#so if i ever draw him with two brown eyes

[tstain-is-an-idiot]

It's 2/2 so take this 2

[mcondance]

knowing better, twisted pleasure ☆ spencer reid

MDNI 18+ oral yay!!!, i love thinking about spencer with his head between my legs so here we are, overstim so “stop” is said once so keep that in mind ☆ title from killshot by magdalena bay, listen as you read if you want! spencer i can’t get enough of you please.

☆ ☆

it’s too much, you can’t. you can’t.

“spence— spence stop,” you plead as you squirm and your legs draw up in an attempt to get away from him. but he just won’t stop. unaffected, he slips his hands under your thighs and pulls you closer to his mouth, to where he wants you.

soft locks are enveloped in your hands as you card your fingers through them because even in your delirium, giving him affection is like breathing. your objections skate right over that pretty head of his and he keeps going, because he knows you don’t mean it. he knows that if he stops and rises back up to his knees, you’ll be begging him to “come back, please,” like you did that one time he felt really evil.

you gasp when you feel two fingers enter you, and you groan painedly when they begin to move, stroking maddeningly.

spencer’s too good at this, his fingers are too caring and precise inside you and his tongue is too soft and sweet as it laves over you. jesus, what the fuck.

it’s all so much, so much. a tortured, groveled moan rips from your chest as another sickly-sweet pang of feeling rocks through you. spencer’s commanding fingers tighten around your thighs, stacking yet another sensation on your already overwhelmed nervous system. human evolution, no matter how developed and perfected, was not made for this. it balks in the face of what spencer’s doing to you.

“oh my god— spence,” you whine, locking in on him through your blurry, teary eyes. between your legs, he looks unfortunately perfect, even as he shuts you down and lights you up all at the same time. you’ve got enough going on under your skin to power your whole block.

it’s lewd, how he looks so pretty eating you out. his messy brown hair and those melting golden eyes, and most disgustingly, his mouth hidden where his tongue flicks against your absolutely soaked center. the visual is art, though, the plane of his shoulders and his ever-expressive liquid hazel eyes flitting between closed and taking you in, in your beautiful ruin.

it’s in moments like these where spencer feels good. you’re explicitly, obscenely beautiful to him, and your pleasure is something he takes great pride in giving to you. as you lose yourself in it, sinking into the sticky pool of feeling, he gets to bear witness to it all.

“oh, baby,” you moan so warmly as he flattens his tongue and licks right over your clit. before, his tongue was quick and precise, but now he’s taken to loving you slowly, licking in a way that could only be called sensual. he hums as he runs his tongue over you again, so salacious, open-mouthed and he looks so dirty that you can’t fucking take it any more. again, your body does its best to protect you from feelings you can’t compute, but spencer does his best to make you take what you need more than air.

then, his fingers inside you focus on their goal, and he’s curling them familiarly and kissing that spot, rubbing it softly.

“yeah, fuck—,” is all you can scramble out before what’s been building up in you since he first settled between your legs explodes. if you didn’t know better, you’d think you’re exploding with how fucking much you feel. it should be humanly impossible to feel this way, but it’s not, because you’re feeling it here and now as your ears pop and your vision goes black and spencer just keeps fucking consuming you. he has the nerves to moan from between your legs, sending shockwaves through your already ravaged being.

eons pass. you travel through a thousand universes and sit upon a thousand suns before you come back to your Earth, with your spencer looking softly up at you, his head laying on one of your glossy thighs. as your senses slowly return to you, it seems he’s wiped his hand off on the sheets because the hand that’s rubbing the outside of your thigh is relatively dry, considering its previous position.

“you okay?” he asks warmly.

“fuck you,” you drag, croaky and unpolished.

he snorts.

“yeah, you’re okay,” he says through his laughing, unhooking his hand from under your trembling thigh as he rises up to hover over you. he kisses you, and just barely begrudgingly, you kiss him back.

“good?” he whispers over your lips. you wrap your arms over his neck as you both settle with each other.

“yeah,” you acquiesce lightly with a shrug and a tilt of your head, before you bring him down for another kiss.

[reyenii]

since edwin is very closed off, except for when he’s with his best friend, charles, costume designer kelli dunsmore reflected his buttoned-up mentality through his bespoke suit, complete with bowtie and collar. edwin’s outfit, along with charles’ period garb, were designed to help them stand out more in modern day port townsend. “i knew edwin would, because no one dresses like that now,” says dunsmore.

dunsmore wanted everything about charles to feel “a little bit cool and underground,” from his union jack and the who bull’s-eye patches to his checkerboard pins. his little cross earring and chain on the outside of his shirt are also meant to be homages to the ’80s.

in the show, crystal’s hero color is purple, which you’ll notice in her velvet coat and long silk letterman jacket, which dunsmore thought of as a psychic cloak with hand-embroidered patches, including the wilting rose of england.

her brown trench coat represents an explosion of everything going on in her mind. dunsmore decided the scribbled words and drawings are a result of crystal writing all over it to express her inner turmoil. there are even lyrics on there from the song she’s listening to on the tube when she meets the dead boys.

david’s connection with crystal seeps into her wardrobe, too. since david wears a flower shirt, dunsmore’s team hand-painted flowers onto crystal’s black boots. and niko is wearing a dark sweater with flowers on it when we first meet her, as an homage to crystal. the costume department also drew the same rune pattern the dead boys use to exorcise david in episode 1 onto crystal’s trench coat and on the tab of her wool bomber jacket. “so she’s always got some sort of protection,” says dunmore.

every color niko wears is inspired by what’s happening in that episode, from the green post-sprite exodus to blue when she’s feeling sad. niko only wears a white look, with nods to her japanese heritage, in the finale as a reset. the charms on her obi belt represent the colors she’s worn all season.

night nurse is someone who’s in control all the time and likes things to be in their proper place. dunsmore looked to vivienne westwood for inspiration, since everything in night nurse’s world is a bit exaggerated. (by the way, niko’s orange monochromatic look is a nod to her scenes with night nurse and night nurse’s red hair.)

since david is a demon, he finds a london boy that looks cool enough for crystal to find attractive. that meant dunsmore dressing him in a shearling jacket you’d find in “all the guy ritchie movies,” black pants and creeper shoes. the costumer’s mood board for “david the d” featured radiohead and amy winehouse and her husband blake, who often wore hats similar to the one you see david wearing in the show.

pay close attention to monty’s leather jacket and you just might spot an inlaid crow feather or two.

it’s not only esther who wears clothes with a gilt, old-gold color — cat king and night nurse also do as a nod to their villainy. (esther and cat king also have similar fur coats.) amidst her beauty, dunsmore wanted esther to be a little rough around the edges. she wears a cuff around her hand that’s adorned with a snake and a ring with teeth all around it to represent the teeth she’s collecting from all the little girls. her eye necklace is meant to be her witch pendant.

mischievous as ever, cat king has (cat) eyes everywhere and is aware of edwin’s affection for charles. so he wears charles’ socks the first time he meets edwin.

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited)¹ retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. [ one, two, three]

this was a stupid idea, a dangerous idea; one that could potentially get you hurt— you knew that, but the temperature was below freezing and you couldn't bear the thought of letting him walk to god knows where. you wouldn't allow that, not when you could offer help.

you came to a slow halt beside the man, rolling down the passenger side window and smiling softly, awkwardly. “hi! mind if i ask where you're headed?" he's taller than you assumed, standing at least a foot or two taller than you, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his all-black tee.

the fitted clothing accentuates his large frame, hinting at the strength that lies beneath. a mask covers his face, a skull painted onto the fabric, and a large military duffle bag is slung over his shoulder, weathered and worn.

he stops abruptly and gradually swivels his head to face you. his eyes are a striking shade of brown when they meet your gaze— they look……hollow, devoid of emotion. you smile once more and tilt your head, your palms slick with sweat against the steering wheel. “s’just, the temps gonna drop a bit more later in the night and i thought i’d give you a ride, so you don't freeze to death on your way.”

your attempt at a joke with the man falls short and you clear your throat and drum your thumbs softly, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. you jump when he finally speaks. his voice is like velvet dipped in honey. it's deep, rough, gravelly, and accented. you can't help but be taken aback for a moment, as a delightful warmth spreads through your body at the mere sound of it.

“y’r parents ever taugh’ you not ta talk t’strangers?”

you purse your lips and cluck your teeth, trailing behind him as he resumes his stride. sure, you should have driven off, gone back to your cozy apartment to indulge in a couple of movies, and drink yourself into a stupor but, you simply couldn't bring yourself to do so.

“my name’s _____, what’s yours?” he stops briefly and cranes his neck to the sky for a moment with a hint of irritation, before breathing out a heavy sigh; he seems hesitant, confused— and doubtful. then he turns to face you and your small fiat. “simon," he says softly. smiling you pull to a stop, “well, we’re not strangers anymore, simon.”

simon scoffs in slight amusement but slowly makes his way to you, when he reaches the passenger side window, you can clearly see a hint of distrust lingering in his eyes. it’s clear that he’s not accustomed to kindness from strangers. but you remain undeterred, your grin unwavering, as you lean over to open the door for him.

with a stiff nod of appreciation, he settles into the passenger seat, his worn-out bag settling between his thighs as he sinks into the comfort of the cushioned upholstery.

as you pull away from the curb, the man's eyes wander out the window, lost in thought. "so, where are you headed?" you ask gently, voice laced with genuine curiosity as you try to break the tension, your voice trembling slightly.

however, his response is nothing more than a cold, detached stare out the window. it’s as if he's not really there, as if his mind is lost in some distant place, far away from the reality of this moment. and yet, there's something captivating about his emptiness, something that draws you in despite the warning signs flashing in your mind.

“could be a killer.” simon voices, head slanting towards you; he looks comically large for your small fiat car and you can't help but smile. “are you?” he grunts but doesn't respond. the car speeds through the night, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thumping of your heart. he's like a puzzle waiting to be solved, a mystery begging to be unraveled; and you were curious.

“the nearest shelter,” he finally utters. “thats where i’m headed.” you hum softly and swallow thickly; this was a stupid idea, a dangerous idea; one that could potentially get you hurt, you knew that, but—

“stay with me tonight.”

[luveline]

could I please request a remus x reader that isn’t used to affection and cries at being called a pet name <3

—Remus calls you lovely, so you cry in his back garden. fem

You hold your hands out to the fire pit, relieved when heat kisses your palms and warms your arms to the elbow. Summer nights are supposed to be warm. Not in Wales. 

The decking under you bends and groans as multiple pairs of feet cross it. Someone steps off by your legs and moves further into the garden. Solar lights warm the space and a battery powered lantern lights the patio table where Sirius hosts a championship of Speed. 

A pair of shoes stop by your legs. They step down and a body sits next to you tightly, thigh to thigh, no want for space. “Hey,” Remus says. “Are you cold?” 

“Not really.” 

“Did you bring a jumper?” 

“I’m not cold,” you laugh. “Of course I did, though, it’s upstairs.” 

Staying with Remus and his friends has been fun so far. The idea of spending a few weeks of your summer between your second and last year of University at Remus’ house had felt daunting when they suggested it, but you’ve had nothing but fun so far. It’s nice to have friends. Nicer to have patient and gentle ones.

“You can have my jacket? Wear it over your shoulders like a cape.” 

“No, thank you. Really.” 

Remus takes your arm. Gives it a quick rub with his thumb until his hand moves down to yours. He feels your fingers, his palm soft, before he returns to his personal space. “You don’t feel too cold. I’ll ask James to put another log on in a bit.” 

“All the food is keeping me warm.” 

He grins. Brown eyes, brown hair, lashes of firelight on his cheek. “Are you having a good time?” 

“Of course I am.” 

“Yeah? Will you tell me if you’re not? I know it’s weird staying somewhere else. Even if it’s just that the bathroom makes you miserable or you need extra socks.” 

“It’s like I’m on holiday with all my best friends,” you say lightly. 

“You are on holiday with your best friends. I’m not, ‘cos it’s my house, but this is the definition of a holiday.” 

“Thank you, for inviting me.” 

Remus puts his arm around your shoulder, and he kisses your temple with a gentle smile. “I wanted you here, lovely. We all want you here.” 

His arm falls away. It’s just amicable affection, you know that, but it’s more than anyone’s given you in a long time. You’re surprised he’d want to; you must feel a deep, deep tenderness for someone to call them lovely like it’s their only name, and to kiss their forehead with a smile already in place. 

You pull the inside of your bottom lip between your teeth. It’s precious, to be wanted. To have someone as special as Remus show you what you mean to him plainly. You’ve had a great day filled with nice food and good friends, and now you’re warming your knees by the flickering fire pit in the Welsh countryside, stars emerging above you, the moon a pinky nail by the mountains. 

You tip your face into your hands. 

Remus brings a hand to your back and draws a shape without comment, but his hand flattens, and he feels it loud and clear when you sniffle. “Dove?” he asks softly. 

You raise your head quickly, sniffling again as you wipe hot tears off of the hills of your cheeks. “Sorry.” 

“Did I upset you?” he asks, sitting up straight. “I’m so sorry, what did I say?” 

“No, no, it’s nice. It’s nice, you’re always so nice to me.” 

“You’re upset because I’m nice?” 

“I’m just not used to it, that’s all.” 

“Not used to it,” he says, frowning. His brows set. He’s nearly stony.

“You’re the nicest friend I’ve ever had.” 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

You nod, shivering as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, no room left between you. His cheek smushes into the side of your brow, a heat like the fire warming you, the two of you listening to the sound of wood embers popping. 

He makes a sound somewhere in his chest and pulls you closer again. Impossibly, he shifts, and his second arm comes around to turn his side hug into a proper one, as though he’s changed his mind about it just a few seconds in. You turn into him without apprehension. 

“You’re not used to it. Do you like it?” he murmurs. 

You press your face to his jaw and neck. Your arms act of their own accord, tightening behind his back. 

“You should be used to it, someone like you. You should be so used to it that it bounces straight back off you again.” He rubs your shoulder. His fingers work into a tight muscle gently. “You lied about being cold, I can feel it now. Your back is freezing.” 

You raise up off of the decking to hug him harder. He’s all for it. 

“We’ll teach you exactly how to be part of the world’s touchiest friend group,” he promises. “You're already a good hugger.” 

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ cw. none, fluff, established relationship, reader wears a sundress <3, fem! reader

picking grapes with diluc, but you rather admire what's yours.

you sit underneath a large tree, straightening your sundress as your eyes ardently dance along your boyfriend's movements.

the pearly sound of ice cubes floating in your refreshing drink whistles as you take a sip, eyes curious, mind wandering. you find yourself holding your breath at the sight of him, or his well-toned back muscles bulging from beneath his shirt.

diluc brushes away a feeble lace of sweat on his forehead as his tailored shirt moves with the tension in his limbs. it fit him perfectly, and such you could easily discern by the amount of muscles showing underneath the fabric.

a chorus of birds chirp a love song and write your love in the sunlight.

there was no pain or poison in the air— by this tension and heat, you could pour the air and call it syrup, a love liquid.

each one of your exhales tensely draw together when you continue to watch him, a cold breeze drifting through the thin fabric of your dress.

diluc walks towards a brown basket full of grapes as he picks it up easily, as if he didn't even consider it being heavy— and his corded muscles ripple when he lifts it to a different spot that wouldn't bother him during his work.

the atmosphere too was warm, comfort battering like butterflies in the air as the small area you were resting in was located in an idyllic corner of the winery, undisturbed by others and almost completely quiet.

your feet sink slightly into the grass and a shiver kisses along your spine as diluc's footsteps contract the same time your own heart leaps.

he kneels in front of you, "you done watching me?"

ah, of course he noticed.

he smiles, extending his hand towards the frill hem of your sundress before planing his rough knuckles over your collarbones gently.

just looking at you.

but his eyes, deep of love and kind, swing and clamor in vehemence, revealing strong emotions.

you exhale softly at his touch and hum when he smoothes his knuckles over your skin so cautiously, not to hurt or pain you, as if you'd break if he dare to apply more pressure.

it was enough to make your heart leap in your chest, your eyes like molasses overflowed.

you cough out, placing your drink aside shakily, "you see, i was just admiring what's mine,"

you answer cheekily, your heels drawn back as your thighs open a little— not too much, of course, adelinde must be near, but his lashes flutter infrequently upon gazing at your bare legs.

that he has kissed so many times already.

"that makes us two then," he admits without breaking his stare on your thighs, dancing over the way this dress fits your frame.

as to punctuate the meaning of his words further, diluc slowly leans forward in need to kiss you, kiss your lips and leave you panting.

here, on a glittering array of blossoming flowers and sweet scents, one hand cradles your cheek softly before he tilts it, his thumb carefully stroking over your bottom lip when he melts himself into you ever so tenderly.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[buckys-wintersoldier]

A little bit older, a whole lot nicer | Ari Levinson

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 -> (Ex-)BoyfriendsDad!Ari Levinson x Female!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> When your boyfriend breaks up his dad takes care of you. He will treat you right and even though he is older it doesn’t stop the feelings you have for one another.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 6.402

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) 18+, Minors DNI, shitty ex-boyfriend, angst, smut, age gap (reader in her early 20’s, Ari in his early 40’s), fingering (fem!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasm, cum eating, hint of Ari’s breeding kink, daddy kink, praises, aftercare, lots of kisses, insulting (ex boyfriend calling her a whore/bitch), fluff

𝐀/𝐍 -> I want to thank @little-miss-dilf-lover for helping me to come up with the ideas. @amathslutsguidetofandom for helping to decide a title. I also want to thank @imtryingbuck for proofreading.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 -> Multifandom-Flash Bingo | 1.4 | The first cut is the deepest | @multifandom-flash | Fandom-Free Bingo: Wild Edition | I1 | Rubbing their stomach | @fandom-free-bingo | Seasonal Delights Bingo | Alternate Prompt | drawing circles with their fingers on the others skin to calm them down | @seasonaldelightsbingo

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The sun is beautiful, brightening the living room of the Levinsons. It's a big room with the most adorable windows you have ever seen; they reach the ground, and when the sun is shining into the house, the living room is the brightest room in the house. The furniture is white, but it still looks soft. In the middle is a large couch you're sitting on right now. It's comfortable and warm; behind your back are some cushions, and your legs are crossed while you let the sun shine on your face.

Noah, your boyfriend, and you have been dating for three years now. He introduced you to his dad pretty soon after you started to date, and since then, you've always been welcome at their house. His dad loved you from the first time he saw you, admiring the way you smile and when your nose is slightly scrunched when you find something disgusting.

"Ari, do you think he will be happy that I'm surprising him?" You ask, shifting slightly and looking around to face the older man.

Ari, who is sitting in the armchair, nods his head before he narrows his eyebrows. His middel long, brown hair falls into his face when he does so, and he wipes the strands with his big hand back behind his ear. His muscles are flexing, and you can see the veins poking out when he moves his arm. The t-shirt he is wearing only covers his shoulder, and you gasp slightly at this view. Even though you have seen it a lot, you always admire it, and your mouth is immediately watering.

"Is everything all right between the two of you?" Ari asks, his steel blue eyes piecring into yours.

You swallow hard, then you nod slightly. You're not sure if it's right or not because Noah acts weird when he is around you. He has less time for you, and when he avoids talks or dates, you only sit around; sometimes you cuddle, but most of the time he just convinces you to let him fuck you. It's not that you don't like it, but he doesn't pay attention to your feelings, and when he comes, he pulls out; he doesn't care if you have pleasure, and when it was him first loving you, it's now only fucking you. No aftercare; just a small kiss before he takes a shower, dresses himself, and lets you take a shower then too. When you watch movies, they are the only ones he likes, and when you ask for one to watch, he tells you the other movie is the one he prefers.

"What is it, princess? Did he hurt you?"

Ari leans forward and places his arms on his thighs, still looking at you. You shiver softly when he looks at you with such an intense stare. You don't know that your boyfriend's father knows you that well, but he does. He knows when you're not feeling well; he sees it in the way your eyes aren't shining as much as they are used to. Your smile is still beautiful, but it doesn't reach your eyes, at least not right now when you try to smile. You shake your head. You want to tell him about the things that aren't as great in yours and Noah's relationship anymore, but you're afraid that Ari will push you away then. Since you feel so welcome in this family, like you never were in your own, you feel safe and loved. But throw it away because you may just ask for too much in a relationship.

"He doesn't do anything. That's the problem, but I probably just ask for too much," you say with a sad smile on your lips before you sigh. "When we were just a few weeks together, he was always so cute; he paid attention when I liked something or when I didn't like it. But now-"

You interrupt yourself when you shake your head slightly. Tears form in your eyes, and you turn your face away so Ari won't see them. You hear him sighing and leaning back. Before you can say something, your phone is buzzing, and you take it to see that Noah sent you a message.

'Hi, I thought a while now about a way to tell you. Sorry, but I have to break up; things between us just don't work anymore.'

You gasp slighly, and when you go on his chat, you see that he changed his profile picture. Noah had the same picture as you — one where you wrapped your arms around his neck and he kissed your cheek. Now he has changed it to him kissing another girl. You feel the tears slowly rolling down your cheeks, and you try not to sob loudly. Your heart aches, your world is breaking down in just a short time, and you feel like there is nothing left but pain. You don't know what hurts more — that he obviously cheated on you or that you lost the only place where you felt really comfortable and safe.

Even though you loved Noah, you fell slowly for his dad. You wouldn't have broken up because you thought Ari was just like a dad for you, but whenever he touches you or the two of you are alone, you feel a tingling in your body. When he looks at you with his intense stare and starts smiling, it warms your heart. But you just thought it was because your father left when you were younger, but Ari would stay up all night with you when Noah would sleep, and you would have a nightmare — you know, because it happened and Ari was making sure you felt better when Noah was ignoring you and mad that you woke him up.

You woke up with sweat covering your whole body; your breath was heavy while you looked through the room with wide eyes. A nightmare woke you up, and you felt like someone was still looking at you. But you couldn't see anyone in the room; you heard your heart beating, the blood rushing through your veins, and you felt the tears all over your cheeks.

"Noah?" You asked quietly, looking for your boyfriend, who was sleeping next to you.

You softly grasped his shoulder and woke him up. The way he looked at you made you shiver; the usual expression full of love was just an annoyed and disappointed one. He didn't care what you wanted; he pushed you back and turned around. You were crying silently, sitting up to pull your knees up and wrap your arms around your legs. But after another groan from Noah and him telling you to be 'fucking quiet now or he will help you out with his dick' you decided to get up and go to the living room.

When you walked out of Noah's room, you already heard the television in the living room. Walking to the room quietly before you looked around to see Ari lying on his couch, his face turned to the television until you cleared your throat. His blue eyes were looking up and down your body for injuries or something. When he didn't see any, he smirked and sat up, showing you to sit down next to him, and you did. Ari was placing a blanket around your shoulders, his broad hand rubbing over your back, while your body was slightly trembling. Your legs bounced up and down, and Ari knew you always did that when you were nervous.

"What's wrong, princess?" He asked, and you felt the shiver along your spine, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body.

"Just a nightmare," you said, pulling the blanket closer around you.

Ari drew small circles on your back and offered you a cup of hot chocolate. You agreed, and he sat there with you, watching the most romantic movies, until you fell asleep in his arms. He laid together with you on the couch, pulling you with your back as close as possible against his rboad chest, and his arm was wrapped around your waist while he watched you half of the night. He had never seen someone more adorable, and he just couldn't bring himself to look away from you.

He can never get enough of you; his eyes are always on you when you're around. And his smirk grows when he hears you laughing. But right now, he just hears the quiet, muffled sobs leaving your pretty lips. Ari sighs, leaning back in his armchair, before he clears his throat, getting your attention.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I should leave now," you mumble quietly.

You want to get up, but your legs feel so weak that you just fall back down on the couch. He looks at you, wanting nothing more, but holds you close and makes sure that whatever caused you to feel that bad disappears. Ari wants to comfort you, but he doesn't want to force you to be close to him if you don't want to.

"Princess, come here," he says, tapping his thigh, and you look at him with red, widening eyes.

Ari almost hisses when he sees the trails of your tears down your cheeks, your red eyes, and the way your bottom lip is slightly wobbling. You swallow thickly and push yourself up from the couch. You make your way over to him slowly. The pain in your chest grows when you think about Noah and the way he was never there for you, but his dad is. Ari is sitting in front of you, his steel-blue eyes showing you so much love. The older man waits for you to sit down on his thigh, and you do, your legs dangling over one of his legs while you sit on the other. Aris' hand is sliding up and down your back, his fingers drawing circles on the fabric of your shirt. Your head is placed against his shoulder, and your tears are soaking the shirt slowly.

“What happened, princess?”

“N-Noah, h-he cheated. A-And he broke up. Am I not good-looking enough? I-I understand when you hate me now; I'm sorry,” you say, fisting his shirt and pulling it tight against you, inhaling his scent deeply.

“Princess, you’re beautiful — the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Looks like Noah just doesn’t know what he is going to lose when he prefers some girl he just hooked up with instead of the beautiful girl who is sitting in my lap right now,” Ari says, his hand sliding higher to your neck.

You lean more against him, his shirt still tightly in your hand, when you look up at him. Your teary eyes meet his ocean one, and you see something in them you have seen so often, but this time it feels different. It feels special. There is something that makes his eyes shine in a combination of lust and love, like the ocean blue has a small bit of darker blue in them. You get lost in his eyes — the way you can see deep into his soul — and he doesn’t stop you; he doesn’t turn away or push you away. Ari is looking into your eyes with such an intention that your legs are getting weak, and if you didn’t sit in his lap, you would probably fall down.

“Ari—" you whisper.

His other hand found its way to your thigh, but you didn’t realize until he squeezed it softly. He smirks and his eyes light up the moment his lips curl up and you bite your lip. The tension between the two of you changed suddenly. You want — you need Ari. The skin underneath his large hand tingles, and you want more of that feeling; you want to forget everything that Noah caused — the pain, the tears. You only want Ari, want to give in to the feeling you both tried to hide for so long.

“What is it, pretty girl?” He asks, pushing you softly away, causing you to sit straight in his lap.

His hands capture your cheeks, and he wipes your tears softly with his thumbs away. Ari’s lips are just a few inches away from yours, and you can feel his breath on your skin, warm and soft. His touches are soft, his thumbs moving lightly over your cheeks. You lean close, closing your eyes, but you don't break the distance, too afraid of what he could do or say when you would do so. Ari chuckles, pulling you even closer, and presses his pink, plump lips on yours. His lips move as softly as possible against yours; they're salty because of your tears, but it doesn't bother the two of you. You part your lips slightly, letting Ari slide his tongue into your mouth, playing with your tongue while his one hand is still holding you by your neck and his other is stroking over your thigh. You feel his fingers inching closer to your core before he moves his hand away.

“Ari, please—" you say, pulling away softly and looking at him through your lashes.

“Princess, we can’t. I’m way too old for you. I shouldn’t have kissed you; I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t think like that, not at all. But your boyfriend just broke up, and Ari would fuck you now — even if he would make love to you — it would be just to distract you from your ex-boyfriend. And as much as he loves you, he doesn’t want to be just a one-time thing for you. His dick is growing in his pants, the kiss was hot, and the thought of you moaning his name underneath him — it turns him on beyond belief, causing his dick to throb and to soak his boxer briefs.

“But I-I love you, and I need you. Ari, please,” you whimper, tears building in your eyes.

Your eyes slide over his broad chest, which is still covered with the shirt he is wearing, over his stomach, and over his pants. His cock is pressing against the fabric, and it’s already visible that he is hard. The bugle in his pants is huge, and you whimper, your eyes focused on it, when you place your hand on top of his pants and press it slightly down. Ari watches you, and he groans when you press your hand into his cock. You can feel him growing even more and smirk softly when you look into Ari’s face.

“Daddy, I need you,” you say, seeing the change in his expression when you call him ‘Daddy’.

“I love you too. But I don’t want to be a one-time thing for you.”

“But you won’t be a one-time thing for me. I've had feelings for you for a while. B-But I thought it was just because you’re like a dad I never had, but everything is tingling when you touch me. You’re so much more than someone like a dad. Please, Ari,” you say, your hand still in his cock.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I can hold back when I get a first taste of you.”

“I’m sure. Ari, please.”

“Good. But be daddy’s good girl, yeah?” He says, smirking when he presses his lips against yours.

His tongue slips immediately past your lips, causing you to moan. Ari has never heard someone as beautiful and attractive as you moan. The older man groans into your mouth, his hand inching closer to your core. The sounds coming out of your pretty mouth make him go crazy; your soft moans are like music for the brown-haired man. Your pussy is dripping, and with every inch he gets closer to your core, you wiggle more on his lap. Ari grasps your thigh tightly, squeezing it until you’re sitting still before he moves his hands further to your pussy.

Ari pulls softly away. Both of you catch your breath while you hold his shirt still in your hands, pulling him as close as possible. His other hand glides to your ass, smacking it softly, making you yelp. Your eyes widen, your lips are still parted, and your breath is heavy when his big hand captures your pussy. Even through the fabric, it feels so intense that you throw your head back and thrust your hips against his hand.

“Don't be so impatient, princess. Daddy needed to wait to get you for so long; now you can let him play with your pussy,” he groans into your ear, kissing down your jawline to your neck.

You whimper, tilting your head to give him more space, and his lips graze over your soft skin before he bites into your neck. Ari’s marking you as is, kissing the spot where he just bites you before he kisses your neck further down. Moan leaves your lips, muffled by you biting on your lip, to stay as quiet as possible.

“Let me hear you, pretty girl. Daddy wants to hear those sweet sounds when he makes you feel good,” Ari murmurs against your skin.

“But what when you don’t like it? Ari—" you interrupt yourself when you feel another wave of tears in your eyes and then down your cheeks.

Ari stops with his kisses and removes his hand from between your thighs. He takes your hand — which is still placed in his dick — in his big one. He then brings your hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly. The older man looks the whole time at you, searching for a change in your eyes or in your expression. When you smile softly at him, he still sees the uncertainty in your eyes. The way your lip is slightly wobbling and your leg is bouncing so softly, but he sees it. Ari smiles softly at you, kissing your cheek and the corner of your mouth. He then presses his lips softly against yours.

“I love to hear your pretty moans. So sweet and lovely, princess,” he mumbles against your lips, peppering some kisses along your jawline.

“And when you think I’m ugly when we have sex?”

“I won’t think that. You know why?” He asks, and you shake your head. “Because you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And Daddy’s has seen a lot of girls, but none got his attention like you get it.”

You smile, pulling your hand out of his and taking his hand in yours, guiding them back to your pussy. Ari chuckles, placing his hand on your lower stomach and rubbing his fingers in small circles over your clit. You moan, throwing your head back while you grasp his arm to steady yourself. Ari slips his hand underneath your pants and panties, his fingers moving closer to your wet entrance. He groans when he feels your arousal coating his fingers. He gazes at some of the slick around his digits and smears it all over your pussy. He plays with your clit, twirling it between his fingers before he slides his fingers once again through your folds.

“You like that, pretty girl?”

You nod, earning a soft slap on your ass. You squeal, and your eyes widen when you look at him.

“I need you to use your words, princess.”

“I-I like it, daddy,” you mumble, blushing.

Ari chuckles, pulling his hand out of your pants and smirking even more when you groan, frustrated. He grasps your hips and lifts you up, getting up as well and walking into his bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands hold you firmly by your ass when he enters his bedroom and places you on the bed. It’s a big one, a comfortable one, and you sigh softly when you feel the plush sheet underneath you. Ari has a lot of pillows in his bed, which isn’t as interesting as him pulling off his shirt.

A soft moan escapes your lips when you see his high-defined abs and his brown, curly chest hair. Your mouth drops open, admiring him. Ari smirks, walking a step closer, while he unbuckles his pants and lets them slip down his legs. You sit up, reaching out to slide your hand over his chest, feeling the soft hair underneath your skin. When your gaze glides lower, you see the outline of his cock; his dick is pressing against the fabric of his boxers. Where his tip is, there is a small, dark spot, showing the pre-cum leaking from his cock.

“Like what you see, babygirl?” He asks with a grin on his pink lips.

You nod, and your hand moves smoothly down over his abs until you graze with your fingers the waistband of his boxer briefs. Ari follows your movement with his steel-blue eyes, smirking when you hesitate before you let go of the fabric and look up at him. He places his hand on your cheek, caressing your skin before he pushes you by your shoulders back. You crawl backwards, placing your head on the soft pillows, and rest your arms underneath your upper body, pushing yourself up. Ari gets on the bed as well, his hands gliding soothingly over your body. When he grasps your thighs with his small hands, he pushes your legs further apart, making space to place himself between them. The older man settles his large body between your spread legs, laning over and placing his hands on both sides of your shoulders. With a smirk, he leans further down, pressing his lips softly on yours, his tongue sliding over your lips.

“Ar— Daddy, please,” you moan, hands running along his muscular man up to his broad shoulders, where you dig your fingers softly into soft skin.

He smirks, kissing down your jawline, over your neck, until he reaches your collarbone, which is still covered by your shirt. You throw your head back, letting yourself fall deeper into the pillows, and sigh softly. Ari's hands grib the hem of your shirt, and he chuckles softly, thinking a moment to just rip it off. But he decides against it and pushes it higher, revealing your stomach. You arch your back, letting him shove the fabric over your breasts, then you sit up, and Ari takes your shirt completely off. He throws it to the side and unclasps your bra. Aris touches and movements are soft and slow. When he throws your bra away to your shirt, he pushes you back down.

“Fuck, look at you. Beautiful,” he mumbles, his hand sliding over your collarbone to one of your breasts.

He kneads your soft breast in his hand, and his thumb slides over your nipple. You moan softly, arching your back to get more of his soft touches. The older man leans down, sliding his tongue over your nipple, causing you to yelp in surprise. His touches and movements are so intense. He sucks softly at your nipple, his hand playing with your other breast. Ari moves his lips further down over your stomach, kissing every inch before he reaches your panties. His fingers hook up with the waistband of your pants, shoving them together with your panties down. The older man groans when he sees your pussy. He removes your pants, settling back between your legs, and admires your pussy. You try to close your legs; his intense stare causes you to feel slightly ashamed.

“Spread your legs for Daddy; he wants to see your pretty pussy,” he groans, grabbing your thighs and pushing them further apart.

Your folds are glistening, and he inches his face closer to your dripping pussy. Ari lays on his stomach, and when his eyes are focused on your pussy, he leans closer, kissing your folds softly. You arch your back, your hands flying into his hair, and you tug harshly at them. Ari's warm breath hits your wetness, and when he licks a strap along your folds, you moan loudly, your eyes closing, and you push yourself more against him.

“There she is, good girl,” he praises.

Ari dips his tongue into your entrance, groaning when you clench around it. He pulls it out of you, using one of his hands to guide it to your entrance. The brown-haired man coats his fingers in your arousal before he pushes one digit slowly into you. Ari moves his finger in and out of you, feeling your tight walls clench around his finger. You moan softly, arching your back, while you push yourself more against him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans.

The older man leans closer, capturing your clit with his lips, and sucks softly at your sensitive spot. Your eyes roll back while his tongue twirls around your clit. His long, thick finger is moving against your sweet spot. The brown-haired man pushes another finger into you, scissoring and curling them. Ari knows exactly what he is doing with his tongue and fingers, hitting all the right spots. You feel the knot building up in your lower stomach; your moans are breathless. You tug more on his hair, pulling him closer to your pussy. Ari groans against your clit, causing a vibration through your body. A shiver runs along your spine, tears forming in your eyes, slowly rolling down your cheeks while you whimper softly.

“Aww, pretty girl. Don’t cry. Daddy's gonna take care of you; do you wanna come, princess?” He asks, looking at you.

You nod, gripping his hair tighter. He places his lips back on your clit, sucking softly. The older man pumps his fingers at a steady pace into and out of you. Your slick is dripping out of you, coating his fingers. Ari hits your sweet spot a few more times, your walls clenching hard around him, sucking him deeper into your tight cunt. Your breath hitches when you come all over his fingers. Ari groans, pulling his fingers out of you and licking a strap down to your entrance. He laps at your pussy, taking all your juice. A deep groan leaves his lips, sucking softly while he tastes your sweet cum.

“You’re tasting so good, princess. Could eat you out the whole day,” he says and smirks.

Ari gives you a moment to come down from your high. He brings his fingers to your mouth, waiting until you part your lips for him to push his fingers into your mouth. Twirling your tongue around his fingers and slowly sucking at them causes him to groan. He leans closer, pulling his fingers out of your mouth to press his lips against yours. His lips move hard against yours, full of desperation. Your hands slide along his back, scratching slowly over his soft skin.

He lets go of you, pushing himself up before he removes his boxers. The brown-haired man’s dick springs free, slapping against his stomach. Ari’s cock is huge; a vein is running along the underside of his shaft; your mouth waters; and you swallow to not suddenly drool because of the sight of his cock. His tip is red and leaking with pre-cum. Ari crawls back on the bed, pushing your legs further apart and getting between them. He grasps the base of his cock, slapping his tip softly on your pussy, You yelp in surprise, wiggling your ass in anticipation.

“You’re sure you want that?” He asks softly, his other hand reaching out to caress your cheek softly.

When you nod your head softly, Ari slides his cock through your folds, coating his dick in your arousal. He then lines himself up with your entrance and pushes the tip of his huge length into your tight pussy. Ari enters you slowly, stretching you out around his cock. Your hands rest on his back, grasping into his shoulders to give you some hold while he pushes inch by inch into you. You moan, looking into his blue eyes through your lashes, while Ari leans closer to press his lips on yours.

“You’re feeling so good, pretty girl. So tight, just made for Daddy,” he says, smirking when you clench around him.

He pushes his dick balls deep into you, staying still to give you a moment to adjust around his length. Ari is huge, and you feel a soft pain in your pussy, but when he starts to thrust his hips softly, it turns into pleasure. The older man is pulling his cock out of you before he thrusts his hips against yours again. He moves at a slow pace into you, feeling your tight walls clench around him, squeezing him so well that he feels like he wants to push his cum into you immediately.

“Can’t get enough of that pretty pussy. My pretty pussy, my princess,” Ari mumbles, pressing his lips against yours.

Ari thrusts his cock at a harder and faster pace into your pussy. You moan loudly, and your eyes widen when he hits your sweet spot with every thrust. Your walls are squeezing his length; Ari’s cock is throbbing. His mind is running wild when he remembers that he is fucking you without a condom right now — the thought of him pushing his seeds deep into your sweet cunt and pumping you full with his cum.

“I’m gonna give you all my cum, pump you so full, and push it deep into your pussy, pretty girl,” he groans, throwing his head back when you suddenly squeeze him even tighter.

The tip of his cock is hitting your sweet spot. Ari’s thrusts are fast but still soft. His balls are slapping against your ass, and his hips crash against yours. Sweat is running over your forehead, and you can feel Ari sweating just as much underneath your hands on his back. His chest hair is scratching over your breasts while he pushes in and out of you. 

“Daddy, please, I’m so close,” you whine, arching your back.

Pleasure in your stomach grows with every thrust of his dick into you. His tip hits your sweet spot every time he pushes into you. The feeling of your growing orgasm gets more intense, and when Ari slips his hand between your bodies to play with your clit you throw your head back. Your eyes roll back, your mouth drops open, and you squirt all over his dick. Your walls are clenching around Ari’s cock. He groans loudly and comes just a moment after you. He pushes his cum deep into your pussy, fucking you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, you squeeze me so well. You’re feeling so good, and you’re so beautiful, princess.”

You smirk, blushing at his words. Ari’s hand slides to your face, caressing your cheek before he runs his fingers through the strands that are in your face, and he swipes them softly out of your face, bringing them behind your ear. Ari kisses you softly, pulling his cock out of you. You hiss about the sudden emptiness, feeling his seeds throbbing out of you.

"Ari—" you whine, grasping his shoulder tighter.

“Let’s clean you, and then we cook your favorite food, oke?” Ari asks, and you nod with a shy smile on your lips.

Ari gets up, walking around the bed before he picks you up and carries you into the bathroom to go to the toilet, while he looks for boxers and a shirt for you. When you finish and wash your hands, he holds the clothes up, smirking when your eyes light up. Before you can grab it, he pulls it away, wrapping his arm around your waist, and lifts you up, walking further into the bathroom to let you sit on the edge of the bathroom.

"Need to clean you first,” he says, laughing softly when you pout.

He then takes a washcloth and puts it under water. Ari brings the washcloth to your thighs, spreads them softly, then washes your inner thighs and your pussy. His touches are soft, but the friction at your sensitive push is enough to make you moan. Ari smirks while cleaning you before he hands you a towel to dry yourself and take on the clothes while he cleans himself as well.

“Ari?”

“Mhm?” He asks, turning around to look at you with a worried expression.

“You know that you could have impregnated me now?”

Ari’s eyes widen when he looks at you; he definitely thought about it. But it just turned him on, and hearing it now, he isn’t sure what you’re thinking about it. He walks closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, and he pulls you against his chest.

“Would it be bad?”

You shake your head. It wouldn’t, not at all. You have seen Ari often with kids, and he is so soft and sweet. Ari grins, leaning closer to capture your lips before he cleans himself to get dressed as well.

Ari made the two of you your favorite food, letting you sit on the kitchen counter while he always kissed you when he passed you. So he kissed you a whole lot because he walked past you on purpose. When he was cooking, his hand was resting on your thigh, and you looked at him while he was all concentrating on cooking. He filled your food on two plates and told you to get into the living room and make it comfortable while he took the plates to bring them over.

When you’re eating, you watch a movie, but Ari is focused on you because of the way you look so adorable and sweet, especially when you laugh about a silly joke in the movie. After both of you finish eating, you’re curled up on his side. At least until you hear the keys in the door before it swings open and you hear footsteps, the closing of the door, and then your ex-boyfriend walks into the living room, looking at Ari before he sees you curled up at his side.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, raising his eyebrow.

“I-“ you stutter, not sure what to say, but luckily Ari helps you out when he turns to face Noah.

“We watched a movie and had lunch together.”

“That’s why she is wearing your clothes?” Noah asks suspiciously. “You— Please tell me you didn’t fuck her, did you?”

Ari and you stay quiet; you just whimpe quietly, causing the older man to pull you even more against him. His hand draws small circles on your back when he almost pulls you onto his lap.

“That’s disgusting. You just fucked that little whore?” Noah shouts; his expression shows nothing but disgust.

The older man pushes you softly away before he gets up from the couch. His jaw is clenching, and you hear him inhaling deeply. Ari walks close to Noah, with a bit of distance between them. He sighs before inhaling deeply once again.

“Watch your mouth! I haven’t raised you like that. Cheating on her and now insulting her as a whore. Firstly, maybe we shouldn’t have had sex, but we did. And secondly, just because we had sex doesn’t mean she is a whore. You haven’t treated her the way she deserves while you were together; you pushed her away and hooked up with a girl, breaking up with Y/N for that other girl.” Ari says, his voice calm but stern, and you shiver slightly.

His words are causing some tears in your eyes. Is he thinking that it wasn’t good to have sex with you? Maybe he regrets having had sex with you. The tears slowly make their way over your cheeks, and you turn your face away.

“I broke up with her because I hooked up with a girl who let me fuck her like I want!”

“Noah! I thought I'd raised you well, not selfishly. A girl or a woman is not a toy, and sex is not only to please you. Go into your room. We can talk about it when you calm down, but before you're not, we are not going to talk about it. I don’t want you to shout or insult.” Ari says, shaking his head slightly.

“So you pick her over me? Why can’t she leave our house?”

“Because I say so!” Ari says, sternly.

Noah hums, annoyed, as he walks into his room. He slams the door, making you flinch and look with widened eyes at Ari, who immediately looks worried when he sees the tears on your cheeks. He walks to the couch, sitting down next to you and pulling you into his lap. His hands hold your hips tightly while he presses his soft lips on yours.

“What are those tears for?” He asks, bringing his hands to your cheeks, to wipe the tears with his thumbs away.

“I’m sorry. You had sex with me without really wanting it, didn't you?”

“No! I wouldn’t have had sex with you when I wouldn’t have wanted it just as much as you. I’m sorry it sounded like that. I love you, princess,” he mumbles, kissing you.

“I will sleep at my girl's house tonight. Don’t want to hear you fucking that bitch,” Noah says.

“I told you not to talk like that!” Ari says still in a calm voice, but you can hear the anger in his voice.

You slide your hands along his chest, drawing some small circles to calm him down. When Noah mumbles something and calls his girl to tell her, he comes over, and the brown-haired man sighs. Ari turns his face to you, tears glistening in his eyes, and you do the same as he did before and wipe them away with your thumbs. He smiles softly, leaning in to kiss you, his tongue sliding over your lips, and you part them softly.

“I love you, princess. So much, and I don’t regret that we had sex,” he mumbles against your lips.

“I love you too, Ari. Are we-“ you interrupt yourself, unsure what he is going to say when you ask him if you’re together.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Ari asks with a smirk, and you nod before pressing your lips against his once again.

“Yes!”

Ari laughs, pulling you even closer before he hands you the remote to let you decide which movie you want to watch next. His arms are wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you close while he kisses your neck, causing you to giggle and wiggle softly in his lap.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @capsbestgirl77 @princesscore-angel

[punkshort]

Thank you anon for this request!

Part Two of A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Now that your daughter is born, Joel is itching for another but you are still feeling a little discouraged with the way your body looks. He quickly puts an end to those feelings.

Warnings: language, fluff (absurd amounts), body worship, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!receiving), hand job, breastfeeding (does that need a warning? idk), discussions of pregnancy

WC: 3K

"I want another one, I really mean it."

You dropped your book in your lap and raised your eyebrows at Joel as he stepped into your bedroom and carefully shut the door behind him.

"Are you insane? We just had that one two months ago!" you reminded him.

He frowned at you like he was offended but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Don't call her that one, she's our daughter and her name is Emma," he scolded before yanking off his shirt and making a face when he realized he had spit up on the shoulder.

You rolled your eyes and tossed the covers off your legs. "Why don't we see how we adjust to being parents before we make any big decisions," you suggested as you walked toward your bathroom. Leaving the door open, you splashed water over your face with a little soap before brushing your teeth, all the while completely unaware of the way Joel was sitting on the edge of your bed staring at your bare legs underneath his old shirt, utterly entranced.

"C'mon, we make such perfect babies," he whined when you emerged, grabbing your arm and pulling you to stand between his legs. You smiled and played with the hair around his ear and he hummed, perfectly content, with his hands cupping the backs of your thighs.

"She is pretty perfect, isn't she?"

"Just like her mama," he replied, planting a kiss on your stomach, which was still a little swollen from giving birth. You grimaced and slipped out of his grasp, trying to hide your discomfort, but nothing ever got past him.

"What's wrong?"

You shook your head and tucked yourself back under the covers, hiding your body from him. "My stomach..." you began, trailing off before picking up your book to distract yourself. Joel's face filled with worry and he quickly stood.

"Are you in pain? Doc said if there's any pain, you gotta -"

"It's not pain," you told him while pretending to focus on your book.

"Then what?"

Joel tossed his dirty shirt into the hamper before stepping out of his jeans. Your eyes drifted over his body while he put on his pajamas and your discomfort grew when you thought about how your own body now looked.

"It's just... it's not the same as before."

"What's not the same?" he asked, tugging a shirt over his head and padding over to his side of the bed.

"My stomach," you said quietly. "My hips. My thighs. Fucking... everything."

Joel paused, his expression softening as he watched you pretend like it didn't bother you as much as it did, but he saw the look in your eye and knew better.

"Baby," he whispered, leaning over and pinching your chin between his fingers so you would look at him. "You're perfect. Don't you dare for one second think badly 'bout the body that grew our little girl." He pressed a tender kiss against your lips before drawing back, his deep brown eyes flickering quickly between your own.

"I just don't feel like myself," you admitted, leaning into his touch.

"That's alright," he assured you, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You will again one day."

"You promise?" you asked, blinking away the tears that were beginning to build.

He smiled and nodded before kissing the tip of your nose. "'Course, I promise."

His hand slid around your waist and tugged you closer with his palm laid flat against your lower back. "Don't think I ever thanked you properly for givin' me our little girl," he murmured, slipping his tongue past your lips. You circled your arms around his neck and allowed yourself to relax into his hold. "Did so fuckin' good, darlin', y'know that?" he whispered in between kisses. "So fuckin' brave, so strong..." His hand drifted further down to squeeze your ass and you giggled. "Can I show you how thankful I am? Will you let me? Hm?"

"Joel," you mumbled when his mouth grazed over your throat. "We can't, you know that."

He hummed and shifted around so your back was pressed against your headboard. "Oh, I know. But there's one thing I can do."

He shimmied down the mattress until his shoulders were wedged between your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses all down your front, through your shirt. When he reached the apex of your thighs he glanced up at you for permission. After a moment's hesitation, you nodded and his face lit up before hooking his fingers around your underwear and peeling them off. Much to your relief, he didn't ask to remove your shirt, and it wouldn't be until much later you would realize he did it for your benefit; so you would feel comfortable and relaxed.

At first, you were nervous, knowing full well you likely didn't look the same down there either, but when you heard a deep groan rumble through his chest before licking a lazy stripe through your folds, your fears began to melt away.

You sighed and leaned back into the pillows, letting your legs fall open and your eyes slide shut while he lapped slowly at your pussy with the occasional moan. His mouth felt so fucking good and his beard burned the insides of your thighs just right that you could feel yourself floating away.

"God, Joel," you rasped. Your fingers began to twist around his curls and he smiled because he could feel your tension and stress melting away under his tongue.

"Taste so good, baby," he said, voice all thick and gravelly. The sound sent a tremor through your body and your mouth fell open when he flattened his tongue over your clit in fast circles. You accidentally pulled too roughly on his hair and he groaned, eyelids fluttering while he pressed his hips into the mattress, seeking just a sliver of relief.

He had to keep reminding himself not to slip his tongue or fingers inside you, the doctor's warning to wait echoing somewhere in the back of his mind and he would never, ever do anything to potentially cause you harm. All he wanted to do, all he wanted to ever do was make you feel good. But he knew things would be different for a while, and that was okay. Different didn't mean worse. Different just meant... different.

"More," you moaned, hips bucking upwards. His tongue moved faster over your clit until his eyes flashed open and caught you watching him with your chest heaving and your gaze dark with desire. He smirked before puckering his lips and latching onto your clit, suckling and flicking the tip of his tongue until you were a writhing mess under him. You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans and it only encouraged him to eat at you faster, grab at your thighs tighter, rut his hips harder until your body finally tensed and stilled while your climax ripped through you.

He pulled away from you with a gasp, kneeling before you with his cock impossibly hard as he watched you catch your breath. Your limbs were all loose and weak and your legs were spread wide, shiny with your arousal. Your eyes flickered down to the bulge in his pants and you scrambled up, joining him in the center of the bed on your knees as you reached for the waistband of his pajama pants.

"No, sweetheart, that's not -"

"I know," you said, cutting him off and pushing his pants down to his mid-thigh. Your lips latched onto his while your fingers curled around his cock, setting a quick pace straight away. He groaned into your mouth and cupped your face, thrusting into your hand, both of you on your knees for each other with your legs trembling.

"Feel what you do to me, little mama?" he growled as he nipped and bit at your chin. "Ain't nothin' ever gonna change that. Y'hear me?"

You nodded and moved your wrist even faster between you. You could feel his stomach tense against your forearm and you smirked to yourself, knowing he was just seconds away.

"So hard for me, Joel," you whispered, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. "Can't wait til you can fuck me again. Can't wait to feel you inside me... god, you always feel so good."

He whined and grabbed ahold of your shoulder so he could steady himself. His gasp morphed into a groan against your skin when he came. His spend trickled down your hand, all warm and sticky, then his body sagged with relief.

"Christ," he mumbled weakly before looking down at the mess between your bodies.

"Hold on," you told him, sliding off the bed so you could snatch your underwear from the ground and rinse your hand off in the sink before bringing back a wet washcloth he could clean up with.

"Thank you, darlin'," he said, swiping at his lower abdomen. Once he felt he was clean enough, he tossed the rag on top of his shirt in the hamper and collapsed next to you in bed with a heavy sigh. "Didn't have to do that, y'know."

"I know," you replied, turning on your side and tossing your leg over his waist. You nuzzled into his side and smiled when he pulled you closer. You laid together quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet before Emma woke up demanding milk and a change.

"You take as long as you need, baby," Joel said, breaking the silence. You tilted your head up to look at him questioningly. "Til you feel like yourself again," he explained, then began to lovingly rub his thumb over your shoulder. "Even when the doc gives us the all clear, I want you to know I wanna wait til you're ready, alright? Just know I love you no matter what."

You smiled and pressed a kiss against his chest, unable to respond with the right words to express how happy he made you and how loved you felt.

"So another one, huh?" you asked. He grinned and nodded excitedly.

"Emma told me today she wants a sister."

"She told you?" you giggled.

"Yep. Was talkin' 'bout it before bed. Told her what a great job her mama did makin' her and how much fun it'd be to have a little brother or sister. And, y'know," he said with a dramatic sigh. "She wasn't on board at first, either, but I told her there's plenty of love to go 'round, that she don't need to be so greedy."

"Who woulda thought," you teased, poking him in the chest. "Joel Miller has a certified case of baby fever."

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "It's all your fault. You're the one who started all this."

"I know. Just couldn't help myself, I guess. Now look at us."

Joel turned onto his side and pulled you flush against his chest. "Yeah, now look at us." He leaned down and captured your lips with his, cupping your face gently and taking your breath away. "Happy little family," he added once he pulled back, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek as he gazed down at you adoringly.

You bit your lip and gave him a sly look. "We did have a lot of fun trying, didn't we?"

"Oh, yeah," he quickly agreed. "I do miss you knockin' down my door lookin' for me to fill you up all nice 'n good. Made me feel like a prize winnin' bull, the way you were clamorin' to take a ride."

You gave him a mock look of horror and slapped his chest, making him laugh so deep, you could feel it.

"I was not clamoring!"

"Oh, like hell you weren't!" he said, making you both laugh with how passionate he was about it. His arm wrapped around your waist so he could tug you against his hips. "You couldn't get enough. Damn near hauled me outta the bar by my collar one night, you remember that?"

You could feel your face grow hot and your laughter quickly died down at the mention of that night. Joel looked at you curiously, wondering what he said wrong.

"Can I tell you a secret?" you asked meekly.

He nodded slowly with one eyebrow raised.

"That night at the bar," you began, dropping your eyes to fixate on a shirt stain. "I maybe wasn't..."

Joel had a feeling he knew where you were going with it but he couldn't help himself, he just had to hear it.

"What, baby?"

You groaned and flipped onto your back so you could stare at the ceiling when you said, "I maybe wasn't ovulating that day."

A huge grin broke out across his face and he rolled on top of you, caging you in. "I fuckin' knew it! That new girl was talkin' to me and all the sudden you came outta nowhere sayin' you needed help with your goddamn plumbing."

Admittedly, the excuse you had used was a little too on the nose, but you brushed it off.

"Yeah, okay, fine," you said, reaching around behind him to squeeze his ass. "So maybe I didn't want anyone messing with my bull."

He groaned and followed it up with a terrible impression of a bull's snort before diving into the crook of your neck, sending you into a fit of giggles.

"Makes sense now," he mumbled against your skin. "You were so fuckin' greedy that night, had my head spinnin' like a goddamn top the next day."

"Yeah, that was a good night, wasn't it?" you agreed, tilting your head back so he could access your neck a little easier. He hummed and latched onto a spot behind your ear, causing warmth to pool low in your belly once again. When you lifted your hips to grind against his thigh, he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Easy, darlin'," he warned.

"I know, I just miss you so much," you whimpered, grabbing the sides of his head and pulling him up so you could kiss him. And just when his tongue dove into your mouth and his fingers began to rub lightly at the outside of your underwear, a familiar cry rang out from the bedroom across the hall.

"I got it," he said immediately, but you shook your head.

"She's hungry, I gotta do it," you told him. He relented and rolled back to his side of the bed so you could get up and hurry into Emma's room.

You shushed her as you picked her up carefully from her crib, swaying your body back and forth as you walked to the rocking chair. You lifted your shirt for her and Emma instantly quieted down when she latched onto your breast. Once silence filled the air again, you leaned back into the chair and sighed. Knowing full well you would be stuck in her room for the next half an hour, at least, you plucked a pillow and blanket from the floor with your free hand and maneuvered them around yourself to get more comfortable. Once you were satisfied, you glanced down at your daughter and smiled when you caught her watching you intently with very big, serious brown eyes that were the spitting image of her father's.

"So what do you think, sweet girl?" you murmured softly, rocking back and forth in the chair. "You talking to your daddy about a little sibling behind my back? I thought we were a team, you're supposed to be on my side."

All you got in return was a little gurgle but she appeared to be listening and enjoying the vibration from your voice, so you kept talking.

"I don't know, maybe it's not a bad idea," you told her. "I think I just get a little nervous because it took so long to have you, I get worried it might be next to impossible again."

Her eyes began to droop a little and you smiled.

"Then again, you are pretty perfect. And perfection takes time. Besides," you lowered your voice just in case Joel could hear, "I don't think your daddy would mind if it took a little while again."

When Emma fell asleep with that ridiculous milk-drunk expression you had grown to love so much, you quietly changed her and tucked her back into bed before tiptoeing out of her room and back across the hall.

Your bedside lamp was still on but Joel had fallen asleep sitting up with his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a book dangling from his hand. You smiled and slipped the book away, lying it face down and open on his bedside table before carefully removing his glasses.

"What're you doin'?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"You're asleep," you whispered before turning out your light and slipping under the sheets.

"No, I ain't. Was just restin' my eyes til you got back."

"Uh huh," you teased. When he laid down flat, he held out an arm for you and you quickly nuzzled into his side with your own arm wrapping loosely around his waist. You took a deep breath, inhaling his distinct and comforting scent before closing your eyes.

After a few quiet moments where you thought he had fallen back sleep, he surprised you by speaking again.

"So, she convince you to have another?"

You grinned and burrowed your face deeper into his side. "Maybe."

He made a pleased noise and kissed the top of your head.

"She made a good argument," you said.

"That she did."

You let the silence envelop you for another moment before adding, "Maybe in a few months we can give it a try. No pressure this time, just... if it happens, it happens."

"That sounds like a plan to me," Joel said happily.

And although you had just said you didn't want to put too much pressure on it, you fell asleep dreaming up baby names, anyway.

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[r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e]

idk i’ve been thinking for the last day about modern day corroded coffin, semi-successful in the local music scene, did a self-funded tour through six states last fall where they all lived in the van together and didn’t shower for four weeks, has a standing gig at the dive bar next to the highway and the strip club, they’re established, they have a small but dedicated local following, they —

“can’t play a WEDDING, are you fucking with me?” eddie says, when gareth shows him the text from his cousin who’s getting married in two weeks and who, as of last night, has no wedding band because they accidentally double booked themselves and gareth’s cousin had sent the deposit in late.

“i’ve explained to him so many times,” gareth says, furiously texting his cousin back, “we’re not that kind of band—”

except gareth’s cousin, instead of responding directly to gareth’s text outlining the musical thesis of corroded coffin or watching the youtube link gareth sends to the show last month where eddie got a black eye in the pit from someone in an inflatable garfield costume, just sends back —

“holy shit,” eddie croaks, looking at the string of zeros on the end of the number gareth’s cousin offers me to pay them in exchange for saving his ass and his wedding and his marriage, since his fiancé was demanding a live band. “that’s—”

“three months of rent for each of us,” gareth says, awed. “that’s buy actual fresh vegetables money. that’s go to the dentist money—”

“yeah, okay, give him my number,” eddie says.

so they spend the next two weeks practicing every white people wedding song they can think of. there’s no way they’ll be able to do, like, get low, tragically, but they can pull off the classics, especially after they bring chrissy onboard for vocals and keyboard. there are places where eddie draws the line — no fucking journey or especially insipid top 40 — but they can do some whitney. abba. fucking — mr. brightside. a lot of it is pretty simple, when you get down to it, “and people will be wasted anyway,” jeff reminds them. there’s an open bar at the six figure venue gareth’s cousin booked. hopefully everyone will be too hyped just hearing the opening baseline to i want you back to notice if they fumble anything hard.

rehearsal montage, chrissy takes the boys to the mall to buy suits montage (except for gareth who, like most transmasc dudes, already has a custom fitted and tailored suit ready to go in his closet; instead he makes catty remarks about brian’s tie choices.) chrissy makes eddie put his hair up and eddie makes jeff shave the experimental mustache he’s been growing and eventually the day of the wedding arrives and they load up the van and drive 45 minutes to the six figure waterfront reception venue.

they riff for about ten minutes while the whole wedding party makes their grand entrance into the massive tent set up on the lawn, ending with gareth’s cousin and his new wife dancing in, the whole crowd screaming and clapping. it’s cute, eddie thinks, vamping as long as he can while gareth’s cousin’s best man takes the mic and introduces the new couple and directs everyone to their seats for dinner.

and meanwhile: best man is frankly one of the hottest dudes eddie’s ever seen. he’s got longish brown hair that he keeps pushing out of his eyes, full lips, an insane shoulder to waist ratio, big hands. eddie sneak looks at him while they play a bunch of low key jazzy standards for people to eat their expensive dinner to. he’s sitting with his arm around the shoulders of a girl with shaggy auburn hair, and they keep leaning in to whisper to each other and giggle, so. oh well. but it doesn’t hurt to look, eddie thinks, watching the guy take his suit jacket off and roll up his sleeves and make a toast to gareth’s cousin and his new wife’s long and joyful marriage.

once most people have had their plates cleared away jeff turns to eddie and the rest of the band and nods, once, and while chrissy plays the opening synth chords to i wanna dance with somebody, jeff turns his front man showmanship deal all the way up.

it’s good. people are fucking hyped, so they throw themselves into it, feeding off the crowd’s energy, and almost no one is more hyped than mr. best man. he’s jumping up and down, his arms around gareth’s cousin and his wife. he knows every word to dancing in the dark (hot). when they transition into robyn’s dancing on my own he turns to the girl with auburn hair and points at her and screams. cute, eddie thinks, watching best man pick her up and spin her around while she downs her wine and shouts along. okay, really fucking hot, eddie thinks, when he finally pulls his loosened tie all the way off and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt and eddie can see a hint of chest hair peeking out.

they slow it down for the first dance. it’s the leon bridges one everyone always does, but it’s perfect in jeff’s range, and there is not a single dry motherfucking eye in the audience. they do a couple more slow ones, throughout the night. best man dances with his girlfriend and then gareth’s grandmother and then with every child under the age of 10, letting them stand on his shoes while he twirls them around. how is this guy fucking real, eddie thinks, which of course is when best man notices eddie looking right at him and their eyes meet. best man looks a little flustered, at first, and then grins at eddie, right at him, before spinning the flower girl around in dizzying circles.

jesus christ, eddie thinks.

they’re closing out the night on the only other request gareth's cousin gave them: the one from the end of dirty dancing. jeff thanks the crowd, offers his congratulations to gareth’s cousin, and then goes right into it. except as jeff sings the first line everyone absolutely loses their shit, turning to best man and jumping around him and one of the bridesmaids. what the fucking hell, eddie thinks, keeping one ear on jeff and chrissy’s duet and one ear on the crowd piling around best man “—you guys HAVE to, dude, you’ve GOT to—“ but whatever it is he has to do is not immediately apparent to eddie. best man dances in a circle with the rest of the wedding party and auburn hair and the bride and groom, shout-singing along, and then during the build up to the second prechorus gareth’s cousin’s wife and her bridesmaids start pushing everyone to the sides of the dance floor, so there’s a long space in the middle, so the bridesmaid with curly dark hair is at one end and best man is at the other end and oh my god is he actually going to —

the bridesmaid runs and then launches herself at best man, who lifts her perfectly, right on cue at the peak of the second chorus, his hands steady on her hips while she floats her arms out in front of her just like jennifer grey. they hold it for a few moments while everyone loses their fucking minds and takes a thousand pictures. eddie actually takes his hand off his guitar for a minute. he thinks his mouth is open. he can see the muscles in best man’s arms flexing under his white button up shirt as he carefully lowers the bridesmaid back to the ground, laughing, his eyes scrunched up in joy.

eddie is maybe a little bit in love.

they close it out. the whole crowd whistles and stomps and applauds for them, which feels pretty good, eddie’s not gonna lie. as they start packing it up and high fiving each other and a couple people come over to ask if they have a card, if they’re still booking for next year or the year after (what?) gareth’s cousin comes over and hugs every single one of them, almost in tears, and then adds another 2k to the check he writes for them. eddie pulls out his cigarettes right then and there.

“steve, come meet the band,” he yells, when steve and auburn hair walk past. “gareth saved my whole ass, oh my god —“

“you guys were fucking incredible,” steve says, grinning, shaking gareth’s hand. “best wedding band i’ve heard in years —“

“they’re not even a wedding band!” gareth’s cousin shouts. “they’re like metal — moshing — thrash, i don’t know, LOUD—“

“whoa,” steve says. he pushes his hair out of his eyes and then turns that blinding smile right on eddie. eddie feels struck by it, wants to stagger back like he’s taken an actual blow. “cool, so you guys — play locally, or —?”

“oh my god,” his girlfriend says, rolling her eyes; steve elbows her in the side.

“i like your guitar,” steve says, gesturing at the warlock eddie’s still holding in his non-cigarettes hand.

“oh, uh, thanks,” eddie says.

“it’s a cool shape,” steve says, stepping closer, flicking his eyes down and then back up to meet eddie’s. there’s sweat gathered along his hairline, dampening the ends of his hair. behind him, his girlfriend coughs something loudly that sounds vaguely like slut.

eddie feels his eyebrows go way up.

“uh, thanks, shapes are. you know. shapes are great,” eddie says, nonsensical. he sees gareth shoot him an incredulous look out of the corner of his eye.

“can i bum one?” steve says, looking down to the cigarettes in eddie’s hand.

“totally,” eddie says. “let me just—“ he holds the warlock aloft and gestures to the open guitar case.

“sure,” steve says. he waits around while eddie hustles through getting his shit sorted out and then turns away politely while eddie has a silent desperate telepathic conversation with the rest of the boys, who roll their eyes and make their way over to the still open, still free bar.

where auburn hair is standing and talking to chrissy, putting a hand on chrissy’s arm while she laughs at something chrissy says.

hm, eddie thinks.

“so,” eddie says, walking out from under the tent with steve, down towards the water, awash in the moonlight. he holds out his cigarettes. “you like springsteen?”

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[novaursa]

The Wolf's Flame

- Summary: When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after Fires That Never Freeze. To read all parts in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @21-princess

Your fingers gently trace the downy softness of Alysane's silver hair, a mirror of your own. Her tiny eyelids flutter as she breathes steadily against your chest, her warmth a comfort in the quiet of the nursery. The light filtering through the windows casts a soft glow, making the strands of her hair shimmer like moonlight on water. She stirs slightly, letting out a small, contented sigh, and you can't help but smile, though it is tinged with sorrow.

You can still vividly recall the first time Jace held your son, Killian. He had been so careful, so reverent, as if the boy was made of the finest glass. 

"He's got your spirit," Jacaerys had said, cradling Killian in his arms with a grin that could have brightened the darkest day. "And a bit of Cregan's stubbornness too, I reckon. He's going to be a strong one."

You remember how his brown eyes had softened, his usual warrior's stoicism giving way to a tenderness that was rare to see in him. You had laughed then, a light, joyful sound that echoed in the stone halls, lifting the spirits of those around you. 

But now, that memory is a dagger to your heart. Jace is gone, another brother taken by the cruel hands of war and treachery. The Battle of the Gullet claimed him, like it claimed so many others, leaving behind only a hollow ache where once there had been warmth and love.

Your grip on Alysane tightens ever so slightly, as if you can protect her from the world that has already taken so much from you. She shifts in her sleep, her tiny fists clenching, and you wonder what kind of life she will have in this world that seems so determined to tear your family apart.

The door creaks open softly, and you glance up to see Cregan standing in the doorway, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. His presence is a comfort, a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions. He steps into the room, his boots barely making a sound on the cold stone floor.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion as he comes to stand beside you. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, a warm, steadying presence. "Just like her mother."

You smile faintly at his words, but it's a fragile thing, easily broken. "She reminds me of Jace," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "The way he looked at Killian… it was as if he could see all the good in the world reflected in him."

Cregan's jaw tightens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with shared grief. "Jacaerys was a good man," he says after a moment, his voice low and filled with respect. "He would have been proud to see how you're raising our children, Y/N. Proud of the mother you've become."

His words are a balm, easing the sting of your loss, even if only slightly. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, drawing strength from his steady heartbeat. "I just wish he were here to see them grow," you admit, your voice thick with unshed tears. "To see the family we’re building…"

Cregan wraps his arms around you, careful not to disturb Alysane, who remains peacefully asleep in your arms. "We'll make sure they know who he was," he promises, his voice strong and resolute. "We'll tell them stories of their uncle Jace, of his courage, his kindness. He won't be forgotten."

You nod, a tear finally slipping free, tracing a path down your cheek. "I just miss him so much," you confess, the words breaking like waves against the shore.

"I know," Cregan whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

For a long moment, the two of you stand there in the quiet of the nursery, holding each other close, sharing the weight of your grief. Alysane stirs again, and you look down at her, at the peaceful innocence on her tiny face. She is a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life continues, new stories begin.

As you gaze at your daughter, you feel a small spark of determination flicker within you. You will protect her, protect Killian, and ensure they grow up knowing the love and legacy of those who came before them.

"I'll make sure they know," you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. "I'll make sure they remember him."

Cregan nods, his grip on you tightening just slightly, a silent promise that he will stand by you, no matter what. Together, you will keep Jace's memory alive, woven into the very fabric of your children's lives, a legacy of love and courage that even death cannot erase.

The chill of the northern wind bites at your cheeks as you stand in the courtyard of Winterfell, the ancient stones of the castle walls towering around you. The sky above is a pale, wintry blue, the kind that stretches on endlessly, promising the first snows of the season. Thraxata, your beloved dragon, is a dark silhouette against the sky, her massive form casting a shadow over the courtyard as she awaits you with the patient stillness of a creature who knows her place in the world.

Cregan stands nearby, holding Killian in his arms. Your son's violet eyes are wide with excitement, his small hands clutching at the fur-lined collar of his father's cloak. His breath comes in quick, excited puffs, visible in the cold air, as he watches you secure the last of the straps on Thraxata's saddle. 

"Is Mama ready?" Killian asks, his voice high with anticipation, his gaze flicking between you and the towering dragon. 

"Almost, little wolf," Cregan replies, his deep voice softened with affection. He adjusts his hold on Killian, allowing the boy to lean forward slightly, getting a better view of the magnificent creature before him.

You finish tightening the final strap and turn to face them, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your son’s eager face. "She's ready," you confirm, walking over to them with a smile that feels more natural now, more present. The cold air feels invigorating, as does the promise of the flight ahead.

Killian wiggles in Cregan’s arms, his excitement barely contained. "Can we fly now, Mama? Please?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and reach out to take him from Cregan, who hands him over with a tender smile. "Of course, we can, little one," you say, holding Killian close for a moment before lifting him up to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "But you must hold on tight, alright? Just like we practiced."

Killian nods eagerly, his little hands gripping your cloak as you turn to face Cregan. Your husband’s grey eyes are filled with warmth, the kind that always makes you feel grounded, no matter how high you fly. He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he bends down to press a kiss to your lips, a slow, lingering gesture that speaks of love and longing. 

"Fly safe," he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm in the cold air. "And bring him back to me in one piece."

You smile against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Always," you promise, your voice soft but filled with the certainty that comes from years of shared battles and shared love. "We'll be back before the sun sets."

With a final kiss, you turn back to Thraxata, your heart thudding with a mix of excitement and the familiar rush of anticipation that always accompanies a flight. You cradle Killian with one arm as you approach the great beast, who lowers her massive head in greeting, her violet eyes shimmering with intelligence and recognition. 

“Hello girl,” you whisper, your free hand brushing against her polished obsidian scales, which glimmer faintly with hues of violet and blue in the sunlight. Thraxata rumbles in response, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, as if she’s sharing in the excitement of the day.

With practiced ease, you swing yourself up onto the saddle, positioning Killian in front of you. His small hands reach out instinctively to grasp the pommel, and you secure him with a careful, reassuring grip. He giggles with delight as he feels the warmth of Thraxata’s body beneath him, the thrill of the impending flight already bubbling over.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice a blend of both motherly concern and the thrill of the adventure ahead.

“Ready!” Killian exclaims, his voice filled with a joy so pure it sends a spark of warmth through you, despite the cold.

With one last glance at Cregan, who watches you with that same steady look, you give Thraxata the command to take flight. The dragon responds immediately, her powerful wings unfurling with a sound like thunder. She launches into the air, her great body rising smoothly from the ground as the wind rushes past you, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

The world below falls away quickly as Thraxata soars upward, the chill of the wind tugging at your hair and cloak, but the cold is nothing compared to the exhilaration of the sky opening up before you. Killian’s laughter rings out, a bright, joyous sound that echoes across the open sky. He turns his head back to you, eyes wide with pure wonder. “Mama, we’re flying! Look, we’re really flying!”

You tighten your grip on him, feeling the steady thrum of Thraxata’s heart beneath you, the power of her wings carrying you higher, above the walls of Winterfell and the endless expanse of the North. “Yes, we are,” you say, your voice filled with the same awe you see reflected in your son’s eyes. “Just like I did with my mother when I was your age.”

The dragon’s flight is smooth, a testament to the bond you’ve shared since her hatching in your cradle. She’s been with you through every trial, every loss, and every victory. Now, she carries your son just as faithfully, as if she understands that he is a part of you, a continuation of your legacy.

As Winterfell grows smaller beneath you, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Up here, with the sky stretching out infinitely above and the world below far removed, it’s easy to forget the weight of your grief, the loss of Jace, the uncertainty of the future. Up here, there is only the sound of the wind, the warmth of your son in your arms, and the steady, powerful beat of Thraxata’s wings.

You glance down at Killian, whose eyes are now glued to the horizon, a look of pure wonder on his face. “What do you see, little one?” you ask, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Everything, Mama,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe. “I can see everything.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then let’s see where the wind takes us, my brave little dragon rider.”

As Thraxata glides effortlessly through the sky, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the rare freedom it offers, the bond between mother and child, between rider and dragon. And for a time, as the cold wind whips past and the world falls away beneath you, you are simply Y/N Velaryon, a daughter of House Targaryen, a mother, a wife, and a rider of dragons. The rest of the world can wait until your feet are back on solid ground.

Cregan Stark watches as Thraxata’s obsidian-black form rises higher into the sky, the great dragon’s wings beating with a rhythm that reverberates in his chest. He stands in the courtyard of Winterfell, eyes locked on the shrinking figures of his wife and son as they ascend into the endless blue, until they become little more than a speck against the pale sky. The wind whips through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of pine and the distant promise of snow, but Cregan remains still, his gaze unwavering as long as they are visible.

There’s a sense of awe and pride that fills him every time he watches Y/N with her dragon. Even after years of seeing her soar above the battlements, it never fails to stir something deep within him. She is a true daughter of the Targaryen line, a force of nature bound to the skies, and it amazes him that she is his—his wife, the mother of his children.

As Thraxata and his family disappear from sight, he finally lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, a mix of contentment and longing. He knows she’ll be back before long, but there’s always that small pang of separation, as if part of him takes flight with her every time she ascends into the heavens.

With a final glance at the now empty sky, Cregan turns and heads back toward the Great Keep. The stone walls of Winterfell rise imposingly around him, offering a stark contrast to the boundless sky from which he has just watched his wife and son disappear. The weight of his responsibilities returns to him with each step, grounding him in the reality of the world below.

As he enters the Great Hall, the warmth of the hearth fires greets him, a welcome change from the crisp air outside. The hall is quiet this time of day, the usual bustle of Winterfell subdued, with most of the household attending to their duties. He makes his way down the familiar corridors, his boots echoing softly on the stone floors, until he reaches the chamber where his daughter, Alysane, is being tended to.

The door is slightly ajar, and as he steps inside, he is greeted by the sight of a nursemaid cradling the infant in her arms. Alysane is awake, her bright violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—tracking the nursemaid’s movements with the curious intensity only a baby can muster. The soft, cooing lullaby being sung to her halts as the nursemaid notices Cregan’s entrance.

“Lord Stark,” she says with a respectful dip of her head, adjusting her hold on the child. “The little lady has been a delight today, though I daresay she misses her mother already.”

Cregan crosses the room in a few long strides, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “She’ll have her back soon enough,” he replies, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Let me hold her.”

The nursemaid carefully transfers Alysane into his arms, and Cregan feels the familiar, grounding weight of his daughter settle against his chest. She’s so small, so delicate, and yet she has a strength in her grip that makes him smile every time she reaches out to grasp his fingers. Alysane’s eyes, so much like Y/N’s, meet his, and he can’t help the rush of love that fills him.

“Have you been good for the nursemaid, little one?” he asks, his tone lighter, more playful as he gently rocks her. Alysane coos in response, her tiny fists waving in the air as if to say, Yes, Papa, I’ve been very good.

“She’s taken to her feeding well, my lord,” the nursemaid informs him, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches the interaction. “And she seems to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Perhaps she takes after her mother in that regard.”

Cregan chuckles softly, nodding. “She has the blood of the dragon in her, no doubt. But she’s a Stark, too. She’ll grow to love these cold winds, just as we do.”

He spends a few more moments with his daughter, savoring the simple joy of holding her, of feeling her small heartbeat against his chest. It’s a different kind of peace than what he feels when he’s with Y/N, but no less profound. Alysane is a part of them both, a perfect blend of fire and ice, and he treasures these quiet moments with her.

After a while, he gently hands Alysane back to the nursemaid, who resumes her gentle rocking and humming. “Thank you,” he says, his voice warm with gratitude. “Keep her close to the fire. The day will grow colder before it ends.”

The nursemaid nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

Cregan leaves the chamber, his thoughts now turning to the evening ahead. The wind outside has picked up, and he knows Y/N and Killian will appreciate a warm welcome when they return. He heads toward the Great Hall once more, this time with purpose in his stride. The fires need to be tended, more wood brought in, and the hearths stoked to a roaring blaze. Winterfell might be a cold, unforgiving place at times, but it was also a home—a sanctuary for his family—and he would see to it that they returned to warmth and comfort.

As he reaches the Great Hall, he calls out to a nearby servant, a young man quick on his feet. “We’ll need more wood for the hearths,” Cregan instructs, his tone commanding but not unkind. “Bring in what you can carry and see to it that the fires are stoked high.”

The servant nods eagerly, hurrying off to fulfill the request. Cregan moves to the main hearth himself, where the fire is already burning but not nearly to the level he desires. He takes up a heavy iron poker and stirs the embers, watching as the flames leap higher, their glow reflecting off the stone walls. 

As the fire roars to life, filling the hall with a warm, golden light, he steps back, satisfied with his work. The crackling of the flames, the scent of burning wood, and the comforting heat are all reminders of why he fights, why he endures. It’s for these moments—for the quiet, peaceful evenings after the storms have passed, when his family is safe and together under one roof.

He can almost hear Killian’s excited laughter already, the way his little boy’s voice fills the hall with joy whenever they return from a flight. He imagines Y/N’s smile, the way it lights up her entire face, and how her silver hair catches the firelight as she steps inside, Killian in tow, both of them flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of the sky.

The servant returns with an armful of wood, and Cregan helps him stack it near the hearth. The warmth is already spreading through the hall, driving away the chill that had begun to settle as the day waned. He can feel the sense of home building around him, the very thing he’s fought to protect, to preserve for those he loves most.

With the fires now blazing, he takes a moment to himself, standing in the center of the hall and letting the warmth seep into his bones. It’s a simple pleasure, but one he doesn’t take for granted. The flickering light of the flames plays across his face, casting shadows that dance along the stone walls. 

He glances toward the door, knowing it will soon swing open, admitting his wife and son back into the safety and warmth of Winterfell. He’s ready to greet them, to hear about their flight, to listen to Killian’s breathless recounting of the view from above and to feel the reassurance of Y/N’s presence beside him.

As he waits, the fire crackling at his back, Cregan Stark feels a deep sense of contentment. There’s a storm coming, as there always is in the North, but for now, his world is warm, his heart full, and his family is safe. And that is all he could ever ask for.

The warmth of the fire mingles with the lingering heat of your bodies, still flush from the passion that had just consumed you both. You lie nestled in the soft, thick furs of your bed, the heavy pelts providing a cocoon of warmth against the biting cold that lurks just beyond the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan's strong arm is draped around you, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your bare back. Your head rests on his broad chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he takes. The intimacy of the moment is profound, the kind of peace that only comes after such intensity, when every barrier has been stripped away, leaving only raw, unfiltered affection in its wake.

His fingers slide through your silver hair, untangling the strands that had become tousled during your lovemaking, and you feel a contented sigh escape your lips. The connection between you is tangible, a bond forged not only in love but in shared trials, in the promises whispered in the dark and the strength you find in one another.

"Sometimes," you begin softly, your voice barely more than a murmur in the quiet of the room, "sometimes I wish I could be down there, in the thick of it, fighting alongside my mother. Facing the Greens with fire and blood, like we were meant to."

Cregan’s hand stills on your back for a moment before he resumes his gentle caresses. He knows how deeply the conflict weighs on you, how much you struggle with the separation from your mother and the battles you were born to fight. "You’re a warrior at heart, Y/N," he says, his voice low and full of understanding. "It’s in your blood, in your very soul. But you’re here now, and there’s strength in that too—in being the heart of this family, in raising our children with the knowledge of who they are and where they come from."

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his words. It’s not easy to be away from the fight, to know that your family is out there, risking their lives while you remain here, safe in the North. But Cregan is right—there is strength in what you’re doing here, in the life you’ve built together, in the legacy you’re creating.

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart. "I know. But I’m grateful, Cregan. For this, for you, for everything we’ve found here in Winterfell. It’s more than I ever imagined for myself."

He shifts slightly, turning so that he can look down at you, his grey eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. There’s a tenderness there, a love so deep it nearly takes your breath away. "You’ve brought light to this place, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "You’ve made it a home, not just for me, but for everyone within these walls. You are the heart of Winterfell now, just as much as you were born both of Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I will always be grateful for that, for you."

You smile up at him, a warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the fire. "And I, for you, my love," you reply softly, lifting your hand to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. "I never thought I could find such peace, such happiness, in a place so far from the warmth of the South. But here with you, it feels like I’ve found something even better. Something that feels like home."

He leans down to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that speaks of love and promises, of the future you’ll face together. When he pulls back, his gaze is serious, his expression thoughtful. "Winter will come soon," he says, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "The snow will fall heavier, and the North will sleep beneath its blanket of white. But when the spring sun melts the snow, when the rivers flow again and the ice recedes, the North will rise. And we will march south, to deliver the justice that has long been owed. Just as I promised you, Y/N. The time will come."

You see the resolve in his eyes, the fire of his conviction, and it stirs something within you—a spark of hope, of purpose. You’ve always known that the North was a place of endurance, of long winters and even longer memories. But with Cregan by your side, you also know it is a place of honor, of loyalty, and of promises kept.

"And I will be ready," you say, your voice firm with determination. "We will be ready. For whatever comes."

He nods, the tension in his expression easing as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise between you. "But for now," he murmurs against your skin, "we have this. These moments, this peace. And we will hold on to it for as long as we can."

You close your eyes, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of calm. The world outside can wait for now—the battles, the struggles, the uncertainties of the future. Here, wrapped in Cregan’s arms, you find solace, a reprieve from the weight of the world, and the strength to face whatever comes next.

As you drift off to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the furs and the security of Cregan’s embrace, you feel a deep sense of contentment settle over you. The future may hold its challenges, but in this moment, all is well. You are together, and that is all that matters.

[fyrewalkwithmee]

Temptations Pt.2

Early Seasons Spencer x Roommate Reader// NSFW MDNI

I just wanted to thank everyone for all the love on part 1 of this story which was also my first ever Spencer post. It truly means a lot and your comments, reblogs and likes are so encouraging and make me want to write more 🥺❤️

Warnings: SMUT!MDNI!!, Sub!Spencer, Inexperienced!Spencer, Dom!reader, dry humping, palming. Whiny Spence makes me go BARK BARK. Mommy!kink, Light choking, Male and female orgasm.

3.4k WORDS (sorry i got a bit carried away)

Please like, comment, reblog if you enjoy! Im also keen to write more for Spencer so if you have any requests my asks are open :)

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It had been a couple of weeks since the incident with Spencer. You knew that you should have been riddled with guilt and shame after spying on him while he was vulnerable… and joining in, but you didn't. After all, he clearly wanted you and you definitely wanted him so what was there to feel bad about? 

That night had exposed Spencer to you in a whole new light and it was getting increasingly hard to be around him. You found your eyes lingering longer on him, your mind concocting sinful visions of his long fingers, pullable hair, creamy skin that was just begging to be marked. In the dead of night, your hands would travel down between your thighs, a puddle of arousal waiting for you as you replayed the sounds of his needy whines and tried your best to imagine the parts of him that have yet to be seen by you. You had spent the last two weeks trying to come up with a plan to get inside his head… and his pants. But you were struggling. Spencer was sensitive and inexperienced and you didn't want to scare him away or embarrass him by being too forward or revealing that you had discovered his dirty little secret.     

Luckily for you, there seemed to be some mystic force watching and putting into place the ideal situation for the both of you to finally get what you want. 

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“Alright spill, what is up with you tonight?” you asked with a hint of annoyance in your voice as you continued to clean up after dinner. Spencer had been off ever since he came home from the office, being especially quiet and sulky. You could tell something wasn't right when he got like this, you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he sat through dinner eyebrows furrowed, his mind trying to put puzzle pieces together to resolve whatever was bothering him. Normally it was the case he was working on or some complex scientific concept he had been researching, but tonight felt different. There was an air of hesitancy and frustration that loomed over him like a storm cloud about to burst. 

Spencer quickly met your gaze, his brown eyes widening as if he was shocked you had noticed his behaviour, like he hadn't just sat through dinner barely speaking two words. 

“N-Nothings wrong. It's just uhh the case we're working on right now.” 

Spencer stuttered as he spoke, peering into his lap to fidget with his fingers. God those fingers, what you would do to feel them on your body or slipping in and out of your… Fuck no focus focus focus.

You finished drying the last plate and placed it back into the draw before you leaned both hands against the counter. Your position had you towering over Spencer who was seated on the other side,

 “You are so cute when you lie.” 

You spoke playfully but couldn't conceal the underlying flirtation in your tone that was dying to come out and play. What you were able to hide was the bitter pang that shot straight through your heart. Not because he was lying to you, but because whatever he was going through he didn't think that he could talk to you about it.  

Despite his enormous intelligence, Spencer was sensitive and he let things get to him. You knew how his team could be, picking on him because he was the youngest and less experienced in most areas of life. Despite your raging sexual attraction to the boy you also cared deeply for him and knew that if he didn't talk to you about it he would keep it bottled up. 

Spencer looked to you again, he swallowed at the way you loomed over him his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. His cheeks had taken on a slight rosiness at your comment and you relished in the effect you had on his body, knowing exactly where his mind was probably heading. 

He instinctively leaned in closer as he rushed to defend himself,

 “W-what! I'm n-not lying.”

You met his challenge by coming even nearer, now face to face with the boy wonder. You couldn't help but admire his beauty being this close, the way his glasses framed his big brown eyes, the sharpness of his reddening cheekbones and the way his pink lips were slightly parted almost welcoming you in.   

“You think I can't tell when you're lying Spence? We've lived together for almost a year.”

The nickname made Spencer’s breath catch in his throat, he shifted nervously in his seat suddenly very aware of your close proximity. He tore his eyes from yours fidgeting anxiously, trying to ignore the familiar feeling of arousal bubbling in his stomach.

Spencer prayed that you were oblivious to the fact that being around you often excited him in more ways than one. He also prayed that you would drop the subject as he was sure discussing it with you could only result in his own humiliation. Spencer stood from his position and walked over to the couch partly to hide away from your questions but also to hide the way his pants had begun to tighten in a not-so-subtle way.

“Fine, I lied! I just don't think you can help me out with this one. It's personal and kind of… embarrassing.” He let out a defeated sigh and buried his face in his hands. His attempts to detur you only heightened your curiosity and if his problem had to do with what you thought it did there was no way you were backing down now.

You sat down next to him on the couch and gently pulled away his hands so you could see his face.

“Spencer, you've literally seen me at my worst. How many times have you held my hair while I emptied my guts into the toilet after a night out? Or have to comfort me when I'm a mess after coming home from a bad date?” Or have me weak in the knees while I fuck myself to the sounds of you getting yourself off, “Nothing you say could be any more embarrassing than anything I've done.” 

You place a reassuring hand on his thigh, feeling him tense up under your touch, you meet his eyes and spoke smoothly, “Let me help you”.

If Spencer wasn't hard before he certainly was now, having you so close with your hands on his body made his brain go fuzzy and a burning heat had begun to engulf the air around him. As much as he didn't want to tell you what happened, he wanted your attention more, he wanted you to continue dotting over him and talking to him in that gentle affectionate tone. Maybe it was his nerves or the uncomfortable pressure of his cock straining against his briefs but before he knew it he was a blubbering mess trying to explain to you what had occurred earlier that day.

“I-its not really a big deal. It was just at work we got to talking about relationships and sex and everyone had stories to share but when it got to me I didn't know what to say and M-morgan made a joke about how I wouldn't even know how to get a date with a woman let alone please one and I know it was only a joke but I just-” 

You gripped the frantic boy’s arms tightly and stroked them soothingly trying to get him to slow down, “Woah woah slow down sweetheart. None of that is true, you shouldn't lis-” 

Spencer interrupted you, big puppy dog eyes staring into yours, “The thing is it is true. Not the getting a date aspect, I think I could manage that but when it comes to sex I… I’m not really the most experienced with that type of thing and I’m worried that when I am put in that position I won’t know what to do.”

Spencer's cheeks burned with embarrassment at his admission and he struggled now to meet your eyes. You felt terrible for him and the way his work colleagues teased him but you also couldn't help but think how fucking perfect this all was. This was your chance to finally get a taste of the man who had been destroying your body and mind for far too long.

You sat up straight making yourself tall and turned yourself to face him, “I see” You replied and pretended to be deep in thought before lowering one hand to draw faint patterns on his knee. Spencer's jaw clenched at the gesture, his eyes glued to the spot where your feathered touch roamed. 

“Maybe you just need some practice.” You spoke in a sultry tone as your fingers pushed deeper, nails scraping lightly at the skin beneath his pants. 

Spencer let out an almost non-existent groan at the pressure, he was absolutely dumbfounded by the situation and shift in your behaviour. There was no way this was happening, no way you were offering what he thought you were. It had to be some kind of sick joke. The boy's voice had risen at least two octaves as he breathlessly replied,

 “P-practice? I umm I’m not sure I understand.” 

You moved your hand from his knee and gripped his thigh firmly, moving it back and forth, sensually stroking. With your eyes on his lower half, you could clearly see the large tent that had formed under his pants. Your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight, your arousal intensifying rapidly and leaking into your panties. You were so in you thought to yourself a satisfied smirk forming on your lips. 

You leaned in and whispered into his ear, “I think you do genius.” your hand slowly crept higher and higher towards his cock, ghosting delicately over his hardness, “I think your body definitely does.” 

Spencer let out a delicious whimper, sheepishly bucking his hips up to meet your hand. You chuckled at his eagerness and continued your torture, adding some pressure so you were lightly palming him, “I’m more than happy to help you out Spence, if thats what you want. You need to tell me if you want me to stop.”

Spencer was a mess, replying to your command with a blissful whine. He continued his attempts to push up into your hand needing more friction to relieve the unbearable ache between his thighs. To his dismay, you removed your hand completely from his crotch, instead wrapping it gently around the slender column of his neck. 

The way he looked at you in that moment was enough to make you cum on the spot. His innocent big eyes were slightly watery from your teasing, his cheeks a new level of flushed and strands of his dishevelled hair hung loosely over his eyes. He looked at you with so much want, you knew he was putty in your hands. You shifted yourself so you sat in his lap, staring down at the heavenly sight below you, 

“I'm gonna need to hear your words, baby. Do you want me to stop or keep going?”

The pressure of your body on his made Spencer squirm beneath you and you could practically feel the way his thickness throbbed against your core. Spencer looked at you with despair in his eyes as he involuntarily bucked up into you and begged, 

“P-please don't stop!”

That was all you needed to hear to let the fun begin. You began to grind down with a slow but sturdy rhythm, earning an array of breathy groans from the boy under you. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth and whispered an encouraging “Good boy” into his ear. 

Spencer gasped at the nickname, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. Your warm body on his, the dominance of your tone, the realisation that you wanted him. It was all to much. He was grinding into you like a horny teenager, a mixture of moans and broken words falling from his open mouth, 

“Fuckk. Ahhh, please, please” his whines were like honey as they melted into the air around you and you couldn't help but let out your own at the way he writhed underneath you. You planted two hands on his chest giving you more leverage to rub back and forth over his clothed hardness as you slowed your pace, the new sensation sent you both into orbit, Spencer shutting his eyes tight with his mouth agape letting out shallow laboured breaths. His big hands went straight to your hips, fingers digging into the supple flesh there as he pushed you into him even harder. You threw your head back taking in the way his large bulge repeatedly bumped perfectly against your sensitive clit.   

“Feels so good baby, tell me what you want pretty boy.” you managed to ask through moans.

Spencer's eyes remained shut, completely wrapped up in the pleasure of the moment as he begged, “N-need to feel you. F-feel more of you. Need to kiss you please let me kiss you”

The pathetic tone of his voice as he asked for your permission to kiss was borderline ridiculous, but he had been so good and you'd be lying if you said you weren't dying to feel his wet mouth on yours. You halted your movements climbing off his lap, earning a disappointed whine from the boy. Spencer opened his eyes and peered at you, waiting for your next move. You couldn't believe what a mess he was for you, the FBI’s golden boy absolutely pussy drunk and waiting for your instructions. It was laughable. And the hottest thing you had ever seen. 

Spencer's anxious mind started reeling at the loss of contact and he began to fumble an apology thinking he had done something wrong, “I'm sorry, we d-dont have to. I just wanted to-”

You cut him off speaking in an authoritative voice, “clothes off and lie down.” 

Spencer looked at you hesitantly for about half a second then hurried to undo his belt and buttons, almost falling over himself in the process. While he worked you did the same, removing everything but your bra and panties which had become practically see-through from the wetness that had soaked through. By the time you were finished, Spencer was already lying nervously on the couch, his hands covering his exposed cock from your view. He spoke awkwardly,

“Umm, I don't have any uhh… protection.” 

You let out a condescending laugh as you stalked over to him, kneeling beside his head. You ran a hand through his soft hair,

“Don't worry sweetness, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight. We have plenty of time for that.”  

As much as you wanted to fuck his brains out, you were going to take things slow with Spencer and show him all the different ways two people could pleasure each other. He looked at you confused and began to ask what you meant but you cut him off by slamming your lips onto his, earning a surprised yelp from Spencer as your tongue slid into his mouth. 

Spencer's kiss was sloppy and filled with need as he gripped your head between his hands and explored your mouth with his tongue. He tasted like peppermint and cinnamon and you found yourself lost in his kisses, falling deeper and deeper into an intoxicated bliss. You could stay with him like this forever, but you knew that there was a more pressing matter that needed to be taken care of. You moved from his lips to his neck sucking and biting every tender spot you could find that made him groan beneath you. You trailed your way down his chest to his abdomen, which was surprisingly toned despite his thinness. You stopped when you reached the place he needed you most, taking in the sight before you. 

Spencer's cock was better than you could ever have imagined. He was bigger than you expected and extremely hard, his length pressing straight up against his abdomen. Your mouth watered at the way precum dripped from the top of his aggravated tip and slid down over the veiny thickness of his length. The view put you in a trance and you couldn't help but reach out and wrap your hand around him, stroking him softly and moving your thumb around his swollen tip. Spencer's hips lifted up off the couch as he moaned into your touch, you thought he might cum there and then so you halted your movements squeezing him at the base. Spencer whined desperately, his red tip had begun to turn purple from all the stimulation. Fuck he was so sensitive, so desperate to come that he began moving his hips, fucking himself into your hand as you watched on in awe. 

But you didn't want him to cum like this so you removed your hand which didn't stop him from continuing to fuck up into nothing, getting closer and closer to finishing while you straddled him. He stopped moving when he felt your weight on him, he looked wrecked as he looked at you, his eyes glazed over in a dreamy, eager haze. You kept his gaze as you lowered your clothed core down onto the flatness of his length, his slickness only adding to the already-soaked fabric of your panties. You were throbbing at the contact and the friction of his cock sliding through your folds with only the rough cotton of your panties keeping you apart.

“Were you about to cum baby?” You began to move back and forth on top of him, matching his quick movements.

“Yes.. I’m S-so close” he panted suddenly jutting his hips against your slickness.

“Well that's too bad, you only get to c-cum when I say so okay? You spoke through moans as Spencer’s pace increased, a familiar tingly warmth beginning to radiate through your core.

Spencer didn't answer back, too caught up in the feeling of your wetness between his cock which had become drenched in your juices. You leaned down and gripped his throat, a lot rougher than you had the first time, “I asked you a question.” you ordered and Spencer was quick to reply, hips still moving at a frantic pace,

“Yes! Yes Mom-” he whined but stopped himself stuttering to finish, “Only when you say”

He had no time to feel embarrassed at the name he almost called you as he felt his cock twitch signalling that he was close to release. Little did he know that you were already aware of what he wanted and you were more than happy to give it to him.

Spencer's pace began to falter and his nails dug deep into your hips his own bucked wildly underneath you. He sat up a little allowing gravity to pull you down even harder onto him, each time he moved his cock pounded right against your clit creating a rhythm that sent you spiralling closer and closer towards release. All the air was sucked out of the room replaced by a sinful heat as the both of you used each other to get yourselves off. 

Spencer whimpered incoherently, mouth hanging open, eyes screwed shut as he begged you to let him finish,

“Plea- fuck - please let me cum, please let me cumahh” 

Tears were forming in his eyes as you looked down at his desperate state, wrapping your arms around his neck you pushed your chest into his so you were as close as possible and whispered to him,

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes!” he cried “pleasee”

“Okay cum for me then. Cum for Mommy”

Spencer let out a choked cry as he jutted into you with an animalistic force, holding you tight against him as he cried out,

“Fuck Mommy, gonn- gonna cum. Thank you mommy, Thank you, Thankyo-” His own release interrupted him as he whined loudly into your shoulder hips rocking as thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock onto his abdomen. The sight of his pleasure sent you over the edge too, your orgasm crashing down on you as you rode it out overstimulating Spencer's already leaking cock. 

The two of you panted heavily trying to catch your breath, you leaned down and planted a sweet kiss on Spencer’s lips which he gladly accepted. He chuckled underneath you and looked at you with bewilderment,

“I can't believe we just did that.”

You giggled lightly back, running a hair through his messy hair and replied,

“I can't wait to do it again.”

[odoraful]

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐘𝐄

it was one of the few days zayne had returned home earlier than sunset. he opened the door to the apartment to find you painting your nails. after a shower and some short pleading on your part, he was seated in front of you, hands laid out on the table for you to do his nails.

content: zayne x fem!reader; established relationship; small banter! ; greyson apperance; ~1k words a/n: i've been dipping in and out of writing, so i thought i'd make something short to get me back into practice :)

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“Hand tremors aren’t good for dexterity, you know,” Zayne quipped, gazing at your expression as you applied the polish.

You looked up at him through your lashes and he smirked at the flat stare you gave him. With a slight tilt of his head, he enjoyed how animated your reactions were to his remarks. Towel-dried hair brushed past his brows, framing his discerning hazel eyes. Did he always need to be this handsome while poking fun at you? Your hands weren’t shaky before, but they certainly felt so now.

“Oh hush.”

Putting the brush back in the bottle to collect more polish, you reset your focus.

“Just ‘cause you’re a surgeon, doesn’t mean you’d make a good nail artist,” you retorted, bringing your eyes back to your work.

You were currently on the last nail, painting it a navy blue to match the others you already finished. Zayne’s nails were well kept and trimmed short, making for a perfect canvas for you. Whilst it was rare for surgeons to wear polish, he assured that it wouldn’t be an issue so long as it did not chip. He wanted you to do it for him, anyway. Having your undivided attention on him was a perfect way to unwind after a long day at the hospital.

“And what other qualifiers need to be met besides a still hand?” he asked, teasing giving way to curiousity.

You finished up the last nail with a few glides of the brush. “An eye for aesthetics,” you declared, moving the blue nail polish aside and selecting two more colours among your collection.

“Now, pick the colour for the design.”

You presented two colours to him. A cool silver embedded with fine glitter, and a rustic gold. His eyes flicked between the two. Mind having been made up almost the second you asked.

“Silver.”

You hummed. “An excellent choice.” Shaking the polish, the glitter dispersed throughout. “Perhaps you might consider nail tech as a side job, Dr Zayne.”

Waiting for his nails to dry before you could begin the next layer, you lightly fanned them with both your hands. He chuckled—both at your comment and your cute attempt to try and speed the drying process.

“My primary job keeps me busy enough,” he replied. “Besides, I don’t have much of an eye for aesthetics.”

You were reminded of the palette of his closet. Blacks, greys, browns, and the only splash of colour being a deep green shirt. Though somewhat monotone, it did suit him well.

He continued, “I think I’ll leave that expertise up to my girlfriend.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Mouth opened ever so slightly, not wanting to reveal the way every use of that nickname slipped under your skin and made your heart skip.

You began to draw tiny snowflakes on each of them with the silver polish. Zayne admired the furrowed concentration on your face as you were locked into this task. When the design had dried, you finished by squeezing some cream onto his hands. He let out a soft sigh as you massaged it in, feeling the tension of the day release under your gentle touch.

Once you were done, you stretched your arms out and twisting around to crack your back. You held his fingers in your hands, inspecting them.

“Look how pretty they are!” You bubbled.

Zayne was honestly floored. The level of coordination it took to paint something so small was incredible.

“They’re very pretty indeed.”

You were too enthralled by your own work to see the warm smile on his face at how satisfied you were.

“Now, that’ll be sixty dollars,” you said, looking up at him smugly, placing your hands on your hips in waiting.

Zayne lifted a brow. “Do you accept payment in desserts?”

“Hm… an interesting offer,” you placed a hand on your chin in mock thought. “What kind?”

“Will each flavour of macaron at the shop that just opened suffice?” he replied. The sparkle in your eyes signalled that it was more than enough to cover the cost of your service. Promptly, the two of you went outside to resolve his payment. You walked hand in hand, matching one another with freshly painted nails.

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EPILOGUE

At Akso Hospital the next day, peoples’ gazes lingered a little too long at Zayne. As he handed out folders to nurses and gestured to screens when presenting, eyes trailed on his hands. Now, it wasn’t unusual for doctors to wear polish, but it was unusual for Zayne to have it. Another layer of mystery to unravel about the cardiac surgeon.

Greyson entered Zayne’s office to drop off some documents, sliding them towards him on his desk. “Going to some fancy event later?”

Zayne adjusted his glasses, not looking away from his computer screen. “Unless you consider a seminar at the university as fancy, I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

He gestured towards the keyboard Zayne was typing on. “I’m talking about your nails! Don’t tell me you really just got them done for fun?” Greyson asked, incredulous.

“I did.” Zayne splayed his hand out. “Is that so strange?”

“No! Not at all!” Greyon reassured, shaking his head fervently. “They do look nice though,” he admitted. “Maybe I should get their number so I can get mine done too.”

“She doesn’t take up new clientele, unfortunately,” Zayne said, resuming his typing.

At such a quick defence, Greyson immediately clocked who this person was. He was one of the few that were privy to the relationship between you and Zayne, and he knew only you could make Dr Zayne change up his style.

Exaggerating a sigh, he turned to leave. “A true shame! She sure seems talented.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that on to her,” he heard Zayne reply. Though his back was to Zayne, the smile in his voice as he answered was undeniable.

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[mookiesspace]

“ 𝑆𝑂 𝐵𝐴𝐵𝑌, 𝐿𝐸𝑇 𝑀𝐸 𝐶𝐴𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝑂 𝑌𝑂𝑈 ”

Ony x Black fem reader , 18+ MDNI , angst , implied cheating , strong language , spanking kink , choking kink , pet names ( daddy, mama, baby ) , just nasty ass smut !, ( not fully proofread !! )

There you were sitting on your king-sized bed alone watching criminal minds at 2am, once again. it's been exactly 1 month since your harsh breakup with your ex-boyfriend Onyankopon. ever since then, you've hit rock bottom completely. you really thought he was the one, different from the other low life niggas you used to mess around with, that's until he showed you that it was all just a made up fairytale you so eagerly believed in nothing but lies and heartbreak. how could 2 of the best years of your life turn out to be the worst so drastically.. this so called love shit just wasn't for you. you wanted nothing more than to weep away into your big ass bed doing everything in your power to forget about him. well.. that was untill you got a knock on your apartment door..

"Hey mama.." you recognized that smooth honey like voice anywhere.. but was it really him? There infront of you stood a handsome 6'2, dark skinned figure. Onyankopon. Why was he here? does he not remember what he did to you, to us?? after all this time why would he show up now. Thoughts filling your pretty little head with deep regret and anger as you stand still infront of the tall man. "Hell no." you hissed while attempting to slamming the door infront of you before feeling a strong push of the door opening it wider than before. "Listen mama, I jus' wanna talk. please, y/n I mis-" "Cut the shit ony. I'm done with you, now get the fuck back before I call my brother on yo goofy ass." Is he fucking serious right now you thought. He couldn't be, he just couldn't. Before you could push him out and close the door he steps forward once more. "y/n I'm serious. jus' gimme 20 minutes with you. please mama, then I'll be gone." he said pushing the door closed behind him, locking it in motion. "Ony-" just a minute ago all you wanted to do was punch him in his stupid ass face and cry till you forgot all about him. now he's standing right infront of you looking sexier than ever, his perfect glossed two toned lips and dark brown eyes making you fall for him all over again. all you could do was stare at the tall dark skined man before you. "20 minutes Onyankopon. then I want you out my house, you understand me?" slowly seeing his cocky smile unfold revealing his blinged out gold grillz he nodded. "Yes ma'am." both knowing this'll be the longest 20 minutes of your life..

"shit ma.. she really missed me huh?" fuck.. how did this happen?? it was only supposed to be a quick chat.. so why are you letting ony slam and runt his girthy dick into you so lovingly? and why does it feel so.. hypnotic?.. just as you were lost into thought you feel a harsh 'SMACK' onto your lovely plump brown cheek "a-ah! ony shit!.." "stay focused mama." fuck it's so deep how can you stay focused when he's fucking you like this!?! "m-mhm tryin' ony!" he let's out a low chuckle while throwing you military position before picking up his pace. "ONY!!~" "pussy so good ma.. fuck-" harsh grunt and loud moans escaping the both of you as he fucks you deeper than before leaving behind all the once bad memories and thoughts of your past to wash away. how could the man you once loved so dearly fuck up a relationship so passionate turn into this.. hate sex? no.. you can't hate him not while he's filling you up so well.. not like this..

"s-shit ma.. yeah that's right take this dick baby" "ngh.. fuck daddy..~" how long has it been? 30 minutes? and hour? fuck two?? you lost track of how long you've been beneath him. and how many times you came.. but he doesn't fail to bring you back to reality with nothing but a strong hand grabbing your neck ever so tightly "eyes on me ma." he huffs out a shaky breath drawing your attention back on him and those lustful dark brown eyes.. which brings you back to another blissful orgasm "onyyy!" you yelp out in pleasure "c-cant no morreee.." hearing and seeing your fucked out state brings min over the edge more than before "you tryna tap out already baby?" he groaned before pulling out only to slam back in before you could even form a sentence "s-shi- A-AH!..~" "well ian done ma, we gotta lot of catching up to do. you an i both know that." he laughed pulling your body closer to him. your faces were now so close.. lips so far yet so damn close from one another.. god was he always so damn sexy? shit.. you couldn't think straight mind to damn hazy from everything.. "one more ma.. gimme one more" he moaned "I need it.." breath getting shaky and sharp god how could you resist? your warm pussy was sucking him in and it felt so damn good. to good.. he grabbed onto your hips harshly before pulling you atop him. now you were upright sitting pretty on top of Onyankopon looking like nothing more than perfect. beautiful soft brown skin glistening perfect in the moonlight.. bonnet thrown on the edge of the bed.. puffy perked up tits all swollen from being sucked and bit on so so many orgasms ago.. god even your pussy was all puffed up and swollen from getting brutally fucked into! but you had one more orgasm to get through.. one more before everything went back to how it was before.. the tall darkskin mad did nothing but let out a low chuckle before throwing his hands behind his head while giving you low steady eyes... "go'nhead baby. ride yo dick" was all he said.. and all you could do was place your perfectly manicured hands atop his flexed abs and ride him till you physically couldn't anymore!

"ohhh shittt daddyyy!!" god did you look so beautiful riding him.. so fucking perfect he thought. mouth slightly agape, eyes all teary.. tits bouncing in such a smooth repeated rhythm, what could get better than this? you clawed at his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your own release and apparently his. "-mm sooo close daddy.." you moaned out lovingly "shit.. me too ma.. let it all out fa ma.." those words right there sent you into one of the most pornographic states yet. "fuckkkk!!~" you both let out slutty moans in unison tension growing hotter by the second! and for a split second.. once again.. it was like everything in the past had never happen.. like he was still your precious boyfriend who you had loved for the past 2 years.. the Onyankopon you knew.. could things really be different this time? "I love you ony.." you muttered lowly before collapsing onto his hard chest while drifting off only to soon be smothered into his grasp so lovingly..

if only little ole you knew that this wouldn't last forever, cause by morning it'll just be one regular old day.. why would he settle for you?, when he could have anyone he wanted. after all.. you fell for his charm last night, you always do. so why couldn't anyone?

[ridher]

jj maybank running into the sweet new girl when stopping by a local smoothie shop

it was only your second day on the job, the first one where you were on your own to serve those strolling the hot summer beach packed with both kooks, pogues, and the occasional touron.

you hadn't even had a chance to make any friends beyond the other young girls you worked with, but even that wasn't more than friendly conversation. you'd gotten a job straight after moving to the south side of kildare — your family needed the money.

it was getting a bit stressful as soon as it hit late afternoon. the crowd of people in line along with the heat beating down during its prime hours, plus being so inexperienced, was overwhelming and starting to get to your performance.

pushing through, you get to what seems like the last group of people for a bit. by now, pieces have fallen from the messy updo of your hair and a thin sheen of sweat coats your body — even through the lenient dress code that allows you to wear a dainty tank top and jean shorts.

still, you greet them with a sweet smile that's mostly directed at the boy in front with brown, curly hair, sporting a bandana around his neck. your lips part to recite the words you'd been trained to welcome customers by when a blonde boy pushes his way up from behind and flashes a crooked smirk.

"um, what can i get you guys today?" you hesitate and it comes out less confident than when said to all the customers before.

"yeah.. let me get a uh— y'know, what do you suggest?" the same boy responds, arms crossing while his brows pinch like he's thinking awfully hard.

based on the expressions of the group accompanying him — two other boys and one girl — this behavior from the sun-tanned boy isn't an uncommon occurrence.

"this week's special's been my favorite recently." something about the attention of his intense eye contact has you nervous, shifting in your stance and brushing loose strands of hair from your face.

"shit, aight, gimme four of 'em." his haze only briefly darts to the little stand showcasing said smoothie before he agrees.

"wh—" the other boy behind him is ignored when he attempts to speak up, the girl only rolling her eyes and directing her attention elsewhere.

nonetheless, you get started on four of the same drink, back turned to the group as you move about — mind full thinking about the smallest interaction between you and the boy.

soon enough, you arrange the smoothies across the counter and ring up the price on a company tablet. that's when you finally look back up at the boy with a small but genuine smile and relay the total.

hassling the previous leader for money, he places the cash on the surface between you two, tonguing at his cheek with an almost amused look when his lips turn up slightly.

the smoothies get distributed and their change is returned, yet that one boy lingers across the counter.

"jj. you're new, yeah?" he finally asks, sticking out the hand that's not holding a drink.

you nod, shaking his hand and checking behind him to make sure nobody is waiting on the exchange before pulling your hand away and telling him your name.

jj nods, not so subtly taking in your full appearance with a sip from the straw. his eyes finally land back on yours and his expression is ever so smug noticing the flush on your cheeks.

knocking on the counter with his knuckles, he shakes his head to himself and starts to walk off in the path his friends went.

"i'll see ya 'round." drawing out your name at the end of his departing statement and winking, jj finally leaves.

it's all you can recall the rest of your shift, especially when you catch his stares from various spots across the beach before being punched in the arm or smacked on the back of his head by what you see now to be his group of pogue friends.

you can't help but smile to yourself, knowing he's just as intrigued by you that you are him — even if it just makes the hands on the clock move faster daydreaming about a cute surfer boy.

[lunarlando]

girl dad lando doing his babygirl's hair (she has his curls for sure hehe)!! he struggles a little but does a decent job at the end ~ maybe following a tutorial video or wifey is guiding him but creative freedom to you ❤️

so cute, thanks for the request! x

feel free to request more :)

“You’re in charge of one thing before we have to leave for brunch with your family.” 

Lando glances up from where he's laid out on the carpet tickling a wildly giggling Estelle to see you with your hands on your hips. 

You’re still one of the many shirts of his that you’ve resorted to using as pajamas since your currently seven month pregnant belly has popped, and you’re looking at him very pointedly, but he still smiles fondly at the sight of you. It’s just an unconscious thing that his face does, that it’s been doing since the day he met you. 

“Mama!” Estelle squeals, pointing at you excitedly. 

“Hi, my darling!” You wiggle your fingers at her, beaming at your little girl with enthusiasm.

“What’ve you got for me, babe?” 

“Be the best husband ever and do your daughter’s hair.” 

“Pretty sure I already am the best husband ever, but alright. Reckon her hair looks just fine the way it is, don’t you think?” He aims a sideways glance towards the toddler. Estelle’s hair is an exact replica of her father’s, tight curls that like to do whatever they want, as evident by the tornado of brown framing her chubby cheeks at the moment. Lando smacks his lips together, bobbing his head understandingly. “Yeah, okay, I’ll try my best.” 

“Thank you, love.” 

He scoops Estelle off the floor with an over-exaggerated grunt, climbing to his feet with her slung over his shoulder the way she always loves to be held by him. She shakes with peals of cute toddler giggles, patting him on the back surprisingly firm for a one year old, making him groan. “Woah, you’re getting so big and strong, Stell! C'mon, let’s go do your hair.” 

You press a grateful kiss to his cheek as he passes you, booping Estelle’s nose playfully before they make their way down the hall to the bathroom. 

Lando sets Estelle down on the bathroom counter, squinting at the items you’ve left next to the sink for him. A few combs, a small brush, a tiny water mister thing that he has no idea what to do with. 

As if you sense he’s confused, you call from the bedroom, “D’you need some help getting started?” 

“No, no. I’ve got this,” He calls back, grabbing a comb off the counter. “Dada’s got this, doesn’t he, lovebug?” 

Estelle is too preoccupied with looking at herself in the mirror to hear him, though if she did, she probably would’ve said no. He has no idea how to do her hair. Sure, he knows how to do his own hair (barely), and hers is similar to his, but it’s different. 

He pulls up the photo album he’s got on his phone of pictures of Estelle—ones he’s taken, ones you’ve sent him whilst he was away—hoping one of them will help him draw inspiration for today’s look. 

One that particularly catches his eye is a photo from the mini holiday you all took during summer break a few months ago, where Estelle’s springy curls are pulled into two bunches towards the top of her head. From what he remembers, those bunches quickly ended up smeared with applesauce, but they were adorable while they lasted. 

“Think this might be the one, how ‘bout you?” Lando turns the phone towards Estelle, showing her the photo. She aims a gummy smile at him, wiggling around happily. “Yeah, s’cute, innit? Alright, here we go.”

—

“Babe, would you c’mere for a second?” 

Lando’s voice rings out from the bathroom after twenty minutes of silence, save for the occasional giggle. You’re all done getting ready, and as much as you want to pop your head in to see what’s happening, you’ll give your husband the benefit of the doubt. You pad down the hallway as fast as your pregnancy waddle will let you, not knowing what to expect. 

“How’s it going in here, my loves?” 

Lando stands back with his hands propped on his hips, head tilted. “I think I did pretty decent, no?” 

Estelle’s got two tiny sort of space buns on her head, a little messy, but better than you were expecting, given Lando’s inexperience. She leans in your direction upon laying eyes on you, making grabby hands at you until you scoop her up. You shift her in your arms so she can see herself in the large mirror. 

“Look, baby! Who’s that over there?” You coo encouragingly, pointing at her in the mirror with a big smile. Estelle mumbles something unintelligible, patting herself on the chest happily. “That’s right, it’s you! Dada did a fantastic job with your hair, didn’t he? You look so cute!” 

Lando tosses the comb he’s holding behind his back and up over his shoulder, catching it and pretending to run it through his own curls in one smooth motion. “Call me Stell’s personal professional hairstylist.” 

He’s serious about it too, giving a straight face until you manage to come up with a response. 

“Is the racing not working out for you? Had to find another job?” You joke, chuckling lightly. He scoffs, bumping your hip with his. You reach up to give him a kiss on the cheek, then hold Estelle up too. “Give dada a kiss?” 

Estelle knows the word kiss very well. Execution, not so much, but she tries her best as she plants what has to be the world’s wettest kiss to Lando’s cheek too. A younger Lando might’ve wiped the slobber away immediately, but dad Lando has no problem with it. He’s changed a lot since his younger days, especially since becoming a first time parent. 

You’re both still navigating that journey together, but you’ll have a year and then some more experience once baby girl number two makes her arrival in t-minus two months time. But for now, you’ll cherish every moment with Estelle before your focus is split between two kids. 

“Oh, thank you for the kiss, lovebug!” Lando chirps, booping her nose gently. “Usually I’d charge top dollar for a mint hairdo like this, but I’ll take that as payment since you’re so cute. You get it from your mum, don’t ya?” 

“I dunno about that,” You hum, leaning into him. “Her dad’s pretty cute too.” 

You don’t have it in you to tell him one of Estelle’s bunches sits higher than the other, not when he’s smiling down so proudly at the two of you like you’re his world.