seat on a close chair to take a better look at the baby. “this child isn’t your, am i right?”

“indeed. i found them at destroyed campsite at the mountains, their parents are long gone.” the smile on the human’s face vanish by his words, sad about the true reality of the baby’s parents. “i would take care of the child on my own, but i lack the ability to raise them as I don’t know to take care of another living being.”

oberon felt guilty for what he is going to say next, but he has too. “could you help me raise them? just for a brief amount of time and then i can leave afterwards.”

the humans stay quiet, taking about the proposal gave by the dragon, unaware of his true intentions, “well, it’s sound a good deal.” a smile grown on their lips, a tint red on their cheeks of the idea of getting close to the mysterious man.

“then it’s a deal, mx…?”

“call me [name] and you are?”

“oberon, just oberon.”

times goes on as oberon began to raise the little girl at your side, feeling happy knowing that you let stay at your home without expecting anything in return. it’s a generous act and the dragon knows that not many people would be as nice as you, so he makes sure to keep his value at your small house.

you continue doing the hard work such as cutting the wood for the fireplace to keep the house warm, fishing at the frozen river, going for the market to exchange your products to supplies for the cold winter, that’s your role in the house. while oberon become the main caregiver for the young girl, learning how to take of a baby who always need his attention, changing diapers and teaching her the old tales of mythological creatures he once meet in his dragon form.

life is going smooth, oberon can’t deny that. having someone to help him raise a human kid in an environment with other children sounds better than raising it at his lair, where no one would know their presence. but this life isn’t going too good for you, he can see the dark circles growing under your eyes for working long hours and he notice how sometimes the money wasn’t enough to cover the food, so you would just starve yourself to let him and the child eat. an generous, but foolish act as he doesn’t need to eat as much human does.

“you should eat more, oberon.” that you always say to him every time you give your barely touched plate of food to him. “taking care of a child on your own requires more energy than fishing.”

he tries to talk about it with you, but Oberon always lose the discussion as you give that sweet smile to him. the same smile you have when playing with the child after a long day of working, the very same smile that he has seeing for the last two years. you have endure so much because of him and the kid, oberon feels guilty about it. he sees himself as a failure for not giving or making your life easier, maybe things will change for good when the three of you start living at his lair back at the mountains.

it was another day of work for you and definitely it was exhausting as there war almost nothing that you fished today. the villagers didn’t brought any the tiny fishes you offered, but they felt compassion knowing that you are the sole provider of the house, so they handed you the food they didn’t sell. it was a great gift as you won’t ever forget about it.

going back to your home, you’ve expected to be welcome by the child’s hugs and oberon’s sweet words, asking about your work. however, that didn’t happened. walls empty of the many family’s portraits, the clothes oberon sewed missing, food is gone and the worse, none of them are here. almost like they were nothing, but hallucinations.

you yelled their name, searching the surrounding area of the cabin as the snow gets heavier and the wind colder. there are no footprints of them, no trace of they could’ve been, perhaps your mind is playing tricks. if so, how can you stop it and how can you find the two most important people of your life?

the idea of them simply vanish made you uncomfortable, made you cry in the middle of the snow and scream of frustration. things got worse and you have no idea of to fix it. but a thought came to mind, maybe they went to the village to buy firewood when you were out.

the small chance of seeing them made you get up from the cold snow and clean the tears away from face, ready to go back to the village and ask the others.

unfortunately that never happened.

claws met your shoulder and in a blink of eyes, a dragon began to fly away from your cabin. his wing flapping and creating strong winds as you desperately try to get away from it. you try to yell for help, but the dragon was too high in the sky to anyone hear you scream and no one would be a fool to help you in this situation. so you had no other option than just stay still and hope for the creature don’t drop you. the high ground made you dizzy and without option, your eyes closed by the moment you saw the clouds.

above the clouds and hide from danger, there is a lair of the great dragon do the south. he lives there’s along with two another people and those are his most important treasures, ones that he will never let it go.

the travelers brave enough to climb up there to exchange good with oberon, report the two people living with him are completely opposite.

the oldest, the spouse, always wearing the same expression in the face of tiredness. they use a cane to walk around the lair (now transformed into a cozy home) and some more aware travelers could see the scar on the spouse’s leg. it’s huge, definitely the reason why they need to use a cane to move.

some ask how them how was the accident, curious about the reason behind it. the spouse always replied there was a slippery ice that resulted in them becoming this way, yet some travelers doubt that by seeing fear in their eyes when answering it the dragon is always watching them talking with outsiders, but none pushed forward to know the truth.

and the second treasure is his daughter. an energetic and intelligent girl who is always reading about the world outside, dreaming to go out and explore the many places from the books she have read. her eyes sparkle whatever a traveler tell about the magnificent places she could visit when getting older and she is always writing in her journals about it.

and that’s what she did. finally of age, the little girl now grown as a smart and kind lady left the lair to adventure herself into the unknown. she doesn’t forget about to send magic letters (that literally just spawn at the lair) to her parents, telling about the world and the numerous cultures she has learned.

it’s great to know their daughter is doing okay, but for the great dragon, something is missing of the lair. it’s the silence that irritates him, the lack of a reason behind those make his spouse act happy and joyful with him and the fact they are begging to see the outside world again. it’s been years since the dragon let them walk at the mountain’s feet and the last time they did, the human tried something idiot and got to use the cane for their rest of their life.

they began to make him angry, always asking to be outside for just a little and they won’t stop talking about it! the dragon wanted to keep them occupied to ever think about it and so he found a way to chain them inside the lair once again.

one day, returning to the lair after flying around the southern region, the dragon brought someone else in his arms, a baby. the view of a small figure in the arms of their husband made the human just stare at it, fully scared to ask why there is blood on the child’s face, but brave enough to ask why he brought a kid to the lair.

“it’s our second born, my dear.” what? “you looked so sad after our daughter left, so I believe that being parents once again will make us happier, closer and of course, you will stop nagging about brainless things of going outside. now, you should give our baby a bath, right? I will make dinner for the three of us.”

@moonit3 writings

[saturnznct]

he holds the baby for the first time | nct dream

➸ note; hehe bit of a long one bc i love my dreamies <3

➸ word count; 4313 words

➸ lucas, tengfei, moonbyeol, dalgun, chaeyeon, caihong & chunae; aged newborn

➸ warning(s); breastfeeding? labour, c-sections, stitches, injection mention, blood mention

nct masterlist (lnks will be added later)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

mark

Mark’s entire world had been turned upside down in a matter of a few hours. Just four hours ago, he was working hard at dance practice, and now he was a father. He felt so many things, shock being the most prominent, shared with complete awe and love for you and your new son. The fact that he hadn’t held your newborn yet hadn’t even crossed his mind, he was far more concerned with both of your health and wellbeing, considering you’d had no pre-natal care. The hours dragged on, the amount of nurses and doctors coming in finally beginning to thin out. Your son had been laying on your chest for quite some time, having eaten and been burped already. You were so exhausted, a mixture of the birth and the late hour, but Mark was still wide awake, mind racing. However, managers and staff keep disappearing and reappearing, talking to Mark and whoever was on the phone in rapid speech. Mark could see the way it was affecting you, the way you move to almost protect your baby from the outsiders.  

‘You should get some sleep,’ he murmurs, noticing your eyes dropping closed and then opening again.

‘I can’t look away from him,’ you admit, ‘he’s so perfect.’

‘I know, baby, but you need to rest,’ Mark reaches out a hand and brushes your hair from your face, ‘besides, I haven’t held him yet.’

Your eyes widen a little, ‘oh, of course not, I’m sorry.’

Mark chuckles, ‘it’s okay, it’s important he gets to know his mama. I’ll keep an eye on him while you nap, okay? I’ll wake you if he needs anything.’

‘Okay,’ you sit up slightly. The handover is awkward, it being the first time you’d done it, but eventually Mark has the tiny baby in his arms, kissing your forehead before murmuring a ‘goodnight, I love you,’ and settling into the armchair beside your bed.

‘Love you. Please keep him here,’ you mumble, turning onto your side and closing your eyes.

‘I will, don’t worry sweetheart.’

Mark is quiet for a few minutes, gently yet stiffly rocking the baby back and forth, examining his face and all the details. The baby looked so much like him, and he knew it, feeling an enormous sense of pride at the boy’s identical nose and eyes, that he’d seen in baby photos of his own over the years. Once he’s sure you’re asleep, he begins to talk to his son, wishing the infant to get used to his voice.

‘Hey, baby boy,’ Mark begins, lightly shushing the baby when he fusses, ‘it’s okay, everything is just fine.’

You were just on the verge of falling asleep when you hear Mark’s voice, heart warming at the sound of the love of your life talking to your firstborn.

‘I didn’t even know you existed a few hours ago, but God, I love you. More than anything. You’re so perfect, such a beautiful baby, all from your mama. She did so well, didn’t she? Carried you for all that time… I promise I’ll be here for you, always. Everything I do from now on is for you and your mummy/mommy.’

You still lay awake, eyes filled with hot tears at the pure love that overcomes you. 

Mark is silent for a few moments, staring back into his son’s deep brown eyes, ‘I promise I won’t let you down. I love you, son.’

renjun

This was the moment Renjun had been anticipating since the moment you found out you were pregnant. He’d been terrified at the time, the pregnancy was unexpected and Renjun wasn’t sure he was ready or capable of being a father. At the same time, Renjun’s thoughts were filled with questions and worries about your baby. What would the baby look like? How big would the baby be? Would they come during the day or the night? But his biggest fear of all, was that your baby wouldn’t like him. He didn’t have the best luck with other member’s babies; generally they would cry and protest in his arms. He tried to prevent this, doing any and every bonding exercise with your bump that he could think or read about, hoping that when your son arrived he would feel comfortable and safe with him.

‘Jun?’ You’d been holding the baby for over an hour, having some skin to skin and your first feed. Renjun froze a little at the expectant look on your face, like he knew what you were about to ask.

‘You should hold him.’

Renjun blinks, ‘are you sure? you’re bonding with hi-‘

‘Jun,’ you repeat, softly, ‘he’s your son. He’s not going to hate you. Besides, I want to see my boys together.’

‘Okay,’ Renjun reaches down for the baby on your chest, cringing when the baby whines and fusses, ‘hey, don’t cry, please don’t cry.’

Renjun rocks and bounces him awkwardly but to no avail, and he sends you a look screaming for help.

‘It’s ok, Jun,’ you smile, ‘keep talking to him.’

‘He doesn’t like me,’ Renjun begins to panic, ‘he was happy with you, maybe you should-‘

‘Junie,’ you retort softly, ‘he just doesn’t like that he’s been moved. Keep talking to him, he’ll know your voice.’

Renjun gives himself a mental pep talk, slightly relaxing when he looks at the face of his baby boy.

‘It’s okay, it’s just me, I’m your daddy.’

You give Renjun an encouraging smile, and so he continues, ‘I really hope you like me from now on. Most babies don’t.’

The baby is gradually calming down at his father’s voice, so Renjun keeps talking.

‘Good boy, do you know my voice? I tried to talk to you as much as possible while you were in there so I hope you recognise it.’

The baby is now settled, staring up at his father with big brown eyes. Your heart melts at Renjun’s wide, toothy grin.

‘He likes me,’ he says to you, before turning back to the baby, ‘I think you look like a Tengfei.’

‘I like that name,’ you hum, ‘Huang Tengfei it is.’

Renjun’s smile gets impossibly wider, pride filling his chest knowing he’d just named his firstborn baby boy.

‘I love you so much, Huang Tengfei.’

jeno

You had never felt so at peace. You had just given birth to your first child, a daughter Moonbyeol in your bedroom at home a few hours earlier. Already, Moonbyeol was a very chilled baby, rarely fussing or crying. She was perfectly happy just laying on your chest, staring back at you. Jeno had been laying beside you for several hours now, engaging in hushed conversation with you about your newborn, all while unable to take his eyes off her. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that he hadn’t properly held his daughter, as you’d been snuggled together so close. As time passed, you grew more and more exhausted, the energy you had spent during the birth beginning to weigh you down. 

‘How long has it been since she fed?’ you wonder aloud, ‘the midwife said every three hours..’

‘I think it was at six,’ Jeno says, ’so three and a bit hours ago.’

‘She needs more,’ you mumble, sighing deeply, already pulling your top down to give Moonbyeol access. Jeno helps you guide her head to your chest.

