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hoseoksluna · 4 months

Text

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

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

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

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

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

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman.

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

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

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

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

How inspiring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you tell him.

“I want you to help me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does this feel better than if he gave in?

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

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

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

With words, this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so satisfied that you could cry.

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

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

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

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

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

“Swallow it, baby.”

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

“You do, baby.”

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

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

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

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

He’s Father.

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

Your heart quickens, abnormally.

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

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

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

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

Sunny side up it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not letting go of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put it in my ass, then.”

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly.

“What?”

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

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

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

“Baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come and you don’t stop.

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

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God.

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

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

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

“Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hum. “Oh, yeah?”

There he fucking goes again.

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say them again.”

You speed up your movement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

#hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective

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valentoru · 3 months

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|| Limitless ||

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

TAGS: mainly written/partially SMAU, fluff, fake dating, trope of convenience, secret admiration, eventual smut(?), eventual established relationship.

AUTHORS NOTE: I’m gonna TRY my best to get this out to you guys as fast as I can but when I start writing I struggle to stop and it becomes LONG so please stick with me. Also is is a reused idea from my old series(on old acc), with this same premise, called bounded(can be found on my archive account.) also COMMENT TO BE INCLUDED IN THE TAGLIST!

[DISCLAIMERS: despite the fact that I have shown y/n to look the way I have, y/n is stylised and she is subject to looking however you wish her to look in your eyes.]

TWITTER ACCOUNTS: [Freakanomics] , [important artists] , [friends & lovers]

PROLOGUE: [0.00]

CHAPTERS: [0.01] [0.02] [0.03] [0.04] [0.05] [0.06] [0.07] [0.08] [0.09] [0.10] [0.11] [0.12] [0.13] [0.14] [0.15] [0.16] [0.17]

TAGLIST(35/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushism @angstmuncher @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt @art-n-rot @aastrobliss @herdemisee @tikideedee @tittiesarenice @fire-child-kira @csolya

#⤷limitless #jujutsu kaisen smau #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #maki zenin #kugusaki nobara #yuji itadori #ryomen sukuna #megumi fushiguro #inumaki toge

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daydreaming-paradies · 5 months

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Genshin Men and Their Flower Language(s)

ᡣ𐭩 Summary: Every flower has its own language. What flower language do these genshin men have?

ᡣ𐭩 characters: Zhongli(150), Childe(151), Diluc(182), Kaeya(141)

ᡣ𐭩 Warnings: Fluff, wholesome, a bit angst in Diluc and Kaeya's part

ᡣ𐭩 ~ Want to Continue?~ part 2

art belongs to @/eriimyon on X/Twitter

Zhongli

Baby's Breath-Everlasting Love

As a former archon, he has seen people come and go. He had learned to accept it years ago however when he first met you, he once thought that you were out of his league. But you proved him wrong, you took your time understanding him. You were there whenever he talks about his stories even if you do not like history, your attention is always on him. You make him feel loved no matter what he does on a daily basis. Yes in his eyes, you are his silly lover and his one and only. He knows that he will outlive you and he will miss you dearly so if he had any flower to give you daily is baby’s breath because for you, you are his everlasting love. Even if you pass on to the afterlife, you will be forever in his memories and his one true love.

Childe

Gardenia- You're lovely, Secret Love

You are the secret love of Childe. You know that he is a harbinger and you know he loves to battle but Childe for him, seeing you after he got home from a tiring mission had brightened his day. Childe knows that he brings danger and harm to you so he keeps you a secret from his enemies. His family loves you and his siblings love you to death. In Childe’s mind, you are one of the reasons he is still kicking, the reason for him to smile..the reason to come home in one piece. Every day when he comes home to you, he always gives you Gardenia flowers yet you do not know what it means. You bugged him about it until he revealed it. “Gardenia flowers means you are lovely or secret love, mia amata.” Childe says with a smile. “That means you are my lovely secret love.”

Diluc

White Rose-I am worthy of you

Diluc Ragnvidr is the man with few words, a private person, and a man with walls to protect himself from others. To stop himself from being hurt by another loved one's death but with you, all of that is out of the window. With you alone, he is very attentive despite his nightly duties. He always makes sure to put your needs before his own. You both made a routine to give each other flowers whenever you two see each other either in privacy or in private. Your flowers is always the red rose but Diluc’s rose is white roses. You later ask Lisa what the white rose means and you were surprised to say the least. White roses means innocence and purity, you’re heavenly, secrecy and silence and I am worthy of you. Diluc was in a surprise when you hugged him, killing him with your kisses and saying to him. “Thank you, my nightly Knight.” This makes the poor man tear up and embrace you in his arms. You are both worthy of each other. Never let each other go.

Kaeya

Orange Blossom-Eternal Love

Who says that even the broken can fall in love? For Kaeya, it is him. He has been hiding his pain with a sly smile and the flirtiness, hiding the turmoil in his heart. To Kaeya, he thought that he would be alone in this world where nobody loved him nor understand until you came into his life. Kaeya was wary of you at first but after some time, he realized that you did not have any ill motives towards him. You understand him, love him for who he really is despite what others said about him. You make his life worth something and if he had to pick a flower to describe you. It would be an orange blossom flower. Even in a different universe..even if you are gone from his life, his love for you will be eternal.

~Taglist: @areislol @purpleqilinwrites @amxto @yoghurtsan @ryuryuryuyurboat @windblume-wishes @thestarswhisper @the-guardian-kitsune @sanzach @asoulsreverie @inkybloom-luv @ainescribe @kitsuvil @dxmoness @kalims @mccnstruck @dailypenpen @husky-studies

#ཐིཋྀ- daydream’s paradise -ཐིཋྀ #୨୧- daydream’s library #𓏲𝄢 ~ genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #ᰔ- come daydream again #genshin fluf #genshin fluff #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin kaeya #Genshin Diluc #genshin zhongli

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megalony · 2 months

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Junior

This is a new Dominic Luca imagine from Swat that I had an idea for, I hope you will all like it. Let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff

@jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Swat Masterlist

Summary: While Luca is at work, his wife gets taken into hospital and he breaks down when he finds out she's gone into premature labour without him there.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luca could feel the bruises blossoming on his skin like malicious works of art. He knew the moment he took his shirt off, he would be able to see petals of blue and lilac painting his skin with leaves of mustard yellow. With centres of navy blue as dark as the Pacific ocean from the impact of the bullet lodging in his vest.

He knew the back of his right shoulder was going to be painted and he was going to see various other colours splashed across his left arm from where he collided with a coffee table when he took down one of the suspects.

He wondered if the impact of the bullet against his vest felt as bad as actually being shot. It felt like he had a bullet indent in his skin already, like there was a crevace indented deep into his upper back over his right shoulder.

His head hung down as he followed the team back inside Swat headquarters and his fingers worked hard to hook the keys of Black Betty onto his holster belt where they always stayed.

"You good?"

He felt Deacon pat his lower back, specifically avoiding his shoulder because they had all seen what happened.

All of them had reacted fast when a suspect went to throw down his weapon and accidentally set it off in the process. Luca and Hondo had their backs to the suspect, they had been advancing down the corridor when the bullet clocked Luca in the shoulder. And everyone had been surprised when he carried on with the job. They should see his arm shaking and his expression taut to hide the agony he had been in.

Putting on a brave face didn't wash with the team, but even Hondo couldn't force Luca to get seen by the paramedics. He could still move his arm and his hand and Luca had dealt with dislocated and broken bones, he knew his shoulder was fine. The worst he would have was a torn muscle and he dealt with those almost every other month.

"Battered and bruised, but I'm good." He gave his right shoulder a roll, clicking the joint into place and moving the muscles at the back which felt shredded.

"Surprised you can still drive, Luca." Chris commented as she passed him and overtook the team, taking the lead in walking through to the gym.

"Please, nothing gets between me and Black Betty."

Luca was their designated driver. No one touched the jeep when he was around. It was his preferred duty, he was their fastest and most efficient driver and everyone knew it. He knew all the back streets, the quickest routes, he could cut corners like a champ and he was good in a chase. And Luca didn't drive like he was on a heist. His driving was smooth and steady at the best of times especially in a panic which is precisely what they needed when they were on a chase or a time sensitive mission.

His shoulder had pained him when he was driving them back to headquarters, but Luca hated being a passenger. He didn't want to give the reigns over to someone else.

But Luca knew he was going to have to get a Hell of a lot of painkillers to dull down this ache and get him through the next few weeks at Swat. He might have to find one of those herbal remedies that always worked on his aches and sprains rather than an injection from the doctor. He didn't like needles.

He began to scratch the base of his neck as they rounded the boxing ring and aimed for the locker room. Everyone was slugging along by now, barely lifting their heads, dragging their feet, shoulders hung forward. Everyone needed to get out their protective gear and refuel in the kitchen.

"Tell me we don't have to cook anything." Street tossed his head back with a quiet groan, nothing but food playing on his mind.

"I think there's some leftovers in the fridge."

Luca continued to drag his nails back and forth along his neck, trying to work out the kinks in the muscles, but it wasn't working. He only seemed to relax when (Y/n) was around. He held tension until his wife was within his sights, and then he could somehow melt into a puddle beneath her touch. The last time she'd given him a massage he almost fell asleep straight away. He was always calm when he was with her.

The five of them trudged around the boxing ring, aiming for the double doors at the end which would lead into the locker room. But their walk slowed down until they were barely moving at all when a familiar figure walked towards them.

The commander.

He had one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket and his other hand wiping back and forth across his chin in that stiff, tense manner that indicated something wasn't quite right with him.

His eyes focused on the floor like he was calculating each step he took or working something out in his head. But when he finally lifted his head and looked through those narrowed eyes, his sights set on one person and one person only.

"Luca, can I have a word?"

That didn't sound good. Those words sent shockwaves down Luca's spine right to the tip of his toes like electric shocks beating through his nerves.

He hadn't done anything wrong. He shouldn't be in trouble for anything. He was one of the straight-cut members of Swat, he was third-generation and he was damn good at what he did. No one had a problem with Luca and no one had ever known him step a foot out of line or break the rules. He could get very fiery and worked up on certain subjects, but his heart was always in the right place.

"Uh, sure." His nails scratched a little too tightly down his neck as he dropped his hands to clench them together in front of his stomach. His hands began rubbing together and he raked his nails over his knuckles, doing anything with his hands to rid himself of his sudden nervous energy.

His back straightened and his shoulders squared up, despite the ache it caused in them. He veered away from his team which felt like falling out of sync as he moved to the right to stand in front of the commander.

"Everything okay, boss?" He refrained from scratching his hands and settled for clasping them together in front of his chest in one of his usual, nervous mannerisms. Something barely any of the team would take notice of, the only one who knew it was a nervous habit was his wife.

Had he done something wrong? Had Hicks found out that Luca got a bit ruffed up on this call and refused to be treated by the paramedics? Was he going to insist that Luca went to the doctor for an exam?

"(Y/n) called while you and the team were out, she was taken down to the hospital."

All of Luca's blood ran cold in his veins like he had been submerged underwater. He could feel his lungs stuttering in his chest, coming to a halt while his shoulders sagged and his lips parted, but he couldn't find the words he wanted or needed.

Hospital. (Y/n). That wasn't right.

"Why? What happened?"

"Her water broke, she's gone into labour." Hicks tried to speak as calmly as he could in a quiet voice so no one loitering about would be able to pick up on their conversation.

He'd been mulling over how to have this talk with Luca. He knew he couldn't waste any time, as soon as he knew the team were back he was on his way down here to tell Luca the news. But he knew it wasn't going to go down well and he could see Luca was already about to either blow up or break, he wasn't sure which.

"No." Something akin to a smile fluttered across Luca's lips as he shook his head, believing this to be some sick joke being played on him. "No. She- she can't, she's what, twenty nine weeks. She can't go into labour now."

That wasn't right. That wasn't possible.

They were only just at seven months, they weren't supposed to be thinking about labour for another eight weeks at least. Why was (Y/n) going into labour? What happened while he had been at work? Luca never thought it would happen this early, not when so far, everything had gone smoothly with the pregnancy.

(Y/n) had been fine, morning sickness had finally tapered off and at their last scan the baby had been healthy in every way.

Luca wasn't supposed to come on shift and worry about his wife going into early labour without him being there. (Y/n) didn't have any complications that would warrant this happening and Luca stupidly thought that something like this wouldn't happen to them because they had no other issues thus far.

His hands dropped from his chest to clench into fists at his sides that were shaking like he was desperate to climb into the ring and go five rounds with whoever dare oppose him.

"You need to go to the hospital, Luca. Captain Cortez already went down so (Y/n) wouldn't be on her own-"

"When did she call? Why didn't you tell me?!"

How was Captain Cortez at the hospital before him? No one but Luca was supposed to be at the hospital with (Y/n). He was her husband. This was his baby. He didn't even have a clue if (Y/n) was actually going to have the baby now or if she had just had contractions which the doctors might be able to stop.