‘Agh,’ the pain is sharp when she latches, and Jeno kisses and rubs your hair in encouragement.

‘You’re doing so well, look at how well she eats.’

‘It hurts so much Jen,’ Jeno’s heart hurts at the look on your face.

‘I know, I know,’ Jeno frowns, ‘it’ll get better, with time.’

‘I hope so,’ you say, ‘I feel sore all over.’

‘You’ve been so incredible,’ Jeno praises, ‘we did so well with her.’

‘Yeah, we did,’ you grin, the and the two of you settle into small talk while Moonbyeol eats. After some time, she pulls away, ready to be burped.

‘I don’t want to move,’ you admit, ‘too tired.’

‘Hey, I’ll take her,’ Jeno offers, ‘you can stay in bed. Plus, I.. I haven’t got to hold her yet.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay, don’t be silly,’ Jeno presses a kiss to your cheek, ‘I’ve been so close this whole time. You should get some rest.’

You suddenly realise how drained and exhausted you truly were, eyes and body heavy with fatigue.

‘I think I probably should,’ you mumble tiredly, ‘Moonie, daddy’s going to get all that horrible air up for you.’

It takes perhaps a little longer than it should have, but eventually the baby is successfully passed into Jeno’s arms.

‘Hey, Moonie,’ Jeno rests her on his shoulder, gently patting her back, ‘you’re so tiny.’

You move to lay down on your side and rest your eyes as Jeno talks to your daughter in a hushed voice.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Jeno meets his daughters eyes, seeing his own staring back at him, ‘look at those brown eyes! So pretty. No boy will ever be good enough for such a beautiful girl.’

Jeno slowly wanders out of your room and into Moonbyeol’s nursery, wanting to give you some peace to sleep.

‘This is your room,’ Jeno turns the baby in his arms so that she’s facing the majority of the room, ‘this is where you’ll sleep, where you’ll play… I hope you like the way we decorated. If you don’t, we can change it later.’

Moonbyeol’s eyes flicker around the room, although her expression is blank.

‘Look, Moonie,’ he walks towards her unused crib, looking at the silver mobile that hangs over it, white and yellow moon and stars hanging down, ‘it’s like you! You’re our little moon star.’

Moonbyeol burps at that exact moment, and Jeno chuckles, not sure whether he should be offended or not.

‘Well, that says what you think of that.’

haechan

Donghyuck naturally comes across as a conceited and cocky person, you know that’s just his humour. He’s cheeky and bold, but at the same time down to earth and a total sweetheart. He acted quite similarly when it came to his impending fatherhood, on the outside appearing as though he was completely confident, that he would take being a father in his stride. But on the inside, he was terrified. Sometimes he would catch sight of you, his pregnant wife, and would feel a deep sense of dread alongside the rush of love that would bubble up in his chest. When you went into labour while eating dinner together, he thought he was going to be sick, the crashing realisation that this was it. You’d done so well, going through hours of contractions before your son began to struggle, and you were taken into an emergency c-section. You were crying softly as they prepared you for the surgery. Donghyuck emerged from the bathroom in his scrubs to see you laying there, and you immediately you’d reached out for him. In that moment, he knew how much you needed him, how much both of you needed him. In that moment he knew he’d do anything to be the best father and husband.

Your son Dalgun was eventually delivered through the C-section, laying on your chest for quite some time as you were stitched up and wheeled back to your hospital room. Donghyuck hates the look of discomfort on your face as you try to move around on the bed and feed. You’re exhausted, in pain and in need of a good rest, but you had to stay awake for your son.

Donghyuck tries to make himself useful, keeping the hospital room tidy and making sure your water cup was filled and you hadn’t bled too heavily onto the pad beneath you.

Part of him aches to hold his baby boy. He so desperately wants to just reach out and take the baby into his arms, shower him in all of the love he had to give. But at the same time, he didn’t want to. He was frightened that his son would be unsettled with him, that he would do something astronomically wrong like drop him. After some time, the nurse knocks softly on the door, coming to check on your surgery site.

‘Donghyuck,’ you croak, his heart hurting when he sees you laying there, exhausted and in pain with your son on your chest, ‘will you take him?’

‘I-‘ 

‘Hyuck,’ you notice the way he freezes, but he melts and relaxes at your tone, ‘its okay. You’re his daddy. You did so well at the classes.’

Donghyuck shakes himself. You’re vulnerable, you’ve just had invasive surgery and you need him. And he’s terrified of holding his own baby.

‘Okay.’

The nurse helps with the handover as it pains you to lean too far, and suddenly there’s a seven pound baby wriggling around in his arms. Dalgun cries shrilly at being moved, Donghyuck cringing as he wails.

‘Dalgun-ah,’ he clumsily rocks the baby, ‘won’t you be a good boy while mummy/mommy gets looked after? I’m not a stranger, I’m your daddy.’

Donghyuck sways on his feet, soothing Dalgun, ‘your mummy/mommy is so so brave. She is so incredible, Dalgun-ah, she’ll be the best mummy/mommy in the whole world to you, I just know it. And I’ll try my absolute hardest to be the best daddy. I love you.’

jaemin

Jaemin thinks that his daughter’s birth was nothing short of perfect. You had given birth to Chaeyeon in a birthing centre, early in the morning in a birthing pool.

Jaemin had sat right behind you, in his swim shorts, with you between his legs, not even wincing when you near crushed his hands while you pushed. Jaemin had been the one to cut the cord, before the baby was taken away to be weighed and given her first injection.

Jaemin had felt new foreign feeling of resentment towards the nurse, who he knows deep down is just doing her job and ultimately protecting your daughter from disease, but at the same time, she made his baby girl cry.

Chaeyeon is bought back to you, now with a band-aid covering her injection site. Jaemin holds you in his arms, resting his chin on your shoulder and just soaking in your daughters face. For some time, the two of you get used to Chaeyeon, taking in her appearance and mannerisms and sounds. Jaemin doesn’t even really care how dirty the water is.

‘Y/N? Why don’t we get you cleaned up a little?’ the nurse suggests, and you’re more than happy to be helped out of the pool and herded into the shower in the conjoining bathroom. Another nurse had held Chaeyeon as Jaemin carried you bridal style into the bathroom and gently setting you down on the shower seat. He hangs around for a few minutes, eyes darting between you and Chaeyeon’s general direction, clearly conflicted as to who to stay with.

‘Go and be with her Jaem,’ you hum.

’Do you need me?’

‘I’m all good here,’ you answer honestly, ‘I think this may be quite gross, anyway.’

‘Okay,’ Jaemin leans over to kiss your cheek, ‘I’ll look after her.’

‘Oh!’ The nurse left in the delivery room is holding the little bundle in her arms, ‘lets go to daddy, shall we?’

Jaemin beams as his baby girl is handed to him for the very first time. His heart feels like it may burst out of his chest as she gurgles, tiny fists waving around above the pink blankets.

‘Oh, angel,’ Jaemin coos, ‘you’re killing me.’

Jaemin knew that this baby in his arms officially completely owned his heart. He knew it was over for him, that there was nothing he would not do for his little girl.

‘You’re such a pretty girl, Chaeyeon,’ his heart aches at her glistening eyes and nose that mirrors his own.

‘You’ll have so much love in your life. You already do. You have so many uncles who are just dying to meet you, you have a godfather who would do anything for you. I.. I would die for you, I love you more than anything in this world.’

Chaeyeon waves her arm around, peeling back the blanket slightly.

‘Oh, you don’t have any clothes on,’ Jaemin brings her over to the changing table, lowering her down as slowly as he possibly can.

‘Which should be your first ever outfit?’ Jaemin sifts through the folded up baby-grows in the small suitcase you’d brought along. He picks out a white one, patterned with little brown teddy bears.

‘Uncle Mark bought you this one,’ Jaemin buttons up the onesie, ‘like I told you, everyone loves you Chae. But not as much as I do!’

Jaemin nuzzles their noses together, before cradling Chaeyeon in his chest, pressing a kiss on top of her head.

‘I love you, angel. I’ll be here for you always.’

chenle

Chenle was the best partner throughout your entire pregnancy. He did absolutely everything for you and your baby’s comfort, fulfilling your every need and wish, whether monetary, physical or emotional. 

It seemed everything had to be perfect, the quality of your care, your baby’s nursery, your birth plans, everything. If you showed any slight indication of discomfort at any point in your pregnancy, Chenle was instantly at your side, going out of his way to somehow alleviate your pain. He was almost jumpy in that sense.

He was strangely calmer than you thought he would be when you went into labour. You had been taken to the hospital where Chenle and his family had naturally made sure you would receive the best treatment, with a spacious private room and a dedicated team of familiar doctors and nurses. You laboured for hours on end. For nearly twenty hours, you’d suffered through some of the most immense pain imaginable, completely supported by Chenle who fusses over you and holds your hand through it all. Frustratingly, you had been dilating excruciatingly slowly, and eventually the doctors decide a c-section would be best for both you and your baby. 

Your beautiful baby girl joined you in the early evening. Chenle was so overcome with love for his daughter. You both knew that she would be his little princess, that he would spoil her rotten and that nobody would ever lay a hand on her. He came up with the name Caihong, meaning rainbow. She was the rainbow that brightened up his life.

When Caihong came out, they had taken her away briefly to be weighed and checked over, before returning her to you.

‘You did so so well,’ Chenle stands as close to you as he can get, still in his scrubs as they stitch you back up, ’she’s beautiful. I can’t believe it.’

‘I’m so tired,’ you laugh, having been awake for the entirety of your labour, ‘she’s ruined me.’

Chenle chuckles, ‘they’re going to wheel you back into the room once they’re done. We’ll turn the lights down. You can nap soon.’

‘M’kay,’ you roll your head back down to look at your baby, ‘she’s perfect.’

’She is,’ Chenle nods, leaning down and pressing kisses into your hair, ‘I love you both so much.’

The first hour with your daughter is so precious. You are taken back to your private room in your bed, Caihong resting on your chest the whole time. You’d done your first feed, burping her while sitting up in your bed. Once you’d finished, the nurses left, and the three of you were alone together for the first time.

‘Are you tired?’ Chenle asks, running a hand through your hair, fussing over you.

‘I’m exhausted,’ you murmur, ‘never been so tired.’

‘Why don’t I take her?’ he suggests, ‘you can lay down and have a nap.’

‘Are you sure?’ the offer is so unbelievably tempting, ‘I don’t want to just leave you on your own.’

‘I’ll be just fine,’ Chenle reassures you, ‘you just fed her. I can change her myself, if she needs you I’ll wake you.’

‘Okay,’ you nod, moving your arms so that Chenle can easily take Caihong from you.

He grunts dramatically as he raises her up, as though he was lifting some massive weight, ‘hi baby girl.’

Chenle holds Caihong in one arm as he helps you lay down comfortably, reclining your bed back down with the remote so you were laying down.

‘Comfortable?’ Chenle checks, rubbing your upper arm with his spare hand.

‘Yes,’ your eyes are already closed, ‘love you, Lele.’

Chenle grins, ‘I love you too.’

As you fall asleep, Chenle slowly does a few laps of the hospital room, rocking Caihong in his arms. Once he’s sure you’re mostly asleep, and that talking won’t disturb you, he speaks to Caihong in a hushed voice.

‘Hi my little angel,’ he stares into her shining brown eyes, absolutely entranced by her, ‘we’ve waited for so long for you. Ever since your uncle had your cousins, I’ve wanted a baby of my own. And now you’re finally here. You’re already so loved, Caihong. I’ll do anything for you.’

Caihong looks at him almost as if she’s listening and understands what he’s saying. Chenle’s heart seizes and threatens to break out of his chest, he loves her so much. 

‘You own my heart, Caihong. Daddy loves you so much.’

jisung

Jisung was the first to hold his baby girl, and although it wasn’t for long, it was a fact he took great pride in. Jisung had completely frozen up when your midwife had asked him if he wanted to deliver the baby. His mouth had dried up, completely unsure of what to say, until he caught your gaze, face slightly screwed up in discomfort, but still encouraging him to say yes. He had taken the midwife’s offer, and under her guidance, caught your baby girl as she came out. Jisung had worried that he would drop her, due to the baby being covered in blood and various bodily fluids, but thankfully he manages to keep her in his grip, holding her up for a few moments before placing her on your chest.

Jisung didn’t get her back for another hour or so, not that he minded. You handled your first hour of motherhood expertly, Chunae was an extremely calm baby who fed easily. She was so intrigued by the both of you, as you both were with her, her brown eyes studying your faces. Jisung had never felt so many overpowering emotions at once. Firstly the feeling of pride that he’d been the one to bring Chunae into the world, and the fact he had a part in creating what he believed to be the most beautiful baby in the whole world. And of course, he felt such an overwhelming and intense love for both you and your baby, after watching you go through hours and hours of labour and delivery in his family home. You had been giving skin to skin for over an hour before you offered the baby to Jisung.

‘Hey, Jisungie,’ he is immediately by your side.

‘Do you need something? Water? Another pillow? The pad changed? Are you in a lot of pain?’

You smile at how flustered and caring he is, shaking your head, ‘no, I’m alright. I just thought you might want to hold her.’

Jisung softens, heart suddenly hammering in his chest, ‘oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course I’d love to.’

Jisung leans down and gently picks Chunae from your chest, taking a few moments to get her into a good position.

‘Hi baby girl,’ he murmurs, strangely nervous, as though it was somebody else’s child.

‘Ah, good timing,’ Jisung’s mother suddenly enters the room, ‘I made soup for you Y/N.’

‘Oh, amazing, I’m starving,’ you welcome the bowl of hot soup with both hands.

Jisung wanders the room, rocking the slightly gurgling Chunae in his arms as he approaches the bedroom window. He doesn’t really notice you watching him, his thoughts all consumed by Chunae. His mother even points it out, catching your eyes and nodding towards him. 

‘Hi,’ Jisung shakily removes a hand from underneath her to play with her own tiny hand, melting when she curls her hand around his finger.

‘You’re so small,’ he whispered, ‘like a doll. And so well behaved too, you didn’t cry one bit when I picked you up.’

Chunae just looks back up at him, and Jisung gently wipes at the spit collecting at her mouth with a cloth.

‘I promise I’ll look after you angel,’ he nuzzles his nose against hers, ‘no one will ever hurt you. They’ll have to go through me first.’

Jisung suddenly can’t get the image of his baby girl as a teenager out of his head, his getting her heart broken by some worthless teenage boy. He imagines comforting her, giving her encouraging talks and building her confidence back up, utilising the skills he would have learned as a father to his little girl over the years. But for now, he knows nothing, only what he has read in pregnancy and parenting books.

‘I don’t know much,’ Jisung rubs his thumb up and down on her face, ‘but I promise I’ll be the best father I can possibly be for you. I’ll try so hard to do everything that’s right for you. I already love you more than anything in this world.’

Chunae yawns, tiny fists flailing weakly as she does.

‘Am I boring you?’ Jisung chuckles, ’you can’t be tired, not when I’ve just got you.’

‘You should sit down with her,’ you suggest, taking a short break from your soup, ’she’ll fall asleep on you.’

‘I think I may fall asleep also,’ Jisung chuckles, although settling into the armchair near your bed. 

‘Group nap?’ You suggest, your own eyes feeling heavy.

The group nap very quickly ends in Jisung’s mother removing the sleeping Chunae from a sleeping Jisung’s chest to lay in her crib. 

[turtlecleric]

I Know Now

late as usual ~ nsfw, rise!donnie x reader (cw: altered state of mind)

---

“Dearest?”

“Yes, Donnie.”

"Tell me again."

You blow out a slow breath, closing your eyes and pushing down the hint of exasperation that's starting to bloom in your chest. He's worried, you remind yourself. Unsure. Hesitant in a way that you simply aren't. You can be patient, for him. 

"It will be disorienting and confusing," you say once more. "I may feel overwhelmed or scared. I may not be able to control my thoughts or actions. I may hate it."

Donnie searches your face, brows furrowed. "And you still want t-"

"Yes."

The movement of his free hand tapping rapidly against his thigh catches your eye. It makes you soften further, seeing how worried he is about this. About you. You step forward to wrap your arms around him, and his own slide around you immediately, making the bottle of pills in his hand rattle as he does. His cheek rests on the top of your head, and you bask in the comfort of his hold for a long moment before leaning back to catch his gaze. Somber, anxious eyes look back at you. 

"I trust you,” you murmur. “I understand the risks. And I still really want to do this. Okay?"

His mouth opens, but he closes it without saying anything. When he opens it again, it's with a firmer, more resolute expression.

"Okay," he says, nodding and pulling away fully from your hug. "Let's get you set up then."

He leads you to the bed nestled in the back corner of the workshop - one that he put together specifically for this. Sturdy, with a mattress that has just the right amount of give, an absurd number of pillows, and the softest blankets and sheets you've ever had the pleasure of running your hands over. The memory of when he'd first shown you the finished product makes you smile. 

It's perfect, Donnie!

Of course it is! I made it to your exact preferences based on the data I've collected over the past few weeks, and - oh, let me show you how the heating function works!

God. You love him so fucking much. 

Settled amongst the pillows now, with him kneeling on the bed beside you, your heart sings thinking about how much work he's put into this. The pills, obviously. The bed. The lectures and pamphlets and reminders that you don't have to do this - despite the fact that you were the one who requested it in the first place. Wanting to experience a taste of what it's like for him, so you can understand better but… also because you're a little selfish. He's told you countless times how much better his season is now that he has you. Alone, it had been miserable. With you… it's something incredible. And he always seems so content during his season - relaxed and satisfied and so goddamn happy. Giddy with it, even. You want to see what that feels like. 

"The effects should last approximately one hour," Donnie says, pulling you from your thoughts. The bottle rattles again when he gingerly shakes a single pill into his hand. "Don't forget that your heart rate will increase, and you'll start to feel really warm. That's normal. Oh, and don’t forget that-”

"Donnie," you call softly, cutting him off. You take the pill from him with one hand and use the other to weave your fingers around his and squeeze. "As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

His eyes soften, and the tiny smile on his face bolsters you. Before he has a chance to make you repeat the warnings (again), you reach over to one of the cup holders jutting out from the side of the bed and pick up a water bottle. 

(It's important to stay hydrated, dearest. Ooh! Watch this, there's a hidden cupboard for snacks that raises up when you press-)

The pill goes down easily, and Donnie immediately starts to ramble again. Reminding you of what to expect, of the contingency plans in place should you decide this really isn't for you and you need to stop. You half-listen, smirking when he falters for just a moment as you start to strip. 

You'd thought you might get a bit chilly since he keeps it relatively cold in here, but you're feeling okay even without your clothes. You get comfortable on the bed, lying down and… about to ask how long it will take for… hm.

Hm.

He's still talking, but you're a little distracted by the way his throat moves as he speaks. The way his tendons stretch and pull when he shifts, when he turns his head, or... the glimpses of his tongue, his teeth, as he talks. 

Wait. Focus. 

"-feeling?"

You blink up at him. "...Huh?" 

He looks like he can't decide between worry or amusement. It's not an unusual expression to see on his face - you evoke that in him pretty often - but something about it mesmerizes you. 

"How are you feeling?" He says again.

Feeling. How are you. Feeling. 

It's hard to focus when you're staring at him. Looking away feels impossible, but you manage to close your eyes and think. 

You feel... warm. That's right. He said that would happen. You feel… hazy. Like your thoughts have to drag themselves through molasses to make it to the surface. Hungry? No, hungry isn't quite right, but it's... similar. Like a craving. You want. You want. You feel your pulse in your throat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. You miss him. He’s right here, but you miss him. 

When you open your eyes and see him there, you feel yourself relax. His gaze is intense. Heavy. It makes you shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs, and you try to focus. Focus. Try to… 

Why aren’t you touching him? It seems stupid to not be touching him. More than stupid, it feels wrong. You reach out, resting a hand against his plastron, feeling the vibrations there as he speaks.

Wait, what is he saying? You see the movement of his mouth, and you hear the words, but… the meanings slip away like smoke in your hands. Your name is the only thing you recognize, and oh, the way he says your name has you shivering again. Shivering - but you're so warm. The thought makes you smile, but it falls when you suddenly become aware of every inch that separates you from him. You place your other hand on his arm, curling around his bicep, pulling him closer, because he’s so far away. Even when he moves where you pull him, letting you wrap around him and press your face into the crook of his neck, he’s still too far away. 

He says your name again. Quiet and gentle, and you love the sound of it. It echoes in your mind, a layered whisper that soothes something you can’t put a name to. You breathe him in, nuzzling into his neck as the both of you lie down together. Arms around each other, your legs entwined, he’s right here but you need him closer. You need… something. You need…

Hands massage your back. Your shoulders. Someone is moaning and you think it might be you. You want to say something, but you can’t, can’t, can’t - there’s an ache in your chest, a burning in your stomach. Your thighs are sticky. You need- you can feel your cunt throbbing.

A brief moment of clarity. Suddenly you can understand his steady murmuring, can fully remember what's happening and how you got here. 

“-okay, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You need him. You need him, you need him right now, and you have to tell him. You don’t even care, don’t have the capacity to even be embarrassed by how whiny your voice is when you finally manage to speak. “Donnie. Donnie, please. Please, I need you. Please fuck me, please, Donnie, please, I need-” 

The moment he kisses you, all of your thoughts slip away. There is only him and you and him and you and him but then he pulls away, and it hurts. You miss him. You try to tell him, ask him to come back, but someone is whimpering, and you miss him, and it hurts, and you can’t think. 

You miss him. 

His hands find you again, his lips pressing against your own, and the relief is overwhelming. Your entire body shudders, shaking apart beneath him. You can't differentiate between the touches, his hands and mouth here and there and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere at once. Someone whines again. 

Donnie lies on top of you then, arms pressed between you and the mattress, holding you close against him, and oh. The weight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him - it’s enough to make you go boneless. Something, something - his knee, you think - slides between your legs, pressing against you. You can't help but grind against it as his tongue just barely glides against yours. It’s so warm. Everywhere, everything, warm and good and safe.

You’re trembling, chills running up your spine, lighting sparking along your skin. You’re flying, you think. Weightless, somehow, with only friction and pressure and Donnie Donnie Donnie. He adjusts, his knee moving away, but before you can protest something slips inside of you. His finger, you realize after a few pumps, and it's better, so much better, but it's not enough and you need more more more-

Donnie is whispering something that you don’t understand, but his voice alone is like a balm. Soothing your impatience. Your desperation. You focus on the rumble of it, then on the rub of his jaw against yours, then on the slick circles of his thumb against your clit, then his fingers - two, now - pumping easily in and out of you. Your hips are in constant motion, your arms clawing at his arms, and you can't stop seeking him in every way that you can. Time warps - there is no time, only feeling as you fight to somehow have him closer. 

He lifts himself up, and you miss having his weight press you into the mattress, but then you feel him start to press something bigger inside of you, and fuck yes this is it. His cock - this is what you were craving, what you need more than oxygen itself, and it feels so fucking good. The feeling of him inside you, filling you up, full, so full of him. And then he starts to move and - no, this is what you need. This delicious, wet friction, the feeling of him spearing you open again and again as you pull apart at the seams. There is only him and here and now, and it’s all you've ever wanted and it's yours. 

Are you coming? You can't tell if you are or if it just feels that good to have him pumping into you. You can't seem to think past each thrust, your mind going blank after every... Fuck, are you coming? Or does it just feel that good-

One of his words slips through the mist that's replaced your mind. Mine. It makes your skin spark. You've never felt more safe, more content, more full. It's almost too much. Just the brush of his scales against your skin is enough to overwhelm you, and fuck, fuck, are you coming or does he just feel that good inside of you?

You want to tell him… something. Something. You don't know, couldn't put it into words even if you could manage to control your mouth enough to speak. You might already be speaking. You’re not sure. His voice, though, you are sure about. It's a constant echo in your mind, and you can’t understand the words but at the same time you do. You understand. Safe, pretty, good, mate, mine. Yes, yes, yes. You’re his. Forever. 

Your heart is beating so fast. Your entire body is one big heartbeat, pulsing with every movement he makes. It’s almost scary - would be scary if you didn’t feel so fucking good and so completely, utterly safe. You're an imploding star, a burning, writhing, blissed-out thing that used to be a person and that may not ever be one again. You think you might be okay with that. 

God, are you coming or does it-

That thought is abruptly disintegrated when you do come. Your eyes roll back into your head, waves and waves of shimmering pleasure lighting up every nerve. On and on and on, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and you’re sure now. This is you coming, and it isn’t fucking stopping. Someone is crying, and this shouldn’t actually be possible. It shouldn't be possible for a person to feel this way, and it isn’t fucking stopping, holy fuck. The wave swells in a way it never has before, cresting and cresting and cresting, and- oh. You’re crying. That's you. 

breathe, darling. got you, beautiful, mine, doing so good. breathe. that’s it, pretty girl

He’s comforting you, you think. What is there to comfort? There has never been anything that feels as good as this. You’re still coming and he’s still fucking you through it, and thank god, because if he stopped you might actually die. You reach for him, but he's already there. 

mine, mine, mine

You think you might be starting to come down from that insane high. The trembling seems permanent, but you can think a little, can take in more of what he's saying now even though it's a little slurred in your ears. 

“- got you. All mine, so pretty and perfect. Smell so fucking good, taking my cock like you were made for me, like the perfect mate. So good, pretty girl, you're doing so good. I love you so-”

He's happy with you. You're being good. You're good. You're good and safe and warm, and he's here, and this is where he belongs, always. Deep inside of you, fucking you, always, always, with his fingers in your mouth and his teeth in your shoulder. You can't separate pain from pleasure. It's all one swirling, overwhelming cacophony of sensation until you feel him release inside of you, coating your insides with his come, marking you as his in every way - and it does something to your brain. You think you really are talking now, thanking him, maybe, or just- fuck, you can't concentrate, you're so full. 

Part of you mourns, even through the thick haze of your mind, knowing that he will pull out of you soon. But you're surprised to find that he doesn't, that he only needs a few moments before he's hard and pumping into you again. More sweet, incomprehensible words fall on your ears like so many shooting stars, and time continues to warp, and oh, fuck, the wave is cresting again-

---

--

-

When you wake, the first thing you become aware of is the fact that you feel so unbelievably relaxed. The second thing is that Donnie is holding you, stroking your hair and speaking to you softly. 

You take a slow, deep breath, and his words stop, then start again. This time you push through the haze enough to actually listen. 

“You haven't stopped smiling,” he says, his own smile audible in his voice. 

His hand continues to brush through your hair, while the fingers of his other hand tap absent-mindedly against your thigh. It's nice. You bask in the feeling for a moment before you respond. 

“It was like… like you said. The way you feel now, during your season. I just felt really… connected to you. Safe. And happy.” You sigh, snuggling in closer. “And really, really good. I don't know why you were so worried I would hate it.”

His hands stop. Then start again. When he answers, you can't hear the smile anymore. “It's only like that when- when you're with the person you…” 

He trails off, and you wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't. The silence grows heavy. You pull back to look up at him, but he avoids your eyes, his lips thinning and his brows pinching together. You finish his sentence for him. 

“The person you love?”

His throat bobs when he swallows, and his tiny nod makes your chest ache. To think that - even after everything you've been through - he was still unsure. Worried that the pill would not only make you miserable, but also that it would confirm your true feelings. 

Or lack thereof. 

“Donnie,” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Slow, gentle, and intimate. He kisses you until you forget how to breathe, and when he finally pulls away you have to take a few moments to remind yourself of what you were going to say. “You thought I wouldn't-”

“I was wrong to worry,” he says simply, cutting you off once more. “I know that now.”

You consider pushing further, but the pleasant fog that still clings to your mind makes it hard to think. You close your eyes and breathe, trying to focus past the memory of his lips on yours. It’s hard when his hands still trail through your hair. When you open them again, he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

“You know I love you. Right?”

His eyes finally meet your own, and you see something there. Something that’s too big to put a name to but that relaxes your concern nonetheless. He leans toward you to press a quick kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back his lips have settled back into a soft smile. 

“I know, dearest. I know.” 

---

tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @luckycharms1701 @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch @justalotoffanfiction

[sim0nril3y]

Workplace Distractions

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon spends the night keeping you company at work. Note: Set in 2014 Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence, tiny bit of angst, derogatory comments.

“Oh, that is sweet of you to ask, but I’m actually working tonight…” Well fuck, didn’t he feel like a plank for putting himself out there and asking you out for another drink. Simon kicked himself for not remembering you mentioning your work hours. It had certainly been something that you had mentioned to him. Bloody hell, there wasn’t much that you hadn’t mentioned to him now that he thought about it. With most things you were an open book and that was refreshing. “Maybe you could pop into the pub I work in…” You announced then breaking the silence. “If you keep me company for a little while I can promise you cheap drinks.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in Simon’s throat. It wasn’t like he had anything planned for tonight anyway. “Where’d you work again?”  “The Golden Lion.” Oh, right. Yeah, he remembered that too. It was actually a place he used to visit often when he first moved down South. Back then the owner was a little more hands-on with working behind the bar, there certainly weren’t any pretty girls like you working there. “I’ll be there…” He agreed knowing that he could almost hear the smile that pulled across your face. “You better keep your word about those cheap drinks, love.”

The pub was just as rundown as Simon remembered, the carpeted floors were marked with deep stains of something Simon didn’t want to dwell on too much, the windows were frosted and filthy, all the drink bottles of the top shelves were caked in dust and the bar itself was chipped and broken in several different places. This place was just lacking a bit of TLC. Across the room there was a rowdy group of lads watching the live MMA fight on the TV, a couple regulars sat nearby quietly drinking, a few others were occupying the batter pool table.

It was nice to see you during your shift. The moment that you had seen him perched at the bar you face brightened and instantly you were by his side checking if he needed anything or wanted a refill. You were far more attentive to him than anyone else that approached the bar. God, that made him feel fucking fantastic. He really loved that you would get so engrossed telling him a story that people would have to ask twice to get your attention and each time your attention was drawn away from him you seemed frustrated.

A sharp set of fingers snapped rudely in their direction. “Honey, ‘nother drink…” The drunk rudely tapped his empty glass against the bar. Simon didn’t miss the way that you rolled those precious eyes before sweeping away to prepare his order. “S’bout fuckin’ time…” A dangerous set of eyes began to observe him from afar. A bit of respect wouldn’t go amiss. A little less attitude wouldn’t be too much to ask. Simon watched as the man swayed, stilling himself on the bar itself whilst those glazed eyed cast down your exciting frame. It made his blood boil. Fuck. It wasn’t like they were even a couple but Simon couldn’t stand another set of eyes drinking you in.

Once you had taken payment, stashing the money into the till and then wandered back to stand opposite Simon again. “Alright?” For a moment longer his eyes lingered on the retreating drunk, sliding into the background seamlessly. “Si?” His attention snapped back to you in a second. Nobody called him Si, or well at least not since his mum was alive. Fuck, his head was a mixture of emotions. Was it something he liked? Was it too personal? Was that nickname reserved for her? Could it be shared? “Try not to pay them any notice. They’re all just a bunch of larger louts.” Then shrugging your shoulders as if you dealt with this regularly – well, working in this place you probably did.

A few times that night Simon found himself outside for a smoke. Each time it gave him a moment to think with a clear mind. Could he really keep doing this? Was it really fair to you? Could he even give you what you wanted emotionally? Did you even want anything emotionally? It put his mind at ease to at least know that weren’t expecting anything physically from him you had made that very clear.

“Pwah, mate. I’d give it to her.” A rowdy voice snapped from behind him as a group of lads exited the pub, lighters and cigarettes in hand. “Which one?” “Which one do you think? The barmaid…” They were talking about you. Fuck, he could feel his temper rising at just the mention of your description on their tongues. “Mate, I just know that she’s gaggin’ for a bit of cock. Been givin’ me the eye all night.” They all laughed between them and Simon threw down his cigarette in the next second.

“Oi…” Christ, why was he even picking this fight? It wasn’t like you were even a couple… but fuck, hearing them talk about you like that was fucking soul destroying. It wasn’t going to happen. Not whilst he was around to solve the problem. “That’s enough now. You might wanna show a little respect.” It could have ended there. It really could have, but these lads seemed not to take Simon’s warning all that well. No, instead they picked a fight. 3 against 1. It really wasn’t fair… for them.

Last call came and went and in groups people seemed to leave. You wandered over to him as your colleague got to work cleaning tables and collecting errant glasses. “Thanks for coming tonight, Simon. You being here actually made work bearable.” Fuckin’ hell. He could see that look in your eye. It was dangerous, he knew that, but no part of him was able to walk away or explain to you that this was difficult for him. “I’m working again tomorrow, if you want to… pop by…” Then shrugging your shoulders.

“Wouldn’t miss it…” Fuck, eventually he was going to have to put an end to this. It was going to hurt, maybe it would actually hurt him more than it would hurt you, but… but he couldn’t be selfish about you. He couldn’t keep just stringing you along thinking that he might be able to give you a normal relationship or life. No, deep down Simon knew that the only right thing to do was end this, but… but that couldn’t happen tonight and… and you were counting on him being there tomorrow. No, he would find a good time to do it, but right now you needed him.

Masterlist | Ask | 01-09-2023

[athena-writes-i-guess]

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Prompt: “I thought you left”/ “Nope, just making pancakes”

Warnings: very tiny amout of hurt, mostly fluff, implied sexual encounter (no real description)

You sighed in content as you woke up to the cold morning air, squinting in the bright sunlight as it blinded you momentarily as you slowly opened your eyes. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the night you had as you stretched out your back. You had been pining for the cute guitarist whose band played every Tuesday night at the bar that you worked at. And finally, after months of flirting after his gigs and hanging out on your days off, you and Eddie Munson had spent the night together. Hopefully the first of many.

You bit your lip as memories of passionate kisses and heated touches passed through your mind. Confessions and promises that had been made during your feverish embrace warmed you from the inside out. You felt giddy at what this could possibly mean for the two of you. A relationship, you hoped. Eddie was everything you had ever wanted in a partner and more. A goofy sweetheart whose only goal when you were together was to make you smile as much as he could. You had actually been in the same class with Eddie all the way until his first senior year, but you hadn’t started spending time with each other until you got the job at the bar. Both of you agreeing that you “wanted to make up for lost time”. And make up, you did.

You finally turned to your side to catch a glimpse of the metalhead before waking him up and your smile fell. Next to you, where Eddie had been when you kissed each other goodnight a few hours ago, was an empty bed. You felt your stomach drop. He wouldn’t have left right? He would have at least woken you up to say goodbye. Right? You reached out and felt the space, hoping the spot was still warm and he had just gone to your bathroom or something, but your heart felt like it could crack when you felt the cold sheets.

Eddie didn’t seem like the guy to sleep with someone and then run. Eddie was sweet and kind, why would he just leave? You sat up and tried to look around the room for any sign of him, maybe a shirt or his pants, anything that could indicate that he was still here, and found nothing. Though, in the heat of the moment both of your clothes had been thrown around the room, you weren’t even sure where your shirt was let alone his. You slowly pulled yourself out of bed, feeling both hurt and a little heartbroken and wondering if every sweet thing Eddie had ever said to you was a lie. Had he just said those things to get in your pants? Fuck. You hoped not.

You put on a large sweater you had left on a chair in the corner of the room before flinging your door open and walking out into the rest of your small apartment. You were immediately hit with the smell of something burning and began to panic as you rushed towards your kitchen, fearing an electrical fire or something had broken out while you were sleeping.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck!” You heard gasped out as you rounded the corner. There in your kitchen, in only his boxers, was Eddie holding a smoking pan as he rushed it to the sink. “Son of a bitch!” He exclaimed as he turned on the water and received a face full of steam.

“Eddie?” You said in surprise, grabbing his attention.

He whipped his head around to you, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, “Oh, hey, good morning sweetheart.” He said with a nervous smile as he took in your shocked expression and assumed you were pissed at him. “I’m so sorry for this, I’ll clean everything up.”

“I thought you left.” You said, letting out a chuckle of relief.

Eddie’s head tilted in confusion, “Nope, just making pancakes.” He smiled with a small shrug. “Or at least I was trying to.” He sighed as he looked at the remains of the burnt pancake in the pan. He turned back to you after a moment and rushed over to close the distance between you two before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. “I just wanted to make you some breakfast in bed, gorgeous.”

You snaked your arms around his neck as you stared into those warm brown eyes of his, his soft hot skin comforting under your touch. “Thank you so much Eddie. That means a lot, pretty boy.” You said, smiling as you watched the light blush creep into his cheeks at the title. “How about we go to the diner down the street for breakfast?” You suggested.

“That sounds great sweetheart.” He chirped, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your plush lips, his lips molding to yours like they were meant to be there. He pulled back after a moment with a love-drunk look on his face. “I still can’t believe I get to do that now.” He said as he let out a soft disbelieving chuckle, his long curls tickling your face as he shook his head lightly.

You beamed, not really being able to believe it yourself. You leaned forward and captured his lips again in a heated kiss, a low moan pulling from the metalhead as he kissed you hungrily. “How about we go back to bed for an hour or two and I can help convince you how real it is.” You said quietly as you pulled away, looking at him through your lashes.

A devilish grin pulled at Eddie’s lips as he quirked up a brow. “Oh I could definitely use some convincing, pretty thing.” He cooed, nipping your lower lip playfully as he started walking the two of you back to your bedroom.

Taglist: @srapalestina @yvonneeeee @cityofidek @anaisweird @mrslovesmayahawke @harrys-tittie @becca-alexa @catacina

[junityy]

love letters

pairing. bf!jay x gn!reader

synopsis. in which jay reads your first, unfinished attempt at writing a love letter for him by accident.

genre. fluff

wc. 1k

"I'm back!" you exclaim as you close the door behind you with your foot; unable to use either one of your hands since they're both carrying the grocery bag in your arms, which you didn't even think would be this heavy. Well, you might've gone a little overboard when trying to decide what snacks would be best for tonight; so that'd explain it, at least.

Finally putting the bag on the kitchen counter after the way back here felt like seven years, - when in reality, it was barely ten minutes - you sigh loudly in pure relief.

"Jay?" your voice's tainted with a little confusion; you didn't get any response like you thought you would. Leaving the keys right beside the bag on the counter, you make your way to your bedroom to see what he's up to.

"Hey, I got all the snacks for our-" you pause, and your jaw even drops the tiniest bit when you see Jay sitting on the bed while holding a single piece of paper and, what looks like, reading it. ".. movie night." finishing your sentence, - way quieter than you had started it - Jay finally looks up and meets your eyes.

"Oh I didn't hear you, love." he briefly explains, eyes big as he realizes he didn't hear you coming through the door, nor that you were talking to him just about thirty seconds ago.

"What are you reading?" you ask in a small voice with a slightly nervous undertone, since the paper seems to look a little too familiar for it to be in Jay's hands.. yet. Even from afar.

"Oh- this. Yeah, I found this on the desk earlier. I almost threw it away, but then I saw that it was addressed to me. Y/N is this a love letter?" Jay explains and asks with a tiny smile on his face, sounding only a tad bit confused about the paper in his hands.

And when your eyes widen, his eyes flicker between you and the paper in even bigger confusion and his yet so tiny smile fades. "What?" he asks innocently, eyes big as your reaction makes him feel slightly concerned.

"You weren't supposed to read that." you frown a bit, ready to drown yourself in embarrassment any second now. ".. yet." you almost forgot, but this only made his curiosity grow.

"Oh, this is embarrassing." you mumble to yourself as you walk up to the bed, sitting down in front of him, while his eyes are basically glued to you the whole time.

"I, uhm, couldn't really sleep last night, and then I remembered that you briefly mentioned how you adore love letters a few hours prior." you begin to explain, not even realizing how you're actively avoiding looking at him. "And then I realized that I never wrote you one, like, ever. During all the time we've been together." you add, still a bit saddened by the fact that he never received one from you.

"And so- I got up and.. tried to write one. It's not finished, though. And I thought I put it away, but apparently not.." you continue to explain, shrugging towards the end when you realize you clearly didn't put it away. Writing it at about four in the morning must have made you so tired, you went straight back to bed without noticing it was still on the desk - open for anyone to see and read.

Finally, you look up and meet Jay's eyes. And well, he looks rather surprised, a little shocked even - in a good way, so you assume. His jaw might have dropped just the tiniest bit, and his eyes have not left you still, but now they look even bigger instead.

"I've never written one, like.. in my life." is the last thing you add - as a way to defend yourself in case it was somehow bad by any means; since, well, you barely remember what you even wrote last night.

"I love you." Jay simply scoffs in disbelief, clearly realizing by your change of expression that this is not quite the reaction you were expecting. But still, you're not complaining - hearing him say those three words makes your heartbeat increase an embarrassing amount, like when you first met him and could barely say a word.

And even now, after over two years, you're left speechless again. And so of course, Jay can't help but chuckle; softly grabbing you by the chin to pull you in closer for a short kiss just a second later.

God. You really do feel like when you first met with the way you still get butterflies around him - more and more each day.

"Your letter was beautiful, my love." is the very first thing he says in a low tone after the kiss, your faces still dangerously close and his hand still touching your chin. "I loved it." he adds with a smile, trying to justify just how much he fell in love with those words you wrote. But saying 'he loved it' doesn't seem to be nearly enough.

"I love you." you return, the big smile forming on your face almost impossible to overhear in your voice. Immediately pressing your lips onto his yet again, Jay can't help but smile into the kiss when he can feel you doing so.

"Wait." he suddenly says, breaking the kiss after not too long; your smile fades and confusion overtakes you instead, while Jay's smile only grows bigger by the second.

Sitting straight again, you watch Jay reach down to one of the drawers in the bedside desk, looking for something. When he finds it, he sits straight again and closes the drawer again.

And when your eyes go down to see what's in his hands, you see that it's a bunch of papers just like yours. Except they have much more written on every single one of them; beginning to end of the page, they're full with texts.

Compared to yours, though, every single one of them has a date written at the top.

And instead of being addressed to Jay, they're all addressed to you. Every last one of them.

Your jaw actually drops at the sudden realization, and immediately your head shoots back up - only to find an even bigger smile on Jay's face now. He chuckles at your reaction as it's adorable to him. And also at the fact that he just pulled all these out at once.

"I wrote you a bunch over the years."

note. JUNITYYS FIRST EVER WORK AFTER NOVEMBER 2021 and ofc its jay 😭😭😭 so hello again! not sure just How back i am again but i wanna try and write more again!! (just keep in mind that i WILL 99% still be inconsistent as hell and just post much Much random stuff please, thank you 😸🙏🏻) - also i hope this drabble layout is somewhat fine LMFAO i forgot how you do all this and also tumblr is acting up </3

taglist @tyunni @geombyu @jaeyunverse

[peachdues]

*flops into the asks*

For the 2k requests again! may I request the fluff prompt of: Late-night pregnancy cravings

For: Kyojuro, Giyu, Sanemi, Tengen, Obanai and/or Yoriichi? 🥰

I'm a sucker for cute sweet paternal/pregnancy moments 🥹🥰😅

Thank you for the request!

PREGNANCY CRAVINGS

♧TENGEN UZUI♧

Peach's 2.k Milestone Event

CW: none, just fluff

The estate of the Sound Pillar was silent, save for the occasional faint snore of Suma, near your ear, as the young woman’s arm was draped snugly around your middle.

Your growing middle, that is.

You were the first of Lord Tengen's wives to fall pregnant, and the Estate was abuzz with excitement over the prospect that in just a few, short months, a tiny little bundle of joy would arrive for all of them to dote on.

Of course, none was more excited than your dear, Lord-Husband, who had dropped to his knees and sobbed upon hearing the news, tears of happiness nearly dampening your hair as sure as any rain shower as he'd tugged you in close to his chest. Once Suma had joined in on the tearful party, you looked as though you'd been dunked thoroughly in the Estate onsen.

You were far enough along that your kimonos had to be loosened to accommodate your growing belly. Truthfully, you didn't mind so much that your attire had seemed to shrink overnight, as it was far preferable to the first few months of your pregnancy, where you'd spent most of your time hunched over a bucket, unable to keep down even the soothing miso and ginger broth that Hinatsuru had labored over making for you.

In fact, you'd lost a bit of weight during those first couple of months; so much so, that Lord Tengen had been ready to haul you to his comrade's estate for an evaluation, when, just like that, your stomach stopped rioting against you and instead, you found yourself situated with a hunger that could not -- would not -- be tamed.

Speaking of said hunger, you thought as you tried to roll out of your wife's comforting embrace, gently, so you wouldn't stir her, you were starving. And you had the strongest craving for...well, you couldn't quite figure out what you wanted, but you were sure a quick perusal of the food supply at the other end of the estate would solve all of your worries.

Though pregnant, you still retained your kunoichi reflexes, so as swiftly as a fox, you slid out of Suma's arms, stuffing a pillow between them before the young woman realized she'd lost her cuddle buddy. With a deft silence, you padded over your other two wives, both sleeping soundly in their futons, and made your way on your tiptoes towards the kitchen.

Dawn was still over an hour off, and your husband had yet to return home from his latest mission, though you were not worried too much; he'd said not to expect him for at least another couple of days.

The estate kitchen was silent as you slid the door open, though, as if the child in your womb could sense where you were, your stomach rumbled so loudly, you were shocked that your wives didn't appear behind you, thinking a small earthquake had shaken them awake.

"Oh, hush you," you chided gently, pressing a hand against the growing swell of your belly. "I'm working on it."

You began to sift through the cupboards and ice box, searching for anything that would soothe the nagging hunger in your gut. Your eyes had just landed on a small glass jar of pink, pickled onions that made your mouth water when you felt a slight disturbance in the air behind you. You tensed only for a moment before relaxing, recognizing the musky scent of your husband's sweat, mixed in with the faintest hint of cherry blossoms.

"I didn't expect to see you up so early, Mama," the rich timbre of Tengen's voice was soothing as his warmth approached you from behind. You turned right as his hands found either side of your hips, your husband kneeling down before you to press his ear against the gentle curve of your stomach. "How are my girls this morning?"

You snorted, carding your fingers through the sweat-dampened strands of his silvery hair. "You don't know for sure whether it's a girl, husband."

Tengen's lips grazed over your belly button as he rained reverent kisses against the swell of your womb. "I'm tellin' ya, the heartbeat sounds like a girl's." He grinned. "Strong, too, just like her parents."

Tengen rested his forehead against where you grew his child for a moment, before standing, towering over you, though the hand he brought to rest against your cheek was gentle, as though you might break beneath his touch. "Now, why're you out of bed, gorgeous? You need your rest."

You nodded to the jar of pickled onions that had caught your eye the moment before the Sound Hashira had breezed into his home. "Baby's hungry, I'm afraid."

Tengen hummed in disapproval, as he began moving amongst the cabinets and pulling out various dishes and ingredients. "Why didn't you wake one of the other girls? You know they'd bend over backwards to help ya out -- you need your rest."

Your hand tugged on his sizeable bicep, trying to get him to put down the wok he'd produced so that he could go rest. "For the same reason I don't want you cooking -- you all need your rest. I'm fine."

But your little tugs had no effect on the man as he turned away from the iron stove to kiss you, once on the nose. "Hey, if my girls' are hungry, it's daddy's job to provide."

[galamalion]

୨୧. 𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍'

summary. you and sanji go on a date to pick out some perfect pumpkins for the season.

⤷ contents. vinsmoke sanji x gn!reader, fluff + romance, sanji being a sweetheart

⤷ notes. hello! i'm going to try and write a lot until the end of october in order to get out all my halloween ideas, so this'll be the first! enjoy this little pumpkin date <3

autumn was your favorite season for a very long list of reasons.

first of all, its beauty had no comparison. watching the leaves change colors from emerald to cherry red all over the course of a couple weeks was a sight you could never tire of, in awe of nature’s power over its creations.

secondly, the anticipation for halloween was impossible to ignore, and you already had both your costume picked out and a list of activities to take part in the moment the calendar turned october first.

and lastly, the flavors that arose during the chilly season were absolutely exquisite. a hot apple cider for those cold afternoons, or a slice of pumpkin pie made by your one and only personal chef.

“ah, mon chou~! how about this one?” he called out, holding a pumpkin high above his head for you to see.

sanji really was a dream come true, acting as your prince during your weekly fall outings, participating alongside your autumnal activities. he would find you the most brilliantly red leaf among a raked up pile, helped to sew your matching costumes, and he would make your favorite fall treats for you! he was attentive, elegant, and the greatest boyfriend you would ever get.

“a little bigger, sweetie! i wanna do some pumpkin carving with it!” you shouted back, scouring the field for your dream pumpkin,

“oui!” he exclaimed, gently setting the pumpkin back onto the ground. 

you grabbed a nearby small pumpkin, “how about this one, sanji?” you asked, spinning it around for him to see.

“less blemishes, sweetheart! i’m looking for firm and plump!” you didn’t miss the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you, drawing an eye roll from you in response.

an hour of pumpkin judging passed between you two, and a few contenders had risen to your high standards. you carried around five tiny pumpkins in your tote bag, though sanji was aiming for ten due to luffy’s voracious appetite. sanji was hauling two perfectly symmetrical pumpkins, one for each of you to use.

the sun hadn’t quite set yet, a glow still rested on the field for you and sanji to continue picking, but the sky was slowly beginning to fill with oranges and pinks which cast a pastel shimmer of color across your face. sanji stared at your appearance from across the field, taking in the way the soft light struck your visage and framed you beautifully, like a divinity choosing to grace him with your presence. 

“you think ten will really be enough for luffy?” you shouted, picking up a pumpkin to examine it.

sanji snapped back to attention, blinking rapidly as he formulated his thoughts, “i- well i suppose no, when taking his prior portion sizes into account…and if we invite sabo and ace there as well…” 

“at least sabo has manners!” you yelled, chucking any spoiled pumpkins over your shoulder. “i once saw ace use someone else’s pants as a napkin! not even his own! can you believe that, sanji?”

sanji’s focus once again faltered, watching as your lips moved wildly in your frustrated-amused rant. god, how he wanted to kiss you right now. i mean, you both deserve a break right now, right? you’ve been working so hard these past few hours…a little break never hurt anybody, right?

you continued raving and skipped across the fields, unaware of sanji’s devious musings, searching for some more perfect pumpkins for your perfect boyfriend. your deep and intense focus on your little pumpkin hunt led to you missing your perfect boyfriend disappearing from his row of pumpkins, silently creeping up behind you. 

“oh mon ange,” he whistled, “i believe just found the prettiest pumpkin in the pumpkin patch!” his slender, long fingers wrapped around your waist, lifting you high above and eliciting a shriek.

“put me down, you sneak!” you teased, jokingly kicking your legs in an attempt to get loose of his hold.

“but then my pumpkin might run away!” he lamented, twirling you around in circles, sidestepping any precarious pumpkins in the way of his feet. 

“as if i’d run away from you,” you replied, trying to ruffle his blonde locks up in the air.

sanji contemplated your words, throwing you down into a bridal carry while he pondered your response. after a minute of totally-real reflection, he flashed you a big ol’ pout.

“you pinky promise?” he whined, kneeling to the ground with you still in his arms, slipping his arm out from under your knees to offer a pinky.

“i pinky promise, my love.” you kissed him on the forehead, causing a heavy flush to don his cheeks and he rolled around the dirt-covered fields in bliss.

you approached his squirming body and gently touched him with the tip of your foot. “get up, mr. prince, i still need someone to carry our pumpkins!” you sung, slinging your bag across your shoulders and attempting to heave sanji to his feet, “unless you’d like me to leave you here…”

immediately sanji arose in dramatic fashion, sprinting back to grab the pumpkins he had abandoned. with ease he lifted them, returning back to your side as if he wasn't carrying two extremely heavy gourds.

“your prince is here! now what are your next commands, my liege?” he announced, dropping to one knee and kissing your hand.

“hmmm…” you brought your hand to your chin, tapping it in 'deep' thought, “you have to help me find more of your pie-pumpkins, and then we can go home and make cider!” you cheered, grasping his hand and running towards the baby pumpkins.

“anything for you, mon amour,” he swooned, watching the sun cast a luminous amber glow across your skin, “anything for you.”

[lmaopuli]

Tattoos and Tequila

— a fluffy Mason Mount blurb

Warnings: just brief mentions of alcohol?

Word count: ~1k

—

“I didn’t know you had all these.” Mason mumbled in your ear behind you, fingers grazing the tiny tattoos on the back of your arms.

“Well that’s because you’ve only seen me in my work uniform, genius.” You smirked, trying to play it cool as you turned around from the bar. But the glint in your eyes gave it away, you were so excited to finally see Mason outside of Carrington.

All the United team and staff were out celebrating the end of a successful season. The evening started out with a proper awards night, with the women in gowns and heels and the men in suits. Of course, the boys didn’t want to end the night there. Thus you, and some of the other younger staff members were invited to the club as well. Going out and getting wasted wasn’t your usual thing, but after seeing Mase in that fitted, grey suit, you needed to see what he looked like in the club—you wanted to see him let loose a bit after a tough but rewarding season. And you know what? After a season of tending to injuries and performing god knows how many physical exams, you deserved a night out too.

So here you were, in your best clubbing outfit, waiting at the bar for at least half an hour alone. You’ve been sipping away at your tequila soda, impatiently waiting for the man you’ve been crushing on this whole year. Checking the time on your phone for the millionth time that night, you were so close to leaving. But low and behold, Mason just had to be fashionably late. Luckily he found you just in time, before you decided to leave for good—and thank god he did. There he was, in a simple white shirt, jeans, and his signature black sunglasses. He always looked good to you, but something about the way he looked tonight, his touches and comment about your tattoos, and the tequila in your system made your heart pick up and your mouth go all dry.

“Has anyone told you how silly your sunglasses look at night?” You cheekily questioned, trying your best to not make it obvious the effect he had on you in that moment.

“Really?” He chuckled, sliding his sunglasses off, “you might be right.” But instead of keeping them on his shirt or at the bar behind you, he slid them on you, slowly going up the bridge of your nose. “I think they might actually look better on you, love,” he mumbled, his hand now resting on your jaw. And while your vision was now much darker because of his sunnies, you swore his charming smile was still the brightest thing in the room.

Oh, you were in for a long night.

“Let’s take a shot,” you quickly blurted out, unable to look at him anymore. The liquid courage from your tequila soda was dwindling, and you needed more immediately.

Mason, on the other hand, loved seeing you this flustered. At work, you always kept it professional, but almost too much so for his liking. Initially, he couldn’t even tell where he stood with you. You’d been hired only a few weeks after he joined the team. The first day he saw you in the physio room, he had become so flustered himself. To be fair, he wasn’t used to a girl physio, and a gorgeous one at that. When you flashed your pretty smile at him saying goodbye at the end of his physical, he couldn’t help but wonder if you flashed that smile to all of his teammates. Maybe you were just this kind to everyone?

His thoughts changed a few months later, though. He had picked up a slight shoulder injury during training and the coaching staff urged him to the physio room right away. For some reason, you'd been the only staff member in the room that afternoon. Your eyes went wide at Mason telling you what happened, immediately helping him remove his shirt so you could take a better look at his shoulder. You weren’t prepared to see what was underneath, however, and Mason definitely noticed your gaze on him, trailing down his abs and on the various tattoos he had scattered around his upper body. At that moment, he knew you felt something too.

Mason wasn’t big on taking shots, but if the girl he’d been thinking about all season asked to take one with him, he was gonna do it. He removed the hand cupping your face, reaching to grab his wallet to pay the bartender, but his eyes never left your frame.

—

“You got any more of those?” Mason asked later in the night, “tattoos, I mean.” His fingers started absentmindedly grazing the ones on your arms again.

“Yeah,” you answered, “I have a few more you can’t see.”

“Well,” Mason followed, “when can I see them?” His face dropped and immediately went red, just now realizing how suggestive he sounded. Why did I just say that?

Yeah, he wanted to see more of you, but he didn’t want to scare you off. He was internally freaking out, worried that he ruined his chances at being more just “colleagues” with you. He wished he hadn’t given you his sunglasses before, so you couldn’t see the embarrassment in his eyes.

Noticing his cockiness slipping away, you just giggled. Of course, you’d let him see the rest of your tattoos one day. The ones no one else has ever seen. But you also had standards, and your feelings for Mase went beyond the physical. You didn’t want to rush into anything and jeopardize that.

“How about we start off with you taking me out on a date, Mount?” You asked, sliding off his sunglasses you had on to look him in the eyes.

His shoulders relaxed in relief. “Deal. What are you doing this Sunday?”

————

So this is a different vibe than my first fic? Idk how I feel about it tbh, part of it’s loosely based on a real life experience I would’ve much rather wanted to have with Mase ��� I’ll prob go back to soft fluffy fluff after this 🤷🏻‍♀️ Feedback, reblogs, and likes are so appreciated :)

[avatarmerida]

@soldrawss : thinks of a huntlow AU

Me: instant brainrot

Sol posted a lounge singer/bartender AU on twitter like less than 48 hours ago and it instantly consumed me. I know nothing about lounge singers or what time period this is but I just went with it tbh here ya go. Part 2

———

She’s not coming over here, the voice in his head repeated as Willow lingered in the doorway of the backroom. No way, now way. Hunter had nearly jumped out of his skin when she came out, assuming she had left by now. The club had been closed for over an hour now, and he was always the last one out. But no, there she stood in the harsh light of the cheap light bulbs that seemed to favor her and her alone. 

She was a vision but she was no illusion.

Maybe there’s some creepy fan waiting outside for her, he thought. The very idea made him shudder. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Willow was the one the other girls called on to take care of these things. He remembered once Eda had kicked out some heckler who had been stealing drinks from other patrons and quickly over served himself. As he was unceremoniously escorted out, he declared that he’d be waiting outside all night. The singer finishing her set came up to the bar to get a drink and Hunter offered to call the police to at least have someone walk her home, but she said she wasn’t worried. Before he could ask why, Willow walked up and asked him for some ice. He saw her knuckles were bruised and had a few tiny fresh cuts, obviously from a recent altercation. Hunter quickly wrapped some ice in a clean rag and began rambling about getting the first aid kit but Willow just chuckled and said it was fine as  though it happened all the time (which Hunter later found out it did). 

“But…. But your hand,” he sputtered, amazed at how calm she was. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, unbothered by the purple hue it had adopted. The ice had prevented the swelling, which seemed to be her biggest concern. “That’s why we wear gloves, right?” She gave him a wink and any chance that a Hunter had of being normal around her was gone. Hunter already knew she had the voice of an angel, but turns out she had the ruthlessness of one too. 

He was hooked.

So every night he sat at the bar, waiting for a glimpse of her. The regulars knew not to order a drink during her set because Hunter’s attention was rightfully elsewhere the moment she walked on stage. It wasn’t just her voice either, her sets were smart and funny too. She’d talk between songs, sometimes telling a story when she was introducing a number. Hunter wasn’t totally sure if they were true stories or just things she made up to help with transitions but any possibility at a glimpse into her life was too tempting to pass up.

Don’t stare, don’t be creepy, he thought, trying to steady his breath.  She had unpinned her hair but that only made her look more stunning in Hunter’s opinion. Her emerald green dress clung to her like it was aware of what an honor it was, making the room feel like it was bland and beige when she wasn’t occupying it. Without her signature white feather boa, he could see her bare arms, covered in freckles like a collection of constellations waiting to be discovered. He had never seen her so close before, he felt objectively starstruck. It was like his eyes didn’t know how to look anywhere else. It felt like being too close to sun.

Usually he could only see her face through a sea of people, the spotlight helped but it paled in comparison to her natural glow. It was like she was destined to always be across the room from him. He held his breath as though this was a sighting the slightest wrong move could ruin, as though she could be startled. But she rummaged through her bag and when she found what she was looking for, she reapplied her ruby lipstick in her handheld mirror shaped like a white rose. She was effortlessly elegant. As she blew a kiss at her reflection, he felt his pulse stop.

 She must be on her way somewhere, he thought. Of course she has a life outside this place, duh. He tried not to look like he was staring as he pretended to write something down, unaware he was holding the pen upside down.

From the corner of her eye, Willow scanned the room and saw they were alone. Perfect, she thought as she snapped her compact closed and made her way over to the bar. 

Be cool, be cool, he begged. He expected her to walk by him, maybe give him a small wave or a smile to acknowledge him and say goodnight. He was mustering up the courage to give her a nonchalant nod, like she was just another person in the bar and not the unknowing keeper of his heart. 

Oh Titan that’s so corny, he thought. There’s no way she even knows my name, I need to get over this-

“Hey Hunter,” she said, leaning on the counter like she was just anyone and not the most angelic thing to ever grace his bar.

“Oh, h-hey,” he attempted to respond casually, pretending to wipe the counter to look busy. He hadn’t exited her to stop. He cursed himself for not using her name as she had said his. He didn’t feel worthy of it. “Why are you here so late?”

 “Skara had a date so we all moved our schedules around to help her out and I ended up with the short straw,” she said. Hunter recalled she had gone on later than she usually did. “But I don't mind, it’s kinda cool seeing this place empty.”

“Eh, you get used to it,” he shrugged.

“That’s right, you always close, don’t you?” she said, knowing Hunter was a famous workaholic. “Oh wow, with the crowds you get I bet you like the peace and quiet at the end of the night.”

“It’s nice,” he admitted. “Gives me time to organize things and do inventory.”

“Oh shoot,  I’m probably interrupting your routine huh? Sorry, I can-.” she leaned back as though to leave but Hunter cut her off.

“No! Uh, I mean no… you’re not,” he tried to cover. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, actually. Someone who's not slurring their words, that is.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind the company,” she said, setting her bag down and making herself more comfortable. “I don’t mind being it.”

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, hoping she’d say yes.

She had been hoping he would ask. “You sure? Wasn’t last call over an hour ago?”

“Well that was yesterday,” he said, preparing a glass for her. “According to the clock, it’s technically a new day.”

“Well whaddya know?” she said as she watched him add ice to the shaker as he proceeded to mix her drink. He thought about doing the tricks he and Luz had practiced to get extra tips on nights when they worked together, but the risk of dropping something and looking foolish was too great so he played it safe. In record time, she had a  drink in front of her.

“How did you know my drink order?” she asked, impressed. 

“I memorize everyone’s,” he half-lied.

“Wow,” she cooed, stirring her drink as she watched him move behind the bar. “You know every drink by heart?”

“I mean, pretty much,” he said. “Just makes things easier, really. Sometimes I make up drinks when it’s slow.”

“Really? Do you give them fun names?”

“Huh? Oh, kinda? I-I mostly name them after birds.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh, I like birds.”

“Oh?” she said, tapping the glass with her nail. Do you like songbirds? She wanted desperately to ask, but instead she said: “Really? What’s your favorite one?”

“Um, well I have the cardinal which is just cranberry juice and bourbon and but I add some garnishes on the side that make it look cool,”

“I’ll take one,” she smiled and Hunter went to work. The moment she set her empty glass back on the counter, he had another one ready in hand for her. She knew he was famous around the club for his attention to detail but she selfishly hoped the gesture was based in special attention to her.

She took a sip and her eyes widened in delight. “Oh! I love this!” She said and Hunter beamed as though it was the only drink he had ever made. “Eda said you were the one who made custom drinks for her and Raine’s wedding.”

“Well, it wasn’t too hard,” he said. “They have very distinct personalities, Raine wanted their drink to be something easy on the stomach but with a hint of apple while Eda cared more about her drink ‘weeding out the weak.’”

“Oh I remember those,” laughed Willow. The wedding had been the first time Willow saw Hunter, it was when she found out he would be working at the club. She had maybe had one too many ‘Eda’s Elixirs’ (some kind of apple moonshine mixed with red wine and whiskey and some secret fourth thing that made it work somehow) and thought she had imagined the stoic blonde she had dubbed ‘Prince Jawline.’ But he turned out to be real, a friend of a friend, a future coworker, a kindred spirit even. A man she still referred to as Prince Jawline when he came up in conversation. He didn’t remember meeting her there, but memory loss was a common theme that night.

But luckily Willow was just slightly better at holding her liquor.

“What about me?” she said, trying to sound as though she hadn’t been dying to ask. “If you had to make a drink named after me, what would it be?”

“Hmmm,” he thought for only a moment. “Probably sparkling white wine and kiwi. It would be bubbly and sweet and green, just like you. And I’d add a pink flower garnish, like the one you sometimes wear in your hair.”

Willow blushed, having thought her question would adorably stump him so she could make a joke about him being a tall drink of water. But this was much better.

 “Well, looks like I have a new usual then, huh?” She said with a smile as he went to give her a sample of his apparently improvised creation. He made sure to select the most elegant glass. 

“So, what’s your secret?” she asked and he froze for a moment before she continued. “How do you make these taste so good?”

“Oh, that! Oh it’s uh it’s the cherries,” he said. “I always put extra cherries in just about everything to make it sweeter.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, you can’t give up your secret so easily, bar boy,” she teased, picking out one of the aforementioned cherries. 

“Usually as a bartender, I’m the one people tell their secrets to,” he joked, trying to focus on counting the limes and lemons. But he hadn’t retained anything except the way Willow’s voice danced, the way it got slow and sneaky when she made a joke. It was the way she talked between her sets when she was introducing a love song.

“Ohh, you’ve got a stash of secrets, huh?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Anything good?”

“Well, I knew about the Blight divorce I think before even Odalia did,” he said in a low voice, fully aware no one else was there or would be there. But he liked how Willow leaned in closer to hear him when he did.

“No!” she gasped.

“Yeah!” he said. He had never been one for gossip, but that was no longer a secret so it didn’t count, right?

“Oh, what else?” she asked, sipping her drink in anticipation. 

“Oh, wow I can hardly keep it sorted,” he said. “I get people telling me about how they hate their jobs, how they’re afraid of getting older. Oh man, you can’t imagine how many confessions of love I get in a night.”

“I dunno, I bet I probably can,” she said with a smirk he thought he imagined. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Anything,” Hunter said, hoping his smile was as charming as he was manifesting it to be. She paused for a moment to create suspense before a smile overtook her face.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” she said before erupting into a sea of giggles. She laughed with her whole body, her whole self present in the silliness and Hunter was so captivated that he almost didn’t notice she was about to fall off her stool. Hunter reached out and grabbed her hand to steady her and she looked at him in awe as he pulled her forward.

He gulped. “W-what do you mean?”

“I can’t wear my glasses onstage because of the glare from the uh light,” she explained breathlessly, not removing herself from his grasp. “So the whole time I’m up there I can’t see anything.”

“Nothing?”

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still locked on him. “Nope, nothing,” she said, biting her lip. “Not unless they’re real close.”

Hunter then realized he was still holding her hand as he leaped backward as though she was on fire. She giggled again, it was like every sound she made was music. He pretended to be invested in the bottles near him.

“Oh uh wow I had no idea,” he chuckled.

“Well I guess that’s a good thing,” she said, sitting back. “It helps get rid of the stage fright when you can’t tell the difference between a packed house and an empty one.”

“You hardly seem like the type to have stage fright,” he said, cleaning out another glass that definitely was not dirty. Or an empty house, he wanted to add.

“Thanks,” she smiled, stirring the remaining ice cubes in her cup with her straw. “You’re sweet.”

“So uh, if you’re not looking at anyone what do you think about up there?” asked Hunter nervously. “Just because you always seem like you’re singing to someone, but that’s probably just because you’re a good performer.”

She smiled. “Skara taught me this trick for how to tilt my head so people think I’m singing to just them,” said Willow. “But I’m actually just looking at the back wall. Or would be, if I could see it. Huh, I guess I’m technically looking at you when I sing.”

He nearly dropped the glass on the counter. “Huh uh yeah well uh but it's not like you can see me or uh anything,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah,” she said, swirling the lingering ice in the cup in her hand. “Shame.”

“Did you want another?”

“I should probably slow down,” she chuckled. “I’ve already had three. Think I’ll work on some of these cherries.”

“Oh yeah you’re probably starving,” said Hunter, feeling stupid “Nothing’s gonna be open now, do you want me to get you like some pretzels or something? I could see if-,”

“No, no, no,” she insisted. “I already made you wash three extra glasses, I am not gonna let you go to any more trouble for me.”

He’d go to all kinds of trouble for her.  

“Fair enough,” he said as he went back to his usual duties.

“Hmm, ya ever try to tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue?” she asked, starting to feel the alcohol warm her chest and make her feel cheeky.. 

“What? Uh, no I don’t think I have?” he chuckled, having never heard of such a thing.

“Here,” she said, tapping the glass nearly full of them as she took one for herself. “Try it.”

He indulged her, taking a cherry and popping it in his mouth as Willow did the same. She watched in delight as he focused on trying to maneuver the stem in his mouth, holding back the giggles as she tried not to win their unofficial race by too much. At last, a look of surprise showed in his eyes as he went to carefully pull out his creation.

“You did it!’ she exclaimed, taking out her matching knot to compare.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s so weird, is that like a party trick or something?”

“Hmm, something like that,” she said, making circles on the counter with her finger. “If you can do it, it’s supposed to mean you’re a good kisser.” She added her latest knot to a glass filling up with stems before giving him a wink. 

“Oh,” he said, nearly choking on nothing. Had he known, he would’ve tried to be cooler about it. Her reveal got exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She loved the way his blush reached his ears. “I uh I didn’t well I don’t even-,”

“What do I owe ya, bar keep?” She said, resting her chin in her fist, having no intention of leaving but knowing he’d be caught in that loop for awhile.

“It’s on the house,” he said, shaking himself out of his trance before deciding to put a single glass away just to seem busy. He wanted to just talk to her, but was worried that focusing on that without a task to keep him busy would make saying something stupid easier. This way he didn’t need to worry about what to do with his hands or if he was staring. He was so used to staring at her freely from across a crowded room, seeing her so close felt almost forbidden.

“Oh no I know how badly this place pays,” she said. “Gimme the damage.”

“Oh no no, you misunderstand,” he said, leaning down with his elbows on the counter to see her better, feeling a burst of confidence for some reason. “When I say it’s ‘on the house’ I mean it’s on Odalia’s tab.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she leaned forward and reached over the bar to grab another bottle from underneath as she quickly unscrewed the top. “Pour yourself a glass then too.”

“Heh, I’d love to but I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” he said, his heart racing at the effortless way she had secured the bottle. He had never been so jealous of a bottle before.

“Awh, you sure? I hate to drink alone,” she teased. She examined his face to see if the phrase sparked a locked memory, but no. He didn’t remember saying that to her at the wedding. Nevertheless, she knew he was ever the professional, only he would consider being the empty bar so far after closing time as still being on the job. “What about a Shirley Temple? Extra cherries?”

He chuckled. “Well, now how did you know my drink of choice?” he said with charisma he hadn’t seen in years, preparing two of them, somehow knowing she’d also want one.

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me,” she said with a grin, As he passed her drink to her, she reached out and purposely placed her hand over his. She could feel his hand lean into the touch as the tips of their fingers fought the urge to interlace. “Thanks.” She made her voice light and airy. 

“Oh yeah, sure,” sputtered Hunter, slipping his hand away as he mentally cursed himself for not being able to match her energy. He wasn’t entirely sure what the energy was, but he was not hating it. “T-thank you too.”

“‘Thank me?’ For what?” she chuckled.

“For… being here, I guess,” he said, not sure what he had meant either. He cleared his throat as he tried to compose a better explanation. “It’s nice having you here. Not just now, either. All the time. I’m kind of a big fan of yours.”

“Really?” she asked. She hiccupped, her hand darted to her mouth to cover it in embarrassment. She shook her head, hoping to shake them and continue to appear cool and collected.

Hunter smiled. “Yeah, I mean, you’re amazing,” he said. “T-the songs you pick are amazing. The way you… I mean, it’s all amazing.”

“Aww,” Hiccup. Darn it, why now??? She thought. But she tried to embrace it, hopefully he would think it was cute. 

He did.

“What’s the sweetest drink you got?” She asked, failing to suppress another hiccup. “Cause that should be the one named after you.” She held her glass to her lips and gave him a wink. 

There were many drinks she could name after Hunter.

One night, she had a sore throat which made her singing sound raspy and deeper. It was a nice sound, but by the end of the night she could barely speak. When she got off stage, Hunter had sent Luz with a special mixture of honey and lemon that had her back to normal the next day. She hadn’t told anyone she was sick or asked for a remedy, but he just knew. 

When she had to work on her birthday, he added a sparkler to her drink. She didn’t know how he knew, she must’ve mentioned once in passing long ago, but he remembered. Luz said he had special ordered the sparklers, so it definitely wasn’t a last minute thing. 

Dang it, that would’ve been a great time for the tall drink of water thing, she thought. The alcohol was making her a little spacy and she missed the way Hunter stopped functioning at her sweetness remark. She let out another hiccup, nearly spilling the drink she held to her lips. Hunter snapped out of his trance as he tried in vain to hide his chuckle and Willow pretended to be offended. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” he laughed in spite of himself. “It’s not bad I swear it’s really… endearing.”

“‘Endearing?’” she repeated, raising her eyebrow. He didn't want to say ‘cute.’ He thought it was cute, but he didn’t want to say that. She hiccupped again and he couldn't help but offer her a guilty smile and she gave him a faux vicious stare. “Well, they may be endearing to you but they’re getting on my nerves.”

“Here,” he said, reaching down to grab something from the fridge. “Biting on a lemon is supposed to help them go away.” He presented her with a recently cut lemon wedge.

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re joking.”

“No, no I swear,” he insisted. 

“Okay then,” she said, reaching down to grab another lemon from the tray. “I’ll do it if you do.”

He was going to protest, saying he didn’t have the hiccups. But instead, he took the slice from her and allowed their finger to brush once more. “Deal.”

She smiled as they both looked at each other and felt something shift. Willow was insanely competitive, and she heard Hunter was too. Mentally, they decided to enter a match to see who could endure the sour taste the longest. They both brought forth their best poker face as they tried to seem casual about the sharp acidity. They stared at each other with cutthroat intensity as their eyes began to water. 

They surrendered at the same time, each discarding their lemons in a napkin  as they exclaimed their remorse.

“Hey, I think it worked,” laughed Willow, waiting another moment to see if a hiccup would interrupt. When he didn’t she refocused on the tart taste lingering in her lips. “Oof, I guess that’s why I don’t sing ‘Life is just a bowl of lemons.’”

Hunter laughed, debating if he should mention her rendition of the song had been his inspiration for adding extra cherries (he had ordered extra, thinking about her while filling out the order form). 

“I’m sure you could make even that sound lovely,” he said softly.

She giggled, before taking a deep breath and sliding closer to him. “Liiife,” she sang sweetly and quietly, as though wanting to lure him closer. “Is just a bowl of… lemons.”

Hunter hadn’t had a sip of alcohol but he might as well have been drunk. Her voice seemed to surround him in an embrace, pulling and pushing him forward as it guided it toward her peridot eyes. 

“I-I like it,” he said, trying to remember how to breathe normally. He gulped as she prolonged her gaze on him and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll dedicate it to you,” she decided, sucking her teeth as she suddenly felt inspired. “Hey you want a sneak peek at something I’ve been working on?”

“Really?” he said, eyes widened before he caught himself. “I-I mean uh, really?” He tried to downplay his interest, but she could see through him. 

“Yeah,” she said, twirling the end of her hair. “You up for a private concert?”

“You don’t have to,” it hurt him to say, He didn’t want to impose. “I mean, you’re off the clock and I don’t wanna-.”

“Oh hush,” she said, flicking the loose strand of hair in the front of his hair, like she just needed an excuse to be closer to him. “You won’t let me pay you for the drinks, consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” he said, not trying too hard to summon an argument. She clapped her hands in excitement as though she didn’t do this practically every day. 

“The mic’s not on, but with no one in here the acoustics are really great,” she said, hopping off the stool. She took her long skirt in her hand as she ran back to the stage, tapping the microphone as she often did before her sets, though nothing happened. She giggled and ran over to the piano to find her starting note as she prepared to sing acapella.

“Okay, well this one isn’t on the set, so lemme know what you think, okay?” She called as she smoothed her dress. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

She took a deep breath and suddenly the alluring sound of her voice flooded the empty room. She knew how to perfectly adjust her pacing to the echoes the emptiness caused. It was haunting and enchanting and Hunter felt as though he could melt into the floor as it swept over him. 

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight…”

As Hunter stood behind the bar feeling a familiar lightheadedness her voice inspired, he couldn't help but notice she had put her glasses on before she started singing. There was no one else here, but she wanted to make it absolutely certain that she saw him.

Inventory could wait until the morning.

[knowiloveyoubabe]

Beautiful Baker Boy

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: fluffyyyyy Summary: Beautiful baker boy meets lovely florist (gender neutral Y/N)

The summer sun bore down on Y/N’s back as they bent over the outside display, silently cursing the lack of clouds in the sky. They rub the back of their neck, where the blistering beam had strangely focused, gently moving around a few bouquets with their other hand. 

They step back, hands on their hips, slowly scanning the small display in front of the tiny flower shop.

“That’ll do, I guess.” They mutter to themself, using the back of their hand to wipe some sweat that had started to collect on their hairline. 

“Y/N, darling!” Their elderly boss, the shop owner, calls out for them from inside the store. 

“Coming!” Y/N hurries inside, their mind still on the flower display.

“I’m heading out soon, love. I don’t want to be late meeting the missus, I still have to swing by the bakery!” His wrinkles become more prominent as he smiles, wiping his hands on the apron wrapped around his waist. Y/N’s hand found its way over their heart as their own smile grew.

“Will you be okay on your own for the rest of the day?” He asks, removing his apron and reaching for the special bouquet he had arranged for his wife of over four decades. Y/N nods their head, smile beaming.

“Of course! Don’t worry about me, you trained me, remember?” They brush their sweat-dampened hair out of their face, admiring their mentor and the love he had for his wife.

“I know, darlin’. Thank you,” His smile lines deepened along with his crows feet as he pats them on the shoulder, nursing the bouquet with his other arm. He nods his head at them, “See you tomorrow!”

“Alright, have fun!” Y/N calls out after him as the door shuts behind him with a ding of the bell. 

Soon after their boss left, the day fell into a bit of a lull. They got a few things done around the shop, helped a few customers, all in an attempt to avoid the behemoth task of organizing the flowers in the back room. But the minutes ticked away like hours and Y/N felt as though the boredom would soon drive them crazy. They groaned as they got up off of the stool behind the cash register and dipped into the doorless back room where they began sorting out the orders. Y/N had barely made a dent in the work that needed to be done before they peeked at the time, noticing it was almost time to close up shop.

“Hello?” Y/N heard a familiar voice from the front, confused as to how they didn’t hear the bell signaling that someone was entering the shop. They peek their head out of the room to catch a glimpse, their heart jumping to their throat when they see the back of the customer's curly head. 

Oh God. Panic set in when they realized who the sultry voice belonged to.

It was Harry, the beautiful baker boy who worked just across the street. Y/N had developed an almost delusional crush, Harry having made many an appearance in their maladaptive daydreams during the slower days at the flower shop. Since the first day they met, Y/N hadn’t been able to get him out of their head. So one would think that they’d be prepared for his weekly visit to the flower shop. “Coming!” Their voice cracking, deepening the blush already settling on their cheeks. They pray that they look somewhat presentable when they leave the back room, their eyes instantly meeting with his. 

“Hey, Y/N.” He smiles, his lovely green eyes scanning their face. 

“H-Hey, Harry.” Y\N wipes their sweaty palms on their apron, trying not to stare at the tattoos on his tanned arms. “Already time for your weekly bouquet?”

Harry chuckles, nodding and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I just closed the bakery, thought I could also drop off some of these.” He reaches into his large tote bag, pulling out a brown paper bag. The smell of freshly baked bread and parmesan cheese filled the air in the tiny shop as Harry placed the bag on the counter next to the register.

“Cheese buns.” Y/N says breathily, unable to hide the smile spreading on their face.

“Your favorite!” Harry’s dimple deepens as his smile widens. Y/N’s heart raced in their chest.

“You remembered?” 

“Of course, it was one of the first things you said to me.” A slight blush appears on the beautiful man's cheeks as he nudges Y/N’s shoulder. They both laugh lightly as they recall Y/N fumbling over their words as they ordered from the bakery for the first time. The cute boy behind the counter had been wearing a sleeveless shirt with a bandana in his hair, flour on his face and arms, and a dimpled smile. 

Y/N shook the image from their head, worried they’d embarrass themself even more.

“You gonna look around?” They changed the subject quickly, clearing their throat. Harry nods, putting his tote down on the counter next to the bag of cheese buns. 

“Yeah, but please, don’t let me get in your way.” He lays a gentle hand on Y/N’s arm, sending a chill through their body. 

“You’re never in the way.” Y/N spoke softly, biting at the skin on the inside of their cheek. Harry’s lips parted slightly, almost as though he was about to say something before clearing his throat abruptly and smiling, a faint blush appearing on his tanned cheeks. 

“I-I should close up the shop.” Y/N looks away from his gaze, trying not to lean into the warmth radiating from his body.

He gently squeezes their arm before releasing his soft grip, allowing them to maneuver around him, to the front of the shop. 

Y/N brought the display inside, cleaned up, and stored everything where it belonged, all while watching Harry from the corner of their eye. 

“Alright, I think I’ve finished.” Harry announces as Y/N finishes up the last of their tasks. They meet him at the register, catching a glimpse at the beautifully curated bouquet.

“Sunflowers, white spray roses, yellow billy balls, and mini hydrangeas.” He lists off each flower in the bouquet. 

“Woah, look at you! You should be the one working here.” Y/N giggles. Harry follows suit, their giggles filling the small shop. Harry hands Y/N the bouquet as they joke about how funny it would be if they switched places, Y/N at the bakery and Harry at the flower shop, discussing the disasters that would ensue. As Y/N sorted through the bouquet, wrapping it up in the nicest brown paper in the shop, a realization hit them.

“Wait, Harry,” Their eyebrows furrow, turning to face him, “These flowers, they’re my-”

“Your favorites.” He bit his lip, picking at his nails nervously. 

“My favorites.” Y/N repeats breathlessly. Harry rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, both of their bodies unmoving.

“Your partner is really lucky.” Y/N says, smiling thinly and inhaling sharply, turning back to the task at hand. Their hands shook as they attempted to tie the twine around the wrapped bouquet, their brain on overdrive. Their mind was so loud, they barely heard the shuffle of Harry’s feet as he got closer, towering behind them.

“I don’t have a partner.” He whispers, barely loud enough for Y/N’s ears. Their body stills, as does the air surrounding the two. The silence between them thickened, the tension swelled.

“You don’t have a partner.” Y/N cuts through the silence, not daring to turn around. Harry’s hand cupped their elbow, tugging lightly, almost begging them to turn around and face him. Y/N hesitated, terrified that he may hear their heart pounding against their chest. 

“Y/N…” His voice soft and deep, beckoned them to face him. Y/N inhaled deeply, slowly spinning around, Harry’s hand still cradling their elbow. Their eyes meet, the tension becoming heavier as Harry licks his lips, parting them. 

“Can I kiss you?” He rasps, his eyes trailing down to their lips. Y/N wasn’t sure if they couldn’t find the words or if they were just unable to speak, nodding their head, entranced. Harry released a sharp breath before his other hand found its way to Y/N’s jaw, pulling them closer, his lips meeting theirs. Y/N snapped out of their trance, wrapping their arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. There was a hunger between them, one they were unaware was present in the other. Soft hands pulled and caressed as they released the pent up tension. It seemed as though they were the only two in existence, Harry held Y/N like they could disappear without a trace any second now. 

Tap Tap Tap

Startled, they release their grip on one another, Y/N’s face whipping in the direction of the person tapping on the glass door of the shop. A middle aged man with brows furrowed and an annoyed look stood beyond the glass, a hand on his hip. 

“Excuse me, are you open?” He yelled through the glass. Harry snickered, used to the irritable side of the service industry. Y/N groaned, signaling no to the man.

“No, we’re closed!” They exclaim, tapping their wrist with their finger, as if they were tapping a watch. The man on the other side of the glass huffs in frustration, rolling his eyes and walking away.

“Cockblocked by the service industry, damn you capitalism.” Harry giggles, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist. They laugh, their hands finding their way to his arms as Harry dips his face closer, laying a gentle kiss on the top of their head. 

“Let me take you to dinner,” He mumbles in their hair, “I’ve been dying to take you out.” He pulls back, looking at their face. Y/N bites their lip, nodding, in stark disbelief that this is happening. Harry smiles, grabbing the finished bouquet and placing it in Y/N’s hands, leaning in and laying a sweet kiss on their lips.

“Wow, I’ve got a date with the beautiful baker boy.” Y/N mutters against his lips, causing him to smile and bump their nose with his.

“And I’ve got a date with the lovely florist.”