Luca was supposed to be with (Y/n) if anything happened. He was supposed to have his hours cut down once (Y/n) hit thirty-seven weeks. They had planned for him to do less shifts during the week when she reached that marker so that when she went into labour, Luca had better chances of being home with her. He didn't want to miss a thing.

"You were in the middle of a raid, I couldn't pull you out Luca, I had to wait until the mission was complete-"

"Bullshit." The word spit like venom from his tongue and before Hicks could try to explain, Luca was gone.

He spun on his heels, his boots hitting the floor with vigour as he bolted from the gym, slamming through the double doors so violently they shook the walls and the foundations of the building.

Tears burned in the corners of Luca's bloodshot eyes that were stinging like they were full of acid. This couldn't be happening to him. This wasn't fair. Why him? Why couldn't this happen to anybody else? He and (Y/n) had done nothing wrong to warrant this. Luca didn't even know what he was going to be walking into when he got to the hospital. He could have missed something important.

Labour might have stopped when he got there, or it could have progressed. (Y/n) could be screaming out for him and Luca was still here.

They should have told him. Cortez or Hicks should have radioed through to Hondo and told him to cut Luca from the mission and send him back to headquarters. They could have continued the mission without Luca, it would still have been a success and worked without him. They had no right to keep this from him and put the mission before the sake of his family like that.

His presence in the locker room sent chills through everyone's blood and his raging temper could be felt in all of them.

Before he was three steps into the locker room, Luca whipped the bulletproof vest over his head, ignoring the ache in his shoulder which was nothing more than a minor inconvenience compared to the panic swarming his heart. He tossed the vest into his locker, along with the holster strapped to his waist. And his trembling hands fought to keep steady and find his car keys that were bundled up in his backpack.

He didn't have time to get changed out of his work clothes. He had no time to get his things in order or change into his sweatshirt and jeans rather than his cotton work shirt and cargo trousers he was still wearing.

He swung his backpack on his shoulder and kicked the locker door so violently it swung open and closed all of three times before finally staying shut. And there was a significant indent in the sleek grey metal from his boot.

"Luca… everything okay?" Street was desperate to reach out for him but he didn't dare. Luca didn't look like he was in the mood to be calmed down and reaching for him might just set him off.

They could all see the tears freely streaming down his face which was burning red like the fires of Hell.

It didn't take much for Luca to get emotional, especially about things that hit close to home for him. But it did take something extremely worrying or powerful to get him to cry so freely like this and right now he was one sob away from breaking.

"Luca, what happened?" Hondo closed his locker, taking precise steps towards the blond but he didn't get close enough before Luca was turning on his heels and sprinting for the door.

"(Y/n)'s having the baby."

***

Luca wasn't sure what he was going to find when he entered the hospital room. It felt like he was running in a nightmare. The corridors stretched on for miles, the numbers on the doors went in the wrong order and didn't make any sense and he could feel the seconds ticking by.

By the time he finally locked his eyes onto the right room and read the numbers over and over to make sure it was the right one, he couldn't breathe. All the blood drained down to his feet, his shoulder stopped aching and all Luca could feel was his heartbeat throbbing through every inch of his skin. No pain, no terror, no numbness, just his heartbeat and a wave of uncertainty overwhelming his senses.

Whatever he had been expecting on the other side of that door wasn't the sight he was faced with.

Luca felt the door swing shut behind him and it caused a shudder to vibrate through his skin.

His frantic eyes did a sweep of the room that was much calmer than he had been expecting. No nurses, doctors of midwives fluttering about. No frantic cries or panicked voices or beeping monitors.

His wife was laid in the middle of the bed, knees pulled up, arms around her waist and head burrowed down into the pillow. Tears stained her face, her eyes looked swollen and tired as if keeping them open was too much effort. And sat on the chair pulled up close to the bed was Jess, Luca's Captain.

The Captain looked the least held together Luca had ever seen her. He wasn't used to the panic in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands and the lack of composure.

"I'll give you two a moment alone." She squeezed (Y/n)'s arm and forced the smallest smile she could before she got up.

Her hand found Luca's arm as she walked past and he couldn't find his voice so he settled on nodding. Hoping his expression was enough to thank her for staying until he could get here. She didn't have to come down and be with (Y/n), but Luca was grateful she had so (Y/n) didn't have to be alone.

When the door closed behind her, Luca forced himself to move, he couldn't stand in the doorway waiting for answers.

Luca slumped down on the side of the bed, feeling like he could just melt into a puddle then and there. But when his eyes suddenly set on (Y/n)'s trembling arms that were slowly moving up and down over her stomach, his head started to shake.

No.

"It's a boy."

No. He'd missed it. He knew this would happen. Luca felt something shift when he got in the car and started his frantic drive down here. Something inside him started to scream that he wouldn't make it there in time, and he had been right.

She'd had the baby without him. They didn't tell him in time. Why didn't Corte or Hicks pull him off the mission? Why couldn't they have told him as soon as (Y/n) called so he could of been here?

This was their first baby. This was something Luca had been searching for his whole life, waiting to find someone to give his heart to and start a family with. He wanted to be a dad. Luca wanted to be a better dad than both his grandad and his dad had been. He wanted to be there for (Y/n) for everything with the pregnancy, but the birth was something Luca had been adamant he wasn't going to miss out on.

"W-where is he?" He was almost too afraid to ask.

It didn't seem to bode well that Luca couldn't see any nurses or midwives fluttering about the room. There was no incubator or baby in here. His wife had been crying for a while, judging by the tear stains on her face and her laboured breathing.

"The ICU… we can go see him soon."

"He's okay?"

Luca couldn't help the shiver that tore through him while he reached forward for her hands. He unfolded her arms from her chest and pulled her arms onto his lap while his thumbs began to brush up and down the back of her hands.

He waited as patiently as he could, watching (Y/n) as she tried to sit up straighter and lower her legs down. But moving made her ache and stretching out didn't feel good when all she wanted to do was curl up and make herself disappear.

"Too early to tell. H-he was so tiny." Another tidal wave of tears started to fall until (Y/n) was trembling, broken cries leaving her lips.

It broke her heart to see Luca bow his head and watch his broad shoulders begin to shake with each silent cry that wracked his body. His grip on her hands tightened and he pulled them closer until he was imbedding her hands into his lower chest, wishing it would do something to relieve the agony that was crippling him.

"We can see him soon though, right?" Luca lifted his head, unable to fight off the hope that dwelled in his eyes.

He had missed the birth, but he wanted to see his boy. He needed to. This wasn't sinking in and it wasn't going to cement in his brain that he was now a dad until he had his boy within his sights. It didn't seem right to look at (Y/n) now and see her stomach already in a different shape. He didn't like it. This was too early. Their boy was going to be so small.

His thumbs continued to glide over the back of her hands and she nodded, calming down one of the many nerves building up in Luca's chest. (Y/n) didn't know when they would be able to go down or when a nurse was going to tell them where exactly their boy was, but she knew someone would come and talk to them soon.

Once he had been taken to be examined, the nurse told (Y/n) that once he was cleaned up and weighed, he would be set up on any machines he needed and in an incubator. This hospital was going to be his home for the foreseeable future. But (Y/n) had been reassured that it wouldn't be long until she could see him and she could stay with him as long as she liked.

Another tear rolled down (Y/n)'s face and it broke Luca's heart. He took a deep breath before he let go of her hands in favour of cupping her face instead. His thumbs stroked lovingly beneath her eyes and he pushed forward until he could rest their temples together.

His lips tried to curve into a tepid smile when he felt (Y/n)'s hands clutching at his wrists, causing him to shake along with her.

"You w-were supposed to be here, with me. I was so scared, Luca." Tears fell down the bridge of her nose and trickled over Luca's hands.

She wanted him here. She had been screaming when Jess turned up in his place, assuring her Luca would be here as soon as he could. (Y/n) knew what that meant. He was on a mission that was 'too important' to jeopardise for (Y/n)'s sake. She had been put in second place, something that was never an issue before. But (Y/n) needed him.

She needed her husband here when she was told she was going into premature labour and it couldn't be stopped. She wanted Luca to be holding her and telling her it was going to be okay. She needed him beside her as their little boy was born, especially when she didn't know if their baby was going to be okay or not.

She tried to tilt her head down but Luca's hands prevented her from doing so. He kept their foreheads pressed together, swallowing down the cry burning at the back of his throat. He couldn't find the will to open his eyes because he knew looking at her was only going to crumple his composure and shred his heart into further broken pieces.

Their noses brushed together when Luca pressed his lips to hers, tasting the salt tears trickling across her lips and down her chin. He could feel her rapid, shallow breaths pausing while he kissed her, allowing her system to calm down. Her hands clutched his wrists tighter and her tongue battled against his and she leaned back into the pillows as Luca leaned further into her.

"I tried," He gasped against her mouth, his lips hovering so close they were still touching and his eyes bore into hers. "I came as soon as Hicks told me, I swear baby I swear I tried-"

"Swat comes first though, right?" There was something ironic, almost sarcastic in her voice, but no anger or malice like the words intended.

(Y/n) knew the game. She knew that the team always told their partners that Swat came first. During birthdays, parties, hospital visits, days off, school meetings and plays, if Swat called, it was prioritised. Family was put on the back burner and (Y/n) understood that.

All the dates they had cut short, their days off that turned into nights alone while Luca was called into work. The panic of wondering if he was going to be okay, the hazard pay that didn't make up for the threat of losing Luca every day he went to work. The amount of times (Y/n) had made a trip down to the hospital when Luca got hurt. The nights she had woken up to find him crying from bad memories or waking up from horrid nightmares.

She coped with it all because she understood. She understood someone had to do this job and Luca was one of those people. He looked after everybody, he protected people when no one else would and he loved his job like it was his family.

But today was the one day where (Y/n) wished she could of come first. She wished Luca would of been here, that he would of been allowed to be by her side. And she stupidly thought that maybe, just maybe, Luca would come to be by her side and favour her over the job.

"No!" The dark tone to Luca's voice made (Y/n) shudder and jump against him. "Not anymore. You always come first, you and him. You're more important to me than anything else in my life and if I knew, I would of left that mission without a second thought. I'll always choose you."

"Luca-"

"Always. You understand me, you come first to me." He was at the point of almost shaking her head to get her to understand.

(Y/n) tightened her hands around his wrists but she nodded. She could see the resentment and the fury burning up in his eyes from not being here in time. From not being told on time.

If they told him straight away, Luca would have turned around and run back out that building. He would of come down here straight away because before (Y/n), Swat was his life. Luca had nothing but Swat and that was okay, that was enough. But now, now he had (Y/n) and their little boy and Luca knew from the beginning that he would always put them first.

If his family ever needed him, he would be there. This was no different. He knew now, he was here now and he wasn't going to let anything take him away from his wife and son. This was where he needed to be and this was where he was going to stay.

***

Tiredness ebbed away in the corners of Luca's eyes and at the back of his mind, but he tried to push it to one side and ignore it.

The first hint of a smile began to form on his lips when he looked down. He pulled the sleeves of his leaf green sweatshirt down until the cuffs were folded over his hands. His nails scratched into the worn material and he rubbed the cotton between his thumbs. An old habit he hadn't gotten out of, hiding his hands in his sleeves.

Both arms pinned over his chest like he was giving himself a comforting hug and he leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the plastic that separated him from his little boy.

His arms left his chest and moved down to press on the incubator, tapping lightly in time with the heartrate monitor.

He wasn't sure what to say. Was his boy going to hear him properly? Was he going to take notice of the sounds around him?

"Hey, little guy."

For what had to be the tenth time this morning, Luca carefully slid his right hand through the small circular opening in the side of the incubator.

His fingers skimmed across his little boy's chest, just a small, delicate touch that was barely there. Luca couldn't find it in himself to be comforted by the feeling of his little boy breathing steadily like this. Not when he knew it was the machine that was making him breathe. As soon as that tube was removed from his nose and he was breathing on his own, Luca knew he would feel a lot better.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a premature baby this small or this close up in person. None of his friends had ever had a baby this early and he was only close enough to his friends at Swat to know and be around their kids. Deacon's kids had all been born around their due date. Never like this.

It was unnerving to think that if he put both hands in the incubator, his son would barely fit in the palm of his hands. He only weighed two pounds. Luca had never seen a baby so small and lightweight. He was like a doll.

"We can hold you later, you know. God, you're so small."

The back of Luca's fingers skimmed across his boy's arm, up and down in a slow motion. It still didn't feel real. Luca never thought that when his first child would be born, they would be hidden away in an incubator like this, kept alive on wires and machines and barely the size of Luca's hands.

He thought he'd be cradling his son in his arms, surprised at how big he was and showing him off to friends and family. Waiting desperately to take him home. Not waiting five to six weeks for him to develop and get well enough to be taken home without life support.

It all looked so strange, considering Luca had never seen any neonatal equipment before.

The incubator was here to make his boy feel like he was back in the womb and to get him to grow and develop. Luca knew realistically that his boy wasn't going to feel frightened or as if he was on his own, but Luca hoped that his touch would help his boy somehow.

He stroked his thumb against the back of his hand, noting how his son's skin was like sandpaper. A bit gritty, somewhat coarse and extremely fragile. If Luca applied too much pressure he might break his skin.

"I don't know how to hold you though, I don't wanna hurt you."

He knew the nurses would get his boy out the incubator and show them how to properly hold him and get skin contact, but Luca was nervous. His boy had cotton wool over his eyes to protect them from the light so they could continue to develop. There was a breathing tube taped into his nose that was constantly making Luca's eyes well up with tears. He had a cannula taped into his head beneath the tiny hat to keep him warm. There were monitoring stickers on his chest, wires stuck to his skin and a tube through the cord where they would feed him.

"Your grandad's gonna come down and see you soon, and I bet the team will be asking about you and wanting to see you."

He couldn't quite get his head round the fact that he could now call himself a dad. He could tell people he had a baby boy. This little life right here, that wouldn't fit in his hands, was already alive and here.

This was his boy. This was the little person he was going to be cradling at night and settling to sleep and feeding and washing and dressing him up and taking him down to visit the team. This was the little boy that in a few years, Luca would be proudly showing off at headquarters and showing him where his dad and grandad had worked. Where Luca was now third generation.

He wasn't going to impose that on his boy, though. Both Luca's father and grandfather had drilled it into him that Swat was his legacy, it was what he should do with his life and it was luck that Luca never wanted to do anything else. He wasn't going to make his boy feel like this was where he belonged. As far as Luca was concerned, the Swat legacy could end with him. As long as his boy was safe and happy.

"I don't know how I'm gonna get through these next few weeks, I just wanna take you home already."

He was desperate. He felt like one of the robbers he was always taking down at Swat. He wanted to steal his son from the incubator and take him home. He wished he could of kept (Y/n) and their baby safe. He wished he could rectify things so their boy was born nearer his due date, when it was safe. But now he was here, Luca just wanted to pick him up and take him home.

He didn't know how the next few weeks were going to work when he and (Y/n) weren't going to be able to take him out of this. They would get to hold and cradle him for a while, they would see the nurses feeding him and changing him and checking his vitals. But they couldn't do anything from this side of the incubator.

Luca wanted his boy to know what a cuddle felt like. He wanted to be able to give him a kiss and hold him and let him know how much he was loved already.

"I must have had intuition or something, 'cos I already put the crib up last month. So that's ready for when we take you home."

(Y/n) had chided him for putting it up so soon, but now with the way events had turned out, Luca felt like it must have been a forewarning. It was one less thing to sort out, but Luca was going to need all the tasks and work he could find to get him through these next few weeks to tide him over until he could take his boy home.

Luca found it fascinating to look at the tiny nappy they put on his son. It didn't look right, being so small and compact and seeing such tiny legs sprouting out which only looked the length of Luca's index finger. And when his eyes trailed up to look at his son's small head, he was relieved that his boy now had a little lime green cap on to help keep him warm.

Luca didn't want anyone removing that cap. Not when he knew that was where the IV line had gone.

Everyone knew that Luca wasn't good with needles. If they were going into his skin he would throw a fit and lose his rag, but if he was seeing someone else get a needle or an injection, it made him queasy. He was relieved he hadn't seen the nurse put that cannula into his son's head, that would have given Luca a blackout.

He was glad the cap covered the IV line which could only be seen popping out the end of the cap behind his tiny ear that was smaller than Luca's thumb.

"I should of been there," His words were quiet and lost on himself and they brought tears to his eyes. "I wanted to be there… I'm sorry, little guy. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He knew his son was never going to know or begrudge the fact that Luca hadn't been there at the birth, but it was something Luca himself was going to have to live with. He was never going to forgive himself for not being there, for letting (Y/n) down and making her think she came second to the job. Luca was going to be there for everything else. For both of them.

Anything and everything they needed him for, Luca would be there. He wasn't going to miss another thing in their son's life and he was going to make sure he was there for (Y/n) too.

Just as he slid his hand from the incubator and went to rest both arms on top of the plastic, Luca felt a familiar pair of arms circle around his waist. And a familiar face pressed into his back just beneath his broad shoulder blades. His lips curved into a grin and he slowly slid his hand down to hold onto (Y/n)'s wrist.

"Hi babe, you okay?" He twisted his body so his left hip was pressing against the incubator, allowing him to weave his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and tug her closer.

She tucked herself into his chest with her cheek pressed against his sternum so her eyes could focus on the incubator in front of them. The feeling of Luca's hand feathering up and down her hip and the feel of his lips against her temple faded out when (Y/n) looked at her little boy.

"Hm. How is he?"

"The little trooper's doing good." Luca spoke against the top of (Y/n)'s head, breathing into her hair while he leaned back so she could slouch against his chest.

Tilting her head back, (Y/n) gently pressed her chin into Luca's chest so she could look up at him.

He had dark circles beneath his eyes and a hazy look in his pupils, showing off his desperate need for sleep. And the red rings beneath his eyes showed off the fact that he had been crying again. All he had done since he got here was cry, not that (Y/n) blamed him when she was much the same.

She could see he looked like he wanted to cry again so she started to slowly glide her hand up and down his back while she tucked herself further into his chest.

The way he slouched and grinned tiredly but endearingly made (Y/n) smile and attach her lips to his neck.

"We need a name for him." Her words were soft and her tone was even softer, melting along the edges while she smiled against his skin and grazed her teeth dangerously close to his throat.

They couldn't keep calling him baby Luca, it didn't sound right when (Y/n) was so used to using their joint last name to refer to her husband. Calling him Dom wasn't something (Y/n) liked to do because it didn't fit well when everyone else just called him Luca.

"What were you thinking?"

"I know you didn't want to name him after your grandad… but what about naming him after you?" (Y/n) could see her words surprised him. His hand tightened on her waist and his eyes shot down to look at her like she had spoken in a foreign language.

As close as Luca had been to his grandad when he was younger, they had their disagreements over the years and they had never been as close when he grew up. The one and only memory Luca was happy to think of these days was when he passed for Swat. He didn't want to name their baby after his dad or grandad, especially not if that would put a weight on their shoulders and make their son feel like he was obliged to join in the Swat tradition.

But (Y/n) thought it might be better to name him after Luca instead. She could already see that Luca loved their son to death and would do anything in the world for him.

"After me?"

"He's a fighter, like you. He needs to be strong, and you're the strongest person I know."

Luca tilted his head down and pressed his lips to the top of (Y/n)'s head, doing his best to ward off the tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't want to cry anymore, not today. He twisted so he was properly facing her and looped his other arm around her shoulders with his hand cupping the back of her neck. He felt her hands clutching at his back and he sighed into her hair, unable to stop himself from grinning.

"What about Junior?" Luca knew it would be too confusing to start calling their son Luca and Dom was more of an adult name. But they could call him Nick or Junior, the latter sounded more appealing to Luca. He could see himself walking into Swat, introducing everyone to his little double. His Junior.

A smile spread across (Y/n)'s lips as she pressed her face further into his chest, inhaling his scent as she kissed his sternum through his sweatshirt.

"I like it."

#imagine #swat luca imagine #swat luca #swat cbs #swat x reader #swat #dominique luca #dominic x reader #dominic luca #dominique luca imagine #luca x reader #luca imagine #hondo harrelson #david deacon kay #jim street

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angel-of-the-moons · 8 months

Text

Alone Time

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem! Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Fluff, smut, oral (m + f! receiving), protected sex, PiV sex, Jake has a certain kink, unprotected sex, every good mama deserves to have a train run on her, body insecurities, affirmations, porn with a big heaping slice of life, could this be considered cucking? Or voyeurism/exhibitionism?, broken condom

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

This fic is connected to "Small Surprises" Pt. 1 and Pt. 2.

A/N: I had to do it lmao.

Taglist: @simp4-fictional-men @autismsupermusicalassassin @princessakirika @mochimoqa @pimosworld

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Your life was a strange one, now. You'd gotten used to the looming, musty-smelling god that lingered in your apartment and spent time with your daughter; you'd gotten so used to having the man--er, men--in your life at your side when you wake up in the morning.

You'd especially gotten attached to their little fishy friends!

But, hey, you wouldn't change it for the world. Hanukkah and Christmas came and went, so did New years. Poor Victoria, she was hiccuping and crying because the fireworks were too loud and terrified her, prompting Jake to immediately cradle her, and even Khonshu moved to slam your windows closed to muffle the sounds. (Although you lectured him about cracking one of the panes in his haste.)

And now, Valentine's Day was coming up, and you weren't entirely sure what to get for your boys.

Victoria, bless her tiny, sweet, adorable little heart, cut out some messy, colorful, and craft-herpes (glitter) covered hearts to each of them, doodling various things each man liked. Steven's heart was brown with gold glitter and had little Egyptian designs scribbled here and there, Marc had a few sports items drawn on his white and blue-glitter heart, Jake had a bright yellow and white heart, a crude scribble of his car drawn on next to his name.

She even made one for Khonshu. It was gaudy. Bright, neon pink, purple and blue glitter all over, and had small drawings of birds on it, with a crescent moon with a smiley face in the middle. His face couldn't emote, but you couldn't help but grin like an idiot (and had to elbow Steven in the gut to keep him quiet) as your innocent daughter handed her little art project to her "Cranky Bird Grandpa 'Shu". You were positive his pride took a blow when he accepted it in front of the two of you, but the way he gingerly held the little gift silently told you that he did, infact, like it.

Why Khonshu's personality seemed to shift around you and Victoria, you were unsure. You'd never asked, and to be honest you kinda didn't wanna know. You just chocked it up to, hopefully, Khonshu realized his existence didn't have to solely revolve around justice and violence. That some of his more forgotten attributes could be indulged in; such as him being a protector and a healer.

One time, Victoria fell and scraped her knee at the park, bawling as blood trickled down her delicate little leg. Before you or Marc could leap to your feet, Khonshu was there (invisible to others, of course) and whispered something to her. She repeated it, and by the time you two got there, Khonshu was gone, disappeared into a puff of mist, and Victoria was no longer injured.

Marc had asked her, worried, about what Khonshu said to her, the moment you got into the car. You were vaguely paying attention, at first, distracted at how his beard had come in, and he'd stopped being so meticulous about his appearance that his usually raven locks and beard (the one Jake insisted they grow out) were peppered with silver.

"What did he say, Vicky?" Marc asked.

"Jus' said that I had to say the words." Victoria answered vaguely, playing with her little scarab plushie in the back seat.

"What words, baby?" Marc asked, feeling a nervous sweat break out on his neck. You had to place your hand on his thigh to snap him back to reality.

"The words!" Victoria said, pursing her cute little face, her nose all scrunched up at his lack of automatically knowing what she meant. "He said, I gotta say the words to ask for help, so he can fix me!"

"...Wait." You turned in your seat to look back at her as you approached a red light, Marc watching her warily through the rear-view.

"Honey, do you mean a prayer?"

"Duh!" She scoffed, like it was obvious. "'Shu used to fix people all the time, he says. But nobody says the words no more so he can't. I had to say em so he could do it!"

You and Marc blink at each other, mulling over what your daughter just told you, a thick silence hanging in the air that was only cut through by her munching on some veggie sticks (all carefully arranged by color, of course. The red ones tasted the best, so they went first!).

"....I forgot he could do that." Marc murmured softly, looking back at the road as the light turned green.

"Yeah!" Victoria peeped. "'Shu says he can't do it no more cause it's hard. It's easier to find bad guys than fix people 'cuz they don't him ask for it no more."

You watch as Marc's jaw tenses and a look of confliction creases his brow.

Living under basically forced servitude tends to blind one to any benevolence their "benefactor" may have possessed at one point.

...And apparently still possessed. He'd never thought--none of them had--to consider that Khonshu never dispatched them to heal anyone, because A.) Nobody prayed to him for that anymore. B.) It wasn't in Moon Knight's abilities to heal anyone. And C.) Evil was just so much easier to root out.

The rest of the ride home was quiet; Marc, Jake, and Steven's headspace abuzz with this revelation.

You, meanwhile, still stressed out over what to get Marc, Steven, and Jake.

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"I still don't trust him." Marc muttered stubbornly.

"I understand why, and you have your rights to." You sigh softly, kneading the muscles in his shoulders. You were sitting behind him on the bed, his legs draped over the edge. "But you have to admit, he's strangely... sweet to Victoria."

"I don't trust it." He huffs again, his eyes closing as your thumbs work a particularly stiff knot between his shoulders.

"I know. But believe me, if he tries anything..." You mutter as your brow creases and you apply just a bit more pressure, earning a groan and a strained chuckle from Marc.

"Shit, I think the old man is more scared of you than what the Ennead might do to him if he fucks with the sky again." He says. "You and that broom."

You grin and press yourself against his back, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you slip your arms around his midsection, feeling the mix of softness and muscle, there.

"Well... me and my broom are fearless companions." You chuckle.

Marc stutters out a short huff as your fingers brush the trail of hair running beneath waistband of his sweatpants. They were doing very little to conceal the growing erection that throbbed against his thigh.

Marc tipped his head and looked at the monitor next to the bed, showing that Victoria was happily snuggled in bed, curled up with her arms squeezing Digger the scarab plush and snoozing peacefully.

Thank god that little girl usually slept like the dead...

"So..." You say, leaning in to nip at his ear as you comb your fingers through his curls, small water droplets clinging to the strands. Your nails scraping against his scalp, he groaned.

"You don't gotta work for the old man tonight." You say, kissing down his neck and to his shoulder, feeling how goosebumps formed beneath your soft lips; your hand slowly sliding up from his happy trail to his chest.

"Ay, hermano, you don't say yes I'll fuck her for you." Jake's voice rang out.

Marc grunted at his unwanted offer and demand; usually when it came to being intimate with you, the two of you worked out a system, setting up times, etcetera. And when spontaneous things like this happened, Jake and Steven would leave you and Marc alone, and the other ways around.

But of course Jake would occasionally peek in to tell Marc different things to do to you to get the best reaction, or hell, sometimes he'd cheer Marc on like a weird perverted, one-man cheerleader.

"Hmmm... Jake?" You chuckle, taking a small bit of his muscle in between your teeth playfully.

"Fuck. Yeah." Marc gasped, your palm sliding slowly back down until it was all the way under his sweats, stroking his throbbing cock leisurely. He could feel Jake linger, just barely... he would be a spectator tonight, it seemed.

"Ah, should've known. Steven's a good boy and tends to leave everyone alone when it comes to one-on-one time." You chuckle, placing a small kiss to your bite mark. They'd be gone by the time he suited up next, but you knew all the boys had preferred little "badges" to wear.

With Marc, he liked your bite marks, your hand occasionally tugging on his hair. With Steven, it was hickeys and lipstick stains. With Jake, it was scratches on his chest and back, maybe a bitten lip.

However you were all careful not to make them too obvious. The one time Victoria brought up a hickey she spotted on Steven's throat, you swore you saw steam puff out of his ears and his brain explode.

"A-A bug bit me, poppet, th-that's all!" He told her.

"Oh! Okay." She replied to him, not questioning it further, content to go back to playing with her dolls. (She had mummified one of them while you two were making lunch, which concerned you because Khonshu helped so it was as frighteningly accurate as it could get on a chunk of plastic...)

Marc groaned and he bucked his hips up into your touch, his hand falling to where he felt yours beneath his pants, encouraging you.

"Damn, baby." He huffed, already feeling beads of precum begin to drop from the tip of his dick.

You tug his head to the side and kiss him hungrily, your lips connecting as your tongues sloppily danced with one another.

"Your mouth?" Marc hissed.

You nod with a hum slipping around him and to your knees on the soft carpet at his feet, your eyes dark and hungry as he lifted his hips, letting your soft, delicate hands pull his sweats all the way down.

"We honestly may as well stop getting dressed right out of the shower." You chuckle, biting your lip as you pump his cock with your hand, your cheek resting on his thick thigh while you give him a teasing look.

You press your thumb against the weeping head of his dick, sighing. "....because either way, one of you boys get wound up and we wind up naked again."

"Can't help it around you." Marc groaned as you ran your tongue up the underside of his length, tracing the pulsing vein there.

"Clothes just fly off on their own when you're around us, baby."

You snort and roll your eyes, giving his tip a little love nip before licking the large drop of sweet-salty fluid off it, and popping it in between your lips and swallowing him down.

"Fuck." He growled as you bobbed your head, sucking tight and hollowing your cheeks while he petted your damp hair shakily.

"So fucking good, baby."

You moan appreciatively, squirming as you feel your panties start to squish, your clit throbbing almost in tune with his pulse as you take him deeper.

You gag a bit when he gets a little overzealous, and he pulls you back, panting and brows pinched up in concern. "Shit, you okay?"

"Yeah, I just need a teeny bit of a warning next time, honey." You giggled before pulling him back into the hot wet cavern of your mouth.

Marc's eyes rolled back in bliss as your tongue stroked him, his lips snagging his teeth beautifully as his eyes drift to the monitor again to check on Victoria.

Dead asleep, but this time with a little foot poking out from her blankets.

He made a soft whine as the plush of your lips squeezed his sensitivity flesh, your teeth grazing just after, providing a singular myriad of sensations.

Gods, your mouth was downright sinful. The first time you gave him a blowjob, he thought he died again, his orgasm slamming into him like a runaway train.

Afterwards, you sheepishly admitted that sometimes, the only way your ex would get intimate with you while you were pregnant was oral, because he said the sight of your stretch marks made him uncomfortable, and he had his concern for "the kid".

Yeah, it was more likely because he was already having sex with your friend on the side by that point.

But with your boys? They loved whatever they could get, and treasured every millisecond of it. Sometimes a little too much; Steven had a habit of cumming before he even properly fucked you, especially while spending time between your legs with his tongue to the point you were worried he smothered between your thighs.

So many times he'd stain the insides of his boxers and pants, just from eating you out.

Marc groaned, his cock jerking in your mouth to signal you he was going to cum; and you hummed around him greedily, sucking harder to milk him of whatever he could give you.

"Fuuuuck--" He breathed hard, the first spurt of cum shooting out and coating your tongue; his taste heavy and thick and oh-so addicting as you happily drank him down, swirling your tongue around as you pulled off.

Marc chuckled breathlessly and collapsed onto the bed, his arm resting over his face, "Shit... I swear you could suck the soul outta one of us."

You slowly crawl up his body, looking down at him as you support yourself with your hands and knees with a cheeky grin. "That good, huh?"

Marc leaned up and kissed you softly on the lips. "That good."

His hands find their way up your thighs to cup your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he bunched your microfiber sleep shorts beneath his fingers. "Now lemme return the favor."

You squeaked and laughed as he flipped you on your back, his hands almost ripping your buttons on your shirt open to get to the skin beneath, licking and placing open mouth kisses as he moved down to your breasts, his tongue flattening over your perked nipples as his hand slides down to your tummy.

You squirmed a bit, you always do when he palms your squishy lower half. After having Victoria, you didn't "bounce back" like those gorgeous mothers online always seemed to. Your belly was stretched, visible purple marks that faded to an almost silvery sheen over time, but you just couldn't lose the weight that came with your pregnancy.

Your ex didn't like your obvious signs of your growing child within your womb, but your boys? Gods, they adored it. Because it was proof you carried that sweet, adorable, curious little girl that you all loved so much; your body keeping her safe and warm until she was ready to greet the world for the first time.

"Baby." Marc said, looking at you, his dark eyes soft and loving as his flattened his calloused palm over your squishy tummy.

"C'mon... I know that look."

"I... I can't help it." You mumble as he plants feather-soft kisses over your eyelids.

"You need to stay off those mom forums." He joked. "They're full of photoshopped women, or women who can afford surgery to hide a previous pregnancy."

"I know..."

Marc leaned down, kissing his way down your tummy, planting more and more kisses over each and every stretch mark, until his lips reached the waistband of your shorts.

"You're fucking gorgeous, baby. Every scar and bit of baby fat included."

His fingers tapped your hips and you lifted them so he could all but rip them down your legs, practically licking his chops as his eyes landed on your soaked and puffy folds, a soft patch of hair on your mons.

He kissed his way down, further, his thumb spreading your lips and labia, smearing your slick around as his lips formed an "o" around your clit.

You moaned deeply, hand tangling in his mass of untamed curls as his fingers toy with your entrance; tracing it but not sliding inside.

"Marc!" You bucked impatiently.

"So greedy." He chuckled, the vibrations from his voice sending jolts through your clit, making you jump and yelp.

The way his beard tickled and scraped your cunt and thighs had your head swimming, your slick soaking the salt and pepper hairs on his face.

When his fingers finally plunged in, your toes curled and your hands gripped your blankets tight.

"Marc." You mewled.

Marc used his thumb to pull the hood of your clit back as his index and middle fingers curled inside your tight, gummy walls; giving his tongue unfettered access to wrap around the sensitive nub.

You hips tilted and your back arched, and you had to bite down on your lip to stifle the cries that wanted to come from your mouth. Your clit was sensitive, it always was; but god forbid your baby daddy ever give a fuck about that.

Marc and the boys? Oh, they loved to abuse that knowledge every time you two were intimate. Especially when they were using their mouths on you.

"Shit, we need to find a babysitter Vicky's comfortable with." Marc growled in between open mouth kisses to your sweet lips, his fingers curling in the most devilish way.

"Wanna hear how loud we can get ya."

You hiccuped softly in an effort to control your breathing and stuttering voice as your orgasm started to creep up on you. All you could do was blabber out a short "yes" when Marc nipped at your clit again, pressing his fingers up at juuuuust the right angle, sending your eyes rolling so far back into your head you swore you could probably see your own brain for a split second as those wonderful waves of ecstasy beat away at the shores of your sanity.

Marc continued to thrust and curl his fingers, slowing down to stretch out your orgasm until you were ready, your poor hungry hole fluttering and clenching around his digits for more.

Marc, the cheeky little shit, made a lewd display of licking his fingers clean, spreading them into a wide "v" as he wrapped his tongue around each one, licking you completely clean.

You growled playfully and pulled him down to you, slipping your tongue past his lips, tasting a little of yourself in his mouth as your kiss turned sloppy and very messy; his beard soaked all the way through from how much you had gushed onto his tongue and mouth.

When you parted (because your brains finally told you that you needed oxygen to keep living) you were both flushed and hungry for more, and Marc reached down, squeezing your baby fat softly.

"All this is ours, and we aren't trading it for anything."

And damn, did he spend the rest of the night proving it to you.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

"Aunt Layla!" Victoria squealed, running and practically leaping into the woman's arms.

"'Tawar." She giggled, waving excitedly at the hippo-woman trailing just behind.

Layla laughed loudly and you grinned as she and your daughter brushed noses. It was weird, at first, meeting Marc's ex-wife (and Steven's ex-girlfriend) but you were happy they were still on friendly terms, friendly enough, that Layla wanted to meet you and your little girl.

Victoria latched onto her immediately, the moment she sat down in your living room, the curious girl pattered up to her after waking up from her nap, still drowsy as she clambered onto the sofa, and curled up in Layla's nap, resting her head on her chest.

It was so cute you almost started crying. Even the goddess, Taweret, squealed and wiggled her feet at the sight. Given she was the goddess of mothers, children, and other related things, it made sense that she adored your daughter (like Khonshu, but the old pigeon would never admit to it.)

Taweret tagged along on most visits because she wanted to meet the woman and child responsible for gaining so much trust and love from the boys to ease their pain and loneliness. She also just wanted to meet your daughter because, c'mon. Victoria was adorable and everyone so far loved her. Even the "bloody old pigeon" as she and Steven were so fond of calling Khonshu.

Layla settled and hefted your child onto her hips, walking over to give you a side hug and you two exchanged cheek kisses in greeting.

"Hey, love!" Layla said to you both. "How have things been!"

"Oh, wonderful. Victoria's started reading multi-chapter books already." You sigh, smiling in wonder at your daughter.

Victoria giggled bashfully and started rubbing her cheek onto Layla's, reaching out to touch Taweret's outstretched palm.

"Really? So soon?" Layla blinked in amazement.

"Yeah, the doctor said it's not entirely uncommon that some autistic children develop certain skills quicker. She's already reading some of Steven's textbooks to him!" You reply.

"Damn, give her a few weeks and I'd wager this little ankle-nipper will be able to put any of those scholars at the museum to shame." She snorted.

"Steven said the same thing." You chuckled. "Even joked that they could probably go into Uni together."

"Oh gods, that's cute." Layla giggled as Victoria dug her fingers into her curly hair to play with the silky mass.

"Steven had a meeting at the museum today, he'll feel so sad for not saying bye." You say wistfully.

"Eh, it's one night. He will survive." Layla scoffed playfully.

"...Thank you so much for agreeing to take her." You sighed at her.

"Hey, hey, no problem. It's Valentine's and you two have been so wound up lately you need some alone time." She winked at you not-so-subtly.

You blushed a bit at her implication and laughed nervously as you reached for Victoria's overnight bag.

"Oh--her favorite blanket and toys are in there. Her shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, Digger is in there, too, because you know how she gets without him--"

"Relax, I know this'll be her first time away from you." Layla smiled warmly. "But she'll be fine. The hotel is just a block away, and plus, nothing will happen to her. Not with a goddess and her Avatar looking out for her, eh?"

Your shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh. "Yeah... Yeah, you're right. It's just..."

"No, no I get it." Layla's eyes twinkled. "...So how many squishmallow things has Steven and Victoria accumulated?"

You laugh out loud and point behind her, the corner of your living room where you'd had your Christmas tree was now stacked with several plushies, mostly squishmallows of various kinds, including a very large pineapple named "Maui" that Steven and Victoria loved curling up against to read together.

Layla snorted when she looked, shaking her head. "Well, could collect worse things, I s'pose."

"Like taxidermied bugs and animals?" You joke.

"Oh that's a horrible thought!" She grinned.

"Yeah, well, like you said..."

Layla laughed again and moved so Victoria could lean up to you and rub noses, and you could pepper her soft little face with plenty of kisses.

"Be good for your Aunt Layla and Taweret, okay?" You ask her gently.

"I will, mommy!" Victoria chirped, rubbing her face onto yours lovingly, breathing in your perfume.

You waved as they all left, feeling almost bereft and out of place in your suddenly too quiet flat.

You decided, after a few moments of nervous lip chewing, to walk back to your bedroom.

You walked to your closet and moved aside an old suitcase, revealing a long black box wrapped in hot pink ribbons.

After that night with Marc, something clicked inside your brain and you knew what to get for the boys.

Or rather, what to get yourself for the boys.

You set the box on the bed and looked at the article of "clothing" sitting inside the box. You'd ordered this set of lingerie after Jake and Victoria snuggled on the couch after watching Zootopia together.

You made sure to have it delivered "accidentally" to your neighbor's flat, and she handed it over to you like you two were smuggling contraband into a prison.

After all, you didn't want the boys to find your surprise, now did you?

It took a bit, but you'd stripped down and hastily pulled on your new set. All straps, the fabric was easy on your hands, so you knew Steven wouldn't be overwhelmed by the texture when he touched you.

And boy... would he want to touch you.

The straps covered up nothing and so much at the same time, leaving nothing to the imagination while still, leaving so much.

Looking into the mirror, you swallowed thickly. It looked nothing like it did on the models on the site. Where they had flat, toned bodies and perfect figures...

You had soft, rounded out features, stretch marks and of course, the baby fat.

You chewed your bottom lip hesitantly, your first instinct to take it all off and shove it back into he closet when you saw what you didn't like.

But... you knew that Marc, Jake, and Steven loved you. And that they would go feral if they saw you in it.

For added measure, you slid on the sheer, white stockings up to your thighs, the soft material squishing the plushest parts of your legs.

You had to shove the second one up hastily when you heard the front door unlock, and Steven's voice.

"Ey, love?" Steven called out.

"Uh--egh--fuck--hold on a minute!" You say, scrambling for your fluffy bathrobe. It concealed enough that they wouldn't see much... save for if they looked at your feet.

Steven had walked into the bedroom just barely after you'd tossed the box back into the closet and the door clicked shut, you awkwardly smiling and standing with your hands clasped in front of you.

"Heeeyyy... You!" You tried pitifully.

A thick brow raised behind those dark-rimmed glasses of his. Gods, he looked gorgeous. Dressed in a nice smooth button-up, his blazer buttoned halfway up and his curls falling into his face? His sweet, boyish curiosity had you already blushing.

He looked every bit like the kind of professor many college students would fantasize about taking "extra credit" with...

"What's got you in a tizzy?" Steven chuckled, walking over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to kiss the tip of your nose.

"Oh uhm.... Ah." You squirm, giggling at his kisses.

"Is it because Victoria is out?" He asked, tilting his head to the side like a curious pup.

"Well, uh, eh... Uhm." You cough awkwardly. Oh, this was a horrible idea. So stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Oh! Actually, hold that bubble." Steven chirped, fishing out a small paper bag out of his back pocket.

Inside the bag, was a small box. A jewelry box.

Your hand goes to your mouth as he opens it up and grins sheepishly. "Took us forever to agree on something. Marc was being a real bellend about it, y'know?"

He frowns over at your mirror, his brows creasing as he scowls at his reflection.

"What! You were!" He snapped.

Inside the box was a silver pendant, cut in the shape of the crescent moon, with engraving on it.

"We love you, to the moon and back."

"A bit cheesey, innit?" He mumbled, pulling at his sleeves as his hands darted all over your face, his teeth snagging his lip.

You honestly felt like tearing up. It was so... so cheesey, and so romantic. Very much a Steven thing to do. But you could tell even Marc and Jake had a hand in it, too. It was a united effort.

"Steven...." You begin, lifting your eyes to lock with his doe-like brown ones.

He tosses a nervous, awkward smile.

"I love it. It's gorgeous." You say, your thumb brushing over the shiny material.

"Let me put it on you?" Steven asked you hesitantly, as if worried you'd say no.

"Sure." You smile warmly at him, noticing how his demeanor lights up and he cheerfully brings the chain around your neck as he moves to stand behind you, carefully locking the clasp so the moon hung just beneath your collarbone.

You hear Steven go "huh" under his breath as his fingers brush beneath your bathrobe, touching the straps of the lingerie you were concealing.

"What's this, love?" He asked you, and you jolted slightly.

Oh, shit. Right. The lingerie. You'd almost forgotten it!

"Uh.... It's.... Eh...." You stammer out awkwardly, stepping away to fiddle with the sash of your robe.

Steven watches, curiously and patiently waiting for you to speak, his head tilted to the side.

"So, I've been trying to figure out what to get you guys for Valentine's day, y'know? I was stumped, trying to think on what I could do, so... I... Um."

You looked at Steven, his curls flopped over his head, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he nods, urging you on.

'Damn it, now or never...'

Your fingers undo the knot of the robe and let the fluffy material slip down to hang from your forearms, your face erupting in a heated flush as you feel his eyes rake slowly up and down your body and hear him gasp just barely audibly.

"Oh, love." He breathed. "You... That looks--"

He snapped his head to the mirror, his face scarlet red. "Sh-shut it! I was--no! You just shut it!"

You watch as he looks at you again, bashfully as your eyes reconnect. He rubbed the back of his head and said sheepishly, "S-Sorry.... Jake just won't... Stop being Jake right now."

"Oh..." You reply, licking your plush lips anxiously as Steven walks closer to you, his hand reaching out to brush the various straps, moving to delicately cup one breast, his thumb brushing over the strap that covered your nipple as he continued to look at you and that silver pendant that hung from your neck.

You really completed a gorgeous image; like a swan perched elegantly on a lake's smooth surface.

Sometimes, Steven felt like a clumsy and loud goose next to you. He knew it was a poor comparison, that you would never look at him or Jake or Marc that way, but he had his own insecurities as much as you did...

"Do... you like it?" You ask slowly as his other hand, warm and more than a little sweaty rests on your hip.

"We love it." He replied, leaning in to kiss you softly on the lips. As he pulled away, you noticed his dark eyes become almost smoky--heavy.

"We.... Wouldn't mind seeing this on you more often."

"Well... Hm." You say, feeling his hands encircle you, moving down to cup your ass as his mouth kissed your jaw.

His calloused fingers squished and rolled your cheeks beneath his palms, pulling you closer to his own body, allowing to feel his hardening cock press against your thigh while his knee parted your legs and your back connected with the cold plaster of your bedroom wall.

The chill made your nipples harden, poking through the fabric of your lingerie and you yelped at the sensation.

"Hell.... You 'right, love?" Steven asked, his curls falling over his forehead as he looked at you with wide eyes.

"Yeah." You chuckle, goosebumps erupting on your body. "The wall's a little cold."

"Oh...." Steven says, his lips brushing your ear.

"Then... we best move to the bed, yeah?"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You were positive there were going to be bruises on your hips from how desperately Steven had gripped them, rabbiting into you, his cock sliding in and out of you effortlessly, the sound of slapping skin sinfully loud inside your bedroom.

"S-Steven!" You squeaked, your poor cunt abused and sensitive as he fucked you, the texture of the condom he wore sending little shocks through your body with each drag of his hips.

You had already cum--twice--once from Steven's hands and mouth, and once more from how he'd fucked into you.

Steven had cum while his face was buried between your legs, rutting his clothed hips hard against your mattress as you squirmed and writhed against him. The way he looked when he pulled back, lips swollen, face flushed; his beard wet from your juices, his hair tousled and hanging over his brow. He looked utterly fucked out and he hadn't even been inside of you yet.

"....k-know, love." Steven whimpered, rutting into you a bit more, practically bent in half over you as he kneeled between your legs, his cock angled at an eye-rolling tilt so it slammed once more against your g-spot.

"Almost--almost--" He panted hard, his grip on your hips slipping a little because of how sweaty you both were, so instead he hooked his hands through the straps that still adorned you and used them for leverage as he relentlessly pounded into you.

You dug your nails into his shoulders as you pulled him down, mouthing at the apple of his throat as it bobbed, tasting the thin layer of sweat that dewed his skin, sucking a bruise onto the skin, there.

"L-Love!" Steven whimpered, his pace stuttering as you feel him twitch inside of you, the condom beginning to swell a bit as he pumped his load into the safe cocoon of latex.

His hips slowed into languid rolls, prolonging his orgasm just by a tiny bit as he came down from his high.

You kissed his temple softly, petting his sweat-damp curls as his breathing began to even out. You feel him slump against against you and his arms lock.

You feel a shuddered breath escape him before his breathing finally became steady.

"Steven?" You ask him softly, running your fingers through his hair again.

He lifted back and supported himself on his forearms, looking down at you with a grin, his eyes twinkling.

"Think again, cariño."

"Jake." You breathed, already feeling a thrill creep up your spine as his lips traced your jawline.

"Steven got to have you all dressed up," His fingers playfully snapped one of the straps on you, making you squeak softly. "Now it's my turn. Can't let such a nice, pretty present go unwrapped."

"Oh.... So you're gonna take it off me, now?" You asked, shuddering as he pulled out, still rock hard.

"Nah." His hands went to your hips and with a jerk, flipped you onto your belly, pulling your ass up, his hand kneading the soft flesh as he looked down at you.

He moved the panties to the side to see your red, puffy cunt. "Coño más bonita que he visto."

He didn't change the condom; instead, he pushed right back into your pussy, groaning deep in his chest as he felt your heat grip and squeeze him invitingly.

"Nice..." Jake hissed through his teeth, pulling back slowly before sinking back in, relishing in how your body so eagerly welcomed him back inside of you; your thighs glistening so beautifully, wetting his own, dripping down his shaft to coat his balls as he started fucking you into a steady rhythm.

He winced himself, feeling tense as the body had cum while Steven was in control, so his nerves were still highly sensitive to everything right now. He wasn't going to last long, he knew and it frustrated him. He made a mental note to remind the other two to leave him alone with you for a day or so at some point, wanting to be able to ravish and ravage you properly.

He leaned over, kissing the skin between your shoulder blades as he muttered against you.

"Touch yourself for me, mamí. Want to feel you choke my cock." Jake rasped.

You moan weakly, complying with his request as your fingers slide down beneath you, grazing circles over your engorged clit, choked-out whimpers coming from you as Jake began thrusting into you hard and rough, his skin slapping you so hard you thought there would be red marks from the sheer ferocity of it.

"Oh, god--Jake--" You wail into the pillow, your fingers swiping and circling more and more, trying desperately to match his pace as your squishy, wet walls crushed his cock beneath their fluttering onslaught.

He growled and fisted a large bit of the straps in one hand, pulling your ass back against him, watching as your skin rippled and jiggled with every slap as he fucked into you over and over.

"Fuck, yes. Just. Like. That." He hissed, each word punctuated by a slam of his hips into yours.

You could feel another orgasm just about to burst, your head swimming in that blissful haze as Jake plowed into you at a bruising, aching pace.

"Such a gorgeous mamí." Jake said to you, his voice was heady with arousal.

"So fucking pretty, such a good fucking mamí. Sabes lo bonita que eres, ¿no?"

Your mind was turned to mush as your orgasm washed over you, filling every pore with a dizzying pleasure, rendering you barely aware of what he was saying, let alone to translate it as his hips snapped into you one final time.

However... You felt a new sensation inside of you, and with a few jagged, harsh thrusts, you felt Jake cum inside of you, flooding your deepest reaches with his thick load, making your eyes snap open.

"Shit." He groaned, pulling out of you, watching as the ripped condom clung to his cock, a thick ring of white at the base as he ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Well, now. This is a pickle." He laughed.

"Jake, you--you know that--" You sputter, groaning as you roll over to look at him.

The bastard didn't seem upset in the slightest; that cheeky little shit!

"Yeah, yeah, mamí." Jake smirked at you as he pulled the ruined condom off of his cock as he caressed one of your spread thighs idly.

"Then why aren't you--FUCK!" You wail, feeling him bottom back out in one deep thrust, your nails scraping his skin at the blinding sensation.

Jake grinned as he nipped at your throat, "Baby, whatever happens, we aren't going anywhere. Even if that means I stuff you so full--or Steven or Marc--that your belly gets all cute and round."

You whimpered and gripped at the meat of his shoulders as he started fucking into you again, blood once more rushing straight through his dick, renewing him with more energy and drive.

"I think Vicky would love a baby brother or sister, no?" He muttered out, his tongue dragging over your fluttering pulse as it hammered against your skin. "So... Why don't we give 'er one?"

"D-did y-you even a-ask M-Marc or St-Steven?!" You cried, bouncing and pushing against your pillows and blankets as he fucked you.

"Don't have to... They've fantasized about it enough already." He laughed.

His lips kiss and glide over your skin as he rips the upper part of your ensemble down, freeing your breasts to bounce free from their strappy confines as Jake whispers in your ear.

"And believe me... Marc definitely wants to fill you up, now, bebita."

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight smut

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tubborucho · 8 months

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Tubbo – Self-inflicted loneliness is the deadliest sickness (but the cure is right beside you, just let them in)

taglist: @pastelvangelion @smallz-o @salineroses @dynamicworms @cindersnows @deadfishisyeq @snyland @missstrawberry @frubbotoxicyuri @haloberry @thecardboardbutterfly @avianchorus @qtubbo @an-egghead @codaattheend @mikaikaika @radio-zephyr @routeriver @luminouslotuses

dm me if you want in or out of taglist

credits:

1. @.givemearmstopraywith

2. https://haleyincarnate.tumblr.com/image/161334039915

3. https://pin.it/123AYZ8NA

4. “What I Could Never Confess Without Some Bravado” Emily Palermo

5. “Once Upon A Broken Heart” Stephanie Garber

6. Art by Li Quanyu

7. Quote by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

8. https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10940815-and-you-ve-cried-once-more-because-recognition-feels-like-forgiveness

9. insta: solascene

10. Quote by Leigh Bardugo

#liss writes posts #liss does web weaving #qsmp #qsmp tubbo

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the-traveling-poet · 6 months

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We hit 500 followers?! Thank you my lovelies, I couldn’t have had the courage to continue/return to posting without y’alls love and support 🤎🤎🤎

For hitting 500 followers, I had this idea to do a Levi x Painter!Reader drabble and well I just thought it would be humorously wholesome :)

The day started out chaotic enough as it was, with back to back training sessions with his squad and business meetings with Commander Erwin in the Capitol; yet Levi’s partner had taken on a new hobby that set his nerves to an all time high.

Of course, he would never outwardly express his anxiety towards this hobby, as he knew it brought you joy. But all the same…his jaw would involuntarily clench at the sight.

As there you often sat at his own desk, a pad of thick paper laid out before you and a teacup of black tea at your wrist.

Maybe it was the fact he still wasn’t quite used to having the luxuries he suddenly acquired when joining the Survey Corps, as to him that’s what they were. A stable bed to sleep in, three meals a day, access to fitting clothes and a bright sky to look up at. Most importantly, his newly granted access to his favorite brews of black teas from the interior.

Perhaps that’s what made him tense every time he witness his partner dip a fine bristled brush into a cup of perfectly fine black tea, a cup that easily could have been drank to sooth his own nerves from the previous day to day’s work loads, and use the liquid to stain parchment into whatever image they wished to create.

You had started off with regular paints, in the beginning; filling his office with colorful murals of varying forms of expressive thought he often liked to muse over in his spare time. But when one fateful night when you came into his office to share tea, you had spilled his cup over a sheet of paper he had laying out on his desk. Upon drying, you were amused to see a unique pattern stained in shades of beige and brown lining the parchment.

Ever since, you’d picked up your “tea-wasting painting” hobby, as Levi liked to call it.

Levi would never forget the day he mistook his tea cup for yours, and took quite the gulp before finding several broken bristles floating around the dark liquid. Ever since that day, he triple checked a cup was his own to spare his anxious heart and queasy stomach.

Your creativity always captured his attention when he would be brave enough to stand at your shoulder and peer over at the paper, though. And after some time, he took to watching you create your art on a more regular basis. It took a lot of convincing from you, but eventually he tried it himself.

He’d always become flustered and dismissive upon your praise, but began to secretly leave out “forgotten” cups of his precious tea for you to use, should the sudden creative urge take you over.

He’d never admit it aloud, much less even to himself, but he rather enjoyed participating in this hobby with you. He could bitch all he wanted about you wasting his tea, but at the end of the day, he’d be sat across the desk from you with a brush of his own in hand.

And of course, a separate cup of his own safe tea well out of your reach.

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Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe @pelicanpizza @humanitys-strongest-brat If you’d like added to my Levi Taglist, just send me a DM!

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collapsedglasshouses · 7 months

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WOULD YOU SAY I'M WORTHY || ONE

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x OFC ; slight Nick Folio x OFC

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY: When Eden meets Noah, her life is anything but perfect. Her heart is far more broken than Noah can even guess at this point. Will he be able to mend the wounds he hadn’t caused?

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, eventually smut, mentions of grief/loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of illnesses

A/N: FIRST OF ALL, COVID DOESN'T EXIST IN THIS STORY! Second, hello! :) This is a new series. We will see where this goes. Thank you for everyone joining in before it was even a real idea haha. If you liked the first part, consider reblogging it! Thank you!

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @lma1986 @missduffsblog @cookiesupplier @thescarlettvvitch @bngurngheart @dream-machine-love @arkiliastuff @vinyardmauro @lacktoesandtoddlerants @princessmarshmallowx

If you wanna be added to the story's taglist or to my taglist in general, leave a comment or message me privately!

The rain was pouring down with no regrets. It had been like this for a few days. And still, the bar business was booming. It was a cold Friday evening in October and Eden was done. She had been on her feet since around six in the morning and she just wanted to cuddle herself into her blanket on her small couch at home.

It wasn’t like she despised her job at the bar, but she just couldn’t feel her feet anymore. She had been pouring beer into glasses for five hours straight and there was seemingly no end. Every time she thought she had a second to herself, the next person ordered something.

On the light side, she also really hadn’t had the time to think about anything outside of work, which was the exact reason why she went for the job. She had been living in Los Angeles for about three months now. Three months of none-stop working. Three months of keeping her mind of reality.

She was doing better than she had originally thought.

As she was giving a woman her change, she noticed how the door opened. She always noticed when the door opened and she surely always noticed him. A young man in his early twenties entered the bar and shook his head for a second to get rid of the excess water in his hair. Eden felt like she could breathe for a second.

When the man lifted his gaze again, he quickly was met with Eden’s exhausted but welcoming smile.

“Eden!” The man beamed. “Thank God, you are here. I thought, you weren’t working today.”

“I’m always working, Nick.” She answered the man, as he approached the bar and set down on one of the chairs. He leaned a bit towards her with a smug smile on his face. “The same as usual.” – “Everything for you, Nick.”

She poured another beer into the glass before turning back to him and setting the drink in front of him. She didn’t even have to tell him what it cost, the money already laying on the counter, “Keep the change.”

Eden smiled to herself. Her day just got better.

“How has your week been?” Nick asked her, before sipping on his beer. Eden sighed.

“Pretty good.” She said, as she always did. “Yours?”

“A lot of stuff with the band.” He answered.

Right, the band. She knew he was the drummer of this metal band. Sometimes she forgot Nick was somewhat popular.

Eden nodded, before being called to the other side of the counter to yet pour another beer. When she went back to Nick afterwards, he was quick to gift her a sweet smile.

“What are you doing tomorrow?" Nick asked her interested.

“The same as always. Cuddling on my couch and watching some movies.” She answered him and he looked shocked. “But it’s your birthday!” – “That is the reason why I’m doing nothing out of the usual.”

Nick shook his head. “It’s also Halloween, Sunshine.” Eden smiled a little at the nickname Nick had given her other the last couple of weeks. She knew it couldn't be further from the truth, but she enjoyed the image Nick seemed to have of her in his head.

“Don’t make it even worse than it already is.” Eden breathed out, not even sure if Nick heard it over the noise that filled the room.

Eden hated her birthday. It was a hard reminder of the time just slipping through her fingers. To her, it was even worse that she was also born on a national holiday. And if that wasn’t enough, she also had her name tied to said holiday. While her name was representing some kind of delight or place of pleasure, her parents had chosen that name for her, because they thought it sounded mysterious and spooky. Fitting for Halloween.

“Oh, come on.” Nick exclaimed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She blinked at him for a second, waiting for him to continue his sentence. “Enjoy yourself for once.”

Eden rolled her eyes. As much as Nick was a delight to her, she also hated his happy spirit in moments like this.

“Okay, hear me out.” Nick said, when he saw her facial expression. “A good friend of mine is celebrating his birthday tomorrow. You should come. This way, nobody will focus on you, you can enjoy my company outside of work for once and you’re out of your little hobbit-house for once.”

Eden tapped her fingers against the counter and started to think. It had been about the fifth time that Nick tried to get her to do something with him. Since now, she had always turned him down. Not, that she didn’t want to see him, she just was scared. She liked being alone. She liked being to herself. She didn’t even speak to anyone outside of work, except her sister and her parents, but even that contact was strongly limited by her. Nick was the only one she would call somewhat a friend.

Eden ran a hand through her hair and then over her face. She was going to regret this. She just knew it.

“Okay… Just once.” She gave in and Nick clapped his hands together in excitement.

“Fucking finally!” He exclaimed. “I was really starting to think, you hated me.”

“I do not, and you know that.” She reassured him before taking another order. When she was ready with the customer, Nick’s beer was empty. She allowed herself to look at the clock that was hanging over the entrance of the bar. Her shift would end in half an hour.

“So, where should I go tomorrow?" She asked Nick, who was still smiling to himself.

“Give me your phone number and I’ll text you the address.” He answered her and reached his hand out, waiting for her phone.

For a second, she simply looked at his hand. He was getting bold.

She sighed in defense and pulled her phone from her pants to hand it to him.

Right when he handed it back, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her boss Michael looked at her. “You can go. Anna will be here in a second.”

Eden nodded, before looking at Nick again, who stood to his feet, also ready to head out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She exclaimed, before Nick nodded at her with a smile and left.

“The guy is cute.” Michael said to her, and she smiled a little. “Yeah, he is also a total pain in the ass.”

Michael only shrug his shoulders, before wishing her a good night and soon Eden was in her car.

It didn’t take her long to reach her apartment. She had been lucky, getting a flat close to her work. When she reached her front door and opened it, she sighed at the familiar sight of her home. Things hadn’t been easy the last couple of months. After moving to the other side of the country, she was just happy to have some peace again. She liked not living in that old house anymore, back at her hometown. Everything reminded her of her pain back there.

Not even twenty minutes later, she fell onto her couch, a bowl of instant noodles in her hand and some sitcom playing in the background, when her phone vibrated. Three messages from an unknown number.

She opened them.

?: Hey, here is Nick.

?: The party starts at 8, you have to come in a custome

?: [adress attached]

That's when it hit her.

She agreed to go to a party with a man, she barely knew, even though he was the closest she had to a friend in LA.

She was definitely going to regret it.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian x ofc #nick folio fanfic #nick folio x ofc #nick folio x oc #nick folio fic #noah sebastian smut #bad omens smut #collapsedglasshouseswrites

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princessleechan · 1 year

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“Choi Seungcheol Must Die” profiles #1

Masterlist

📌synopsis: Mingyu wasn't the one with his heart broken. It was his little sister. And Seokmin's older sister. And Chan's best friend. Choi Seungcheol is a menace to society and needs to be put down. Immediately. The sure fire way to do it is to give him a taste of his own medicine: break his heart.

📌pairing: fem!reader x ??? (seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, chan)

📌genre: slight angst, romance, humor

📌series tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, tags will vary from chapter

taglist: @mhlsymlysn @silvsie @christinewithluv @tara-drabbles @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll

🐈‍⬛YN(reader): background character turned 'it girl' with help of three men in it for revenge against a infamous asshole. a lover of cats with misfortune of not owning one and an undecided major. didn't think much about helping take down a guy that has done nothing but broken countless hearts but gets more than they ask for after getting themselves involved.

🏀Choi Seungcheol: resident asshole whom is a serial dater and has a reputation of dating multiple people at once. athletic scholarship student (not that he needs it being loaded) that gets off on attention of all kind, especially with his big social media presence. Visibly a 2D Character whose only personality is that he dates and has a close friendship with Yoon Jeonghan, another athletic scholarship kid.

📸Kim Mingyu: older brother to a dating victim of Seungcheol's. film and photography major that takes part in AV club. He is the leader and brains of the operation and has never liked Seungcheol but now has a good reason. Access to camera equipment, records and/or captures everything instinctively. Usually the man behind the camera but has always been told he has the face to be in front of it.

🎤Lee Seokmin: Younger brother to a dating victim of Seungcheol's. Performing arts major with a minor in music theory. Spends most of his time performing and perfecting his craft. Other times is the doting brother that has a hard time believing his strong sister could be hurt by simply a guy. Typically unconfrontational but would do anything to see a smile on his sister's face again.

🌟Lee Chan: Best friend of a dating victim of Seungcheol's. Creative writing major with a love for all thing romantic comedy and a sense of justice. has always been madly in love with his best friend, Haru, but has always been unconditionally supportive of anything in her life, including relationships, and he is okay with just being an important person in her life. After hearing her heart was broken, he wants nothing but be by her side.

#svthub #seventeen #seventeen smau #choi seungcheol #lee Chan #Kim Mingyu #lee seokmin #dino #mingyu #dokyeom #lee dokyeom #seungcheol #scoups #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x reader #plc.smaus💕#nana writes

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cowboydisaster · 2 years

Text

Aesthete

Aesthete (adj.) someone with deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature

repost, originally posted on 12 march 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 4.7k

summary: when Arthur finds himself with a lack of inspiration, you offer yourself as a blank canvas

a/n: this was inspired by a post I saw about canon Arthur v fandom Arthur. Essentially that he isn't just some dumb himbo, he's intelligent and creative/artistic and has a clearer world view than most. I cant find the original post/er, but if you know it please drop me a message!

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @luvliewriting @tillith @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

warning: nsfw, 18+, minors dni (teeth rottingly fluffy, emotional smut)

"a work of art that did not begin in emotion is not art"- paul cèzanne

The rain is a steady, soothing thud on the roof, as you rest, sitting on Arthur’s bed at Shady Belle. It's a stormy day, with rain and lightning falling from the sky, painting everything in a gloomy gray hue. There are a few little puddles on the creaky, wooden floor from the broken window and the old roof, where water has leaked inside. You cherish days like this, days where you can huddle inside, wrapped in a thin blanket while reading a book. Now you are reading a relatively newer piece, Huckleberry Finn, while cozied up in Arthur’s bed. He sits opposite of you, against the footboard, while you are against the headboard. It’s a very comfortable silence, with only the rain and the thunder to break up the quiet afternoon.

Arthur is very focused in his journal, sketching and scribbling away at something on the ivory pages. His eyebrows are drawn together, and every few minutes he holds the journal at an arm’s length away, ensuring he has the correct perspective. The more he draws, the less interested you find yourself in your novel. Your eyes flicker from him, to your page, and you find that you’ve been so interested in what Arthur is doing that you’ve been stuck re-reading the same paragraph for nearly five minutes.

But can you blame yourself for being so easily distracted? Arthur is so detail oriented, so intelligent and creative. Very rarely does he allow people to see this vulnerable side of him, and you’ve been lucky enough to peek through the curtains into Arthur Morgan’s fragile, beautiful heart. He has a reputation among the gang of being thick headed and more of a brute than a thinker, and you chuckle at just how ignorant those opinions are. Arthur is one of the smartest men you know. He is an enjoyer of literature, although he prefers writing a novel rather than reading one, he is well versed in history and enjoys mythology. Arthur may not have gone to a school, or have fancy degrees on his wall, but he is a reteller of stories. Arthur soaks in the information he hears, and thinks over it heavily, oftentimes writing about it in his journal, like he is now.

His big hands have an expert grip on the charcoal as he sketches something, his face is contorted into a beautiful little confused pout as he tries to ascertain whether or not the perspective on this particular sketch is perfect. Your eyes trail from his hands up to his lips, the forbidden, soft lips that you dream about kissing at night. Oh, how you wish he was yours. You sigh, refocusing yourself and watching his hands. The curiosity becomes too great, and needing a distraction, you finally speak up.

“What are you drawin’?” You ask, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse. He perks up at your voice, startled out of his deep focus. Before he responds, he runs his hand through his stubble in thought.

“Finishin’ up a sketch from a few days ago. Just this old church I found, ain’t nothin special.” Arthur responds, flipping the little book around to show you.

You recognize the church, he’s drawn a very good likeness. It’s the old, crumbling church just off the road from Shady Belle. The Lemoyne Raiders have been camping out there, and you recall Arthur stopping to inspect it when you’d rode past earlier. He’s perfectly captured the broken walls, and the way vines squeeze the old building like a cobra. You could step into the drawing, and never realize it wasn’t reality.

“Oh, Arthur, it's beautiful.” You whisper, noticing the attention to detail. Arthur has managed to capture the swaying of the grass, alongside birds taking flight off the roof of the building.

After some more inspecting of the intricate piece, you hand it back to him, smiling at the blush that colors his cheeks. He never was good at taking compliments. He continues the sketch, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him drawing in a while. Your eyebrows pull together as you try to think back to the last time you'd seen the outlaw with the book in his hands.

"I noticed you haven't been drawin' as much…?" You inquire, picking Huckleberry back up and glancing over the printed words before looking back up to him.

"Ain't easy findin' pretty things' in the swamp. Back when we was in Valentine, there was so much to draw, so many things caught my eye." Arthur whispers, never bringing his eyes away from the paper as he shades the windows with his charcoal. You toy with your lip, feeling that it's your time to finally bite the bullet and be brave. You take a deep breath, setting your book down again.

"So you draw beautiful things?" You ask, barely over a whisper. Your voice travels across the expanse of the bed like a breath on the wind.

Arthur finally looks up to you, green eyes locking onto yours as he thinks over the meaning behind your question. He leans back against the footboard, and brings his knee up to lean on.

"I- well yeah, mostly. I like to draw things how I find em, natural, beautiful and the like." Arthur responds, brushing through his beard with his hand while thinking of sketches of deer, flowers and birds, crumbled buildings and landscapes.

Arthur's heart stops when you stand up, slowly tip-toeing to the center of the room and turning to him. Your eyes are locked onto each other, nothing can be heard but quiet breaths and the patter of rain on the ceiling. Warm light caresses your face as you bring your hands up to your shirt, heart pounding.

"And… Do you think I'm beautiful…?" You ask, pulling your shirt out of your jeans so it's no longer tucked.

Arthur is frozen, shocked as his eyes glance between your own, laced with bravery and lust, and your hands which are slowly pulling your shirt out of your jeans. He swallows thickly, at a loss for words.

"Well a course- I think you're, you're very beautiful…"

Arthur's eyes are wide, his jaw open with shock, and cheeks pink as you unbutton your shirt. His face lasts only a moment before he schools himself, evening out his features to appear nonchalant.

"What are you uh…" Arthur clears his throat quietly, "What are you doin'?" Arthur asks, slipping his eyes closed and growling as your shirt hits the floor.

"Let me inspire you… in my natural state." You quote Arthur back to himself, unclasping your belt buckle and pulling the leather through the loops until the belt clunks to the floor. Your motions are slow, graceful, in the candlelight as you slowly hook your thumbs under your jeans and undergarments sliding them to the floor. Your jeans hit the floor with a thud, and as you step out of them, Arthur pulls out his journal.

Your body is beautiful. Perfect in his eyes. Round and curved, full and feminine. Your legs, your hips, your collarbones and breasts, all he can do is sink in this canvas that is your body for a few moments. His lack of inspiration is completely gone, and Arthur thinks that with an infinite amount of blank paper he could reference your body as art forever. He's never seen anything so beautiful, so enchanting. You seem to beam with a golden light, shadowing the v in between your thighs and the valley between your breasts. All he can do is stare, and all he can think about doing is taking the time to study every inch of your beauty.

"I…" Arthur stops, speechless as you pull an old ottoman from the corner of the room.

"How do you want me?" You whisper, glossy lips shining in the candlelight, and all Arthur can think about is kissing the perfect rosy petals.

"How do I- I want you?" Arthur asks, not understanding your question because he wants you in so many ways right now. You're nothing short of a goddess standing before him, an angel.

"Yeah," You chuckle, "pose me. However you think, you're the artist after all. Go on, it's okay." You encourage when Arthur is hesitant to touch you. He doesn't want to overstep a boundary, and he's terrified to touch you, to taint you with his hands that have been the cause for so many terrible things. He truly thinks that you deserve so much better than him, but he is a fool for it. Because he is all that you want.

With a nod, he comes over and helps you position yourself. He’s incredibly polite, of course he is, not wanting to touch you anywhere indecent even though you’ve just stripped in front of him. Your left leg is bent under you, and you sit under it, while your right is propped up at an angle, brought up almost to your chest. He positions your arm over the bottoms of your breasts, and your hand is placed on your shoulder. Once he steps back, checking that the position is to his liking, his fire hot touch leaves your skin.

“Good?” You ask, stretching your neck back so that your hair falls down your back, exposing your throat.

“Absolutely perfect…” Arthur whispers, sitting on the edge of the plush bed, just a few feet in front of you. He picks up his leather journal and the charcoal, turning to an empty page in the back of the book.

The sound of thunder, rain and charcoal against paper fill your head as your eyelids flutter, watching Arthur. Seeing him like this, so focused and in his element, is both heartwarming and incredibly attractive. He bites at his bottom lip, hyper focused, as he follows the slopes and planes of your body, perfectly transferring them onto the paper. He gets to your breasts, watching the goosebumps that trickle down your stomach and arms. His eyes are hot on you, studying you. You blush when he steps forward, gently brushing a stray hair away that had fallen in front of your shoulder, tucking it behind your ear so as to not obstruct the view of his model.

When he sits back down on the creaking bed, he crosses his ankle over his knee, leaning back to get another perspective before resting his journal on his calf. He resumes his sketching, and his eyes linger on you before every stroke of the charcoal. Arthur watches the charcoal trace the lines of your hips, your thighs and your breasts onto the paper, and more than anything, he wishes that it was his lips tracing your skin, instead of the charcoal. The sound of the rain is soothing, and the thunder is one and the same as the pounding of your heart when Arthur’s eyes linger on your lips, your body. Heat lightning flashes the sky through the broken window with warm tones of orange as a shiver runs down your spine, though you are far from cold.

Arthur really focuses now, leaning into his journal, glancing up and down frequently to capture the tiny details of you, some of his favorites. Like the little flyaways of hair, slightly frizzy from the heat that falls around your face, the freckles on your skin, the scars and stretch marks, the imperfections that color you. Once he’s finished, he leans back, eyeing both you and the journal before writing your name at the bottom, all capital as if a title.

“Alright, should be done.” Arthur whispers, leaning forward to hand you off his journal.

You take the heavily used book, and look at the mirror-like reflection on the pages. Arthur has captured you perfectly. You look up to his green eyes, with tears. He’s drawn you in his journal as if you are the most gorgeous of any of the sights his eyes have seen, because you are. Every detail is perfect.

“Arthur, this is incredible.” You praise, completely truthful. He is a wonderful artist, and doesn’t give himself enough credit. You stand up, and fold his journal carefully closed before sitting down on the bed beside him. Your hand meets his knee, and boldly you look up at him just hoping. You’ve been head over heels for the man for some time now, and if there was ever a time to bring it up, it's now.

“Arthur I'm gonna ask you somethin’ and I want you to be honest with me, yeah?”

Arthur is sincere, maybe worried as his eyebrows draw together and he places his hand overtop of yours.

“Of course, anythin.” Arthur says, quietly.

You look down at your bare lap, gathering courage that causes your heart to pound in your ears before glancing back up.

“I… Do you want me?” You ask, words hanging heavy in the air as you wait for a response. But much to your embarrassment, Arthur doesn’t give you one. He looks into your eyes, glancing around with his jaw open slightly. He opens and closes it a few times, as if he can’t find the words he's searching for. After a few moments, you hang your head, blushing and feeling like a goddamn fool, because you’ve overstepped and he doesn’t want you.

“Oh, I see. I’m so sorry, Arthur, I’ve misstepped terribly.” You mumble, shame and embarrassment starting to drag you down. You can’t bear to look at him as you stand up to grab your clothes and leave.

As you do, his hand grabs onto your own.

“Darlin’ wait-” Arthur pleads, and his eyes are overflowing with emotion as he sits back down onto the bed, holding your hands in his. For a moment, you feel hopeful, maybe you were wrong, and your best friend who you are desperately in love with, wants you back.

“I aint so good with my words sometimes. Always been better at writin’ my feelins rather than sayin’ em out loud.” Arthur says, eyes locked onto your conjoined hands before trailing up your torso to those beautiful eyes.

“I want you. God- more than anything, I want you, sweetheart,” he pauses, brushing another stray hair behind your ear, “But I want you to understand that this isn’t about just layin’ together.” He continues, and tears well up in your eyes at his words because your feelings are being reciprocated and he's all you’ve ever wanted.

“You see I want what's tucked away in here,” Arthur whispers, pointing to the left side of your chest, right over your heart, “and I love what’s in here.” Arthur smiles, tapping your temple.

“Do I want you? Yeah, I do, sweetheart. But I want all a’ you. Your heart, your mind, your body… God- I've been sweet on you longer than I care to admit.” Arthur squeezes your hand before running his thumb under your jaw, and pulling your chin up so he can look into your teary eyes, “and well, when you asked me to draw you just now, sayin’ yes was easier than breathin’ because darlin’ you are the art. I just had to transfer that beauty onto paper.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his own. His big, warm hand cups your jaw, and you feel as if you could melt into his touch. You want nothing more than to be enveloped by him, to have him in every way possible, because you want him too. His beautiful, creative mind, his soft heart with so many walls around it, and you've crumbled them all to nothing more than shattered ramparts. You’ve broken him, and rebuilt him back into the man he is now, changed him forever with your heart.

He pulls you closer until your lips meet his own. It's shy at first, two strangers meeting in a coy peck. But the familiarity comes soon, because this is Arthur, and you find yourself clinging to him, like if you let go he may disappear, or bottle back up and you can’t lose him now. You open your mouth for him, letting him in to intertwine his tongue with your own as the kiss grows more passionate. He tastes like whiskey and tobacco and Arthur, and it's too much as tears silently fall down your cheeks. Arthur pulls away for a moment, smiling softly as his thumb brushes away your tears.

“It’s rainin, we have all day…” You smile as his eyes run over your face.

“That we do,” Arthur whispers, kissing your temple before pulling away again, “Y’know… I've had gold and silver, horses, and books worth more than this estate, but darlin’ I ain’t never had anything in my hands that was as beautiful, or as priceless, as you.” He says before leaning into your neck, kissing your pulsepoint and your collarbone. His hands toy with your breasts, running over the soft skin until your nipples harden and you lean into him.

“Oh, Arthur,” You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you further.

“You’re perfect.” Arthur nibbles at the flesh of your earlobe before whispering against your skin, “My blank canvas.”

Your hands come to either side of his face, pulling his gaze up to your eyes.

“Then make me art, Arthur… mark me, have me, please I need you.” you whimper, pulling him down to your lips again, and savoring the feeling that you’ve been aching for for so long. As soon as the kiss breaks, he caresses your cheek. Again, the only sound is the rain and the thunder. His lips are swollen from where yours have left kisses, and you decide it's your favorite sight.

“Sweetheart, I already told you. You are art, but markin’ you? Havin’ you? Now that I can do just fine.” Arthur whispers against your flush skin, illuminated as lightning flashes in the distance.

Everything makes sense, everything falls into place, when his lips crash against yours again. They are no longer shy, but needy and loving, lustful and wanting. Your hands reach to the buttons of his shirt as he lays you down on the bed, making sure the pillow under your head is comfortable before moving his lips to your neck. Once you’ve undone the buttons, he leans away to pull it off of his arms, throwing it to the side. It lands on the bedside table, knocking over a container of ink that spills onto the floor. You gasp, leaning up to inspect the damage, as Arthur anchors you, pushing you back down to the bed with his kisses.

“It’s okay, it's alright, we’ll clean it up later sweetheart.” Arthur shushes, and you melt back into your state of euphoria with him between your legs. His lips caress your own as his hand swirls your nipple, toying with the hardened peak before it trails down to your hip.

“I'm gonna touch you, okay?” Arthur whispers against your lips as another quiet rumble of thunder sounds out. You nod, spreading your legs for Arthur as he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning his weight on his forearm.

“Please Arthur-” You beg as he trails his fingers down your knee to your inner thigh before running his fingers along your folds. He stops, and groans lightly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit- you’re so wet. I'm sorry, darlin’ it's been awhile since I-” Arthur starts, but you lean up, pressing a kiss against his lips before whispering to him.

“It’s okay… been awhile for me too.”

He nods against your forehead, kissing it before continuing. You spread your legs even more for him, and he sinks two fingers into your pulsing heat. Immediately, your grip on him tightens, and you whimper, eyes squinted shut as he slowly works you open.

“Shh…shh… that’s my girl.” Arthur coos, stretching you with his fingers as you cling to him, gasping for breath at the way he touches you like you’re his canvas, his masterpiece, and the more he caresses, kisses and touches, the more beautiful you become underneath him. He didn’t think it was possible for your appearance to become any more entrancing, but as you moan, arching your back so that your breasts find release against his chest, he finds that he was wrong.

He curls his fingers inside you rhythmically, pressing down right in the perfect spot before gently stroking your clit with his thumb. It's a delirious combination, and the only thing anchoring you from ascending to the heavens, is him.

“That’s it, darlin’. Let it go, let me watch you unfold.” Arthur whispers, keeping a steady pace with his hands while kissing your stomach, up to your breasts. He begins to lick at your breast, swirling his tongue over your stiff nipple and kissing your skin every chance he gets. It proves to be your undoing, and just as the rain pounds on the roof even harder, and thunder sounds out, you find your release. Your nails dig into Arthur’s back as you reach your climax, the building coming in waves that have you gasping for breath and moaning.

“Arthur-” leaves your lips in a mantra as you clamp down on his fingers, the waves of your orgasm washing over you and drowning you in the most indescribable, emotional show of affection. You see stars, flashes of bright white as you gasp and shake, hanging onto the man who you love.

“Good girl,” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead a few times as you come down from your high.

“Real good, darlin.” Arthur coos, sinking his fingers into you until he has completely drawn out your release. Once your back stops arching, and hits the bed again, you pull his face down to yours once more. His hand cups your neck, and you feel your juices on his fingers as he runs his hand from your neck to your jaw, holding it while he kisses you again. His forehead meets yours as you whine.

“I need- Arthur, I need to feel you, please.” You cry, hands running down the muscles of his chest, down the trail of sandy blonde hair that runs down below his jeans. You pop the button open, biting your lip as you press the palm of your hand against the pressure there. Arthur releases a deep groan, thrusting involuntarily against your hand.

He leans down, kissing your nose with a smile before standing up and shedding his jeans to the ground. He steps out of them, and you prop yourself up on your elbow to admire him.

Arthur is big. A bit longer than average, but he is girthy and thick. You scan over his rosy head, and the vein that bulges from the underside of his shaft. And as you follow up the trail of hair, to Arthur’s chest and face, he sees the worry. It’s been a long time, and truthfully you’re not very experienced with this. You don’t know if you can take him, but god, you want to.

“Arthur I… you’re beautiful.” You whisper, watching the flex of his muscles in the candlelight, the soft, light hair that falls into his face as he chuckles, looking down to hide his smile.

“Beautiful? Really?” Arthur asks, sarcastically.

“Yes, Arthur, beautiful.”

He shakes his head, not agreeing with you really, as he comes back down to the bed. He rests himself between your legs again, kissing your thigh, then your hip… and so on until he reaches those plump, bruised lips.

“You ready? You still want this sweetheart?” Arthur asks, massaging the tender skin of your thigh as you breath out shakily. You nod, but he senses the trepidation and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“What is it?” He asks, pulling away from your lips to look into your eyes. He sees you smile, blushing before wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Be gentle, please. You’re- well you’re big Arthur and I really want this…” You whisper, chuckling at yourself for a second.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? N if it hurts, you tell me. Right away.” Arthur says, almost darkly. He does not want you putting up with any pain for his sake. You nod, before leaning into his chest and wrapping your hands around his neck. Your legs, around his waist, spread a bit more and you feel his head against your entrance. Slowly, Arthur thrusts into you, and everything you were worried about shatters to the ground. God- he feels so good. And before he's fully in, you feel so full, and so stretched. You’ll never get enough of this, you realize. It’s perfect, like two puzzle pieces fitting together as he enters to the hilt and you moan as he bumps your sensitive spot.

“You okay?” Arthur asks, stopping his hips completely, and you dig your heel into his ass, begging him to do anything but stop.

“Move, Arthur, please. Oh, you feel so good.” You whimper, your hips rising to meet Arthur’s as he thrusts into you. Your moans mix with Arthur’s groans and the thunder, and it’s all washed away by the rain. Not a peep can be heard from outside, but inside the room there is so much raw emotion, lust and love, that even the air feels like it's intruding on you two.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Arthur growls, thrusting into you with more rhythm now that he knows you’re okay. The stretch is the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain that has you inching towards a climax. He kisses your lips, and you lean up to meet him halfway. The kiss is hot and passionate, with gasps for air in between and moans as you two commit the rawest act of love known to man. He rocks against you, swaying you with his hips. The pleasure combined with the emotion of him finally against you is overwhelming. You’ll never be closer, more whole than you are like this. He’s with you. The tightness in your stomach pulls, stretching and coiling all the like until it snaps. Once again, Arthur is your anchor, rocking you, and steadying you as you completely come undone beneath him. You constrict around him, muscles tightening and contracting as an intense wave of pleasure washes over you. Your moans are loud, breathy as you release the tension he’s created within you. It’s too much for Arthur, and as you squeeze around him, he thrusts into you a few times, hard and deep before he cums inside you, filling you completely with his seed.

“You did so well, darlin. You’re so beautiful…” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead before placing a long, slow kiss on your lips. He stays there for a moment, letting you catch your breath before sliding out of you. He lands on the bed beside you, and you curl up against his chest.

“Arthur?” You ask, placing your hand on his chest and cuddling further into him. He takes a sheet from the bottom of the bed, pulling it over you until you’re decent.

“What is it sweetheart?” Arthur asks, brows furrowed as he runs his hand along your arm and watches the rise and fall of your body against his.

“Did you mean it? Everything you said before…” You ask, propping your chin up to look into his eyes. He runs his hand up and down your back, soothing you while smiling.

“Course I did.” Arthur whispers, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead.

“I… I love you, y’know.” You whisper back, leaning your head against his chest, too nervous to look into his eyes. Arthur only chuckles, pulling your head closer to his chest with his hand.

“I know, and I love ya too.”

The rest of the rainy day is spent in various forms of affection. You and Arthur lay together all day, whether sleeping or not, reading and drawing or just holding each other. Everything seems right now. Like for the first time in your life you’ve found your purpose, your person. He is your other half, your strength, your ecstasy, and he loves you too, your little aesthete.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you

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melodramaticatheart · 4 months

Text

Apple Picking

Jacks may not have a use for apples anymore but that doesn't stop Evangeline from making apple pie.

Pairing: Jacks of The Hollow x Evangeline Fox Word Count: 505 Book: Once Upon A Broken Heart Trilogy Author's Note: This is so cute, like for me this is cannon no I will not change my mind. Taglist: @reminiscentreader, @urbanflorals, @nqds, @art-of-fools, @lxvebelle, @nuncscioquidsitamor-14

Evangeline hummed making her way down the long line of apple trees. It was late morning when she’d searched for Jacks and said she was going to pick some apples for the rest of the morning. Jacks not wanting to be left alone with the baby dragons, decided to join her. The Inn was having a slow day, leaving time for Eva to make a new favorite, apple pie. Jacks had rolled his eyes at her new baking obsession especially when she teased him about his old obsession for it, little did she know she was the reason he didn’t eat them anymore.

Placing a soft kiss on her neck, he now also made his way down the path filled with the familiar aroma of apples. “Jacks get that apple for me, please.” Evangeline said pointing to an apple on a higher branch. Jacks got the apple quickly, hiding it behind his back before Evangeline could grab it. “Jacks” Evangeline scolded, dragging the letters of his name in a disapproving way, “Give me the apple, I'm serious.” She tried her best to put on a serious face meaning her words. How cute she looked when trying to order me around, Jacks thought grinning from ear to ear. “This apple comes with a price, little Fox,” He said leaning in until they were eye to eye. “You do know there are hundreds of other apples I can choose instead, right?” Evangeline asked, but her gaze had softened leaning more into Jacks presence, their noses brushing. “Maybe, but wouldn’t you at least like to know the price well? More of a reward really.” A finger found its way to Evangeline’s mouth tracing it. Slowly Evangeline let the basket she’d been using to collect the apples fall, moving both of her hands to cup Jacks’s face bringing her lips to his brushing them lightly. Jacks pulled away, dropping the now forgotten apple into the basket before pulling Evangeline under the shade of a tree pressing her up against it, kissing her once more this time more intensely, each part of their bodies touching, the heat rushed to Evangeline’s cheeks her hands pulling jacks face closer. As if that was possible. The kiss ended abruptly, both of them needing air, the sound of their heavy breathing carrying off into the wind. That's when Evangeline heard the little roar come from behind Jacks. Knowing how Jacks would react she burst into a fit of giggles still blushing from the neck up.

Jacks turned ever so slightly but just enough to catch sight of three baby dragons chasing vibrant blue butterflies, “Never a moment of peace here” He grumbled under his breath dragging a hand across his face. Evangeline kissed him on the cheek going to pick up her basket “Just admit it you like them!” She exclaimed from the middle of the path scratching a dragon behind his ear. Jacks could only manage an eye roll as he stalked off the shadow off the trees following a now smiling Evangeline.

#soph writes 𝜗𝜚 #once upon a broken heart #evangeline fox #jacks of the hollow #jacks prince of hearts #evajacks #the ballad of never after #a curse for true love

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lale-txt · 28 days

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𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀 (𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲

♫ Weyes Blood - Mirror Forever

No one's ever gonna give you a trophy For all the pain and the things you've been through No one knows but you Kinda crazy when you're looking right through me Something forceful about yourself Just say the word and baby, know that I'll be there I'm not scared

⭅ back to m.list

She kissed him once.

Akaashi isn’t sure if she even remembers it. Or if he wants her to remember.

She kissed him once and it had tasted like salt and blood; a deep sense of sorrow lingering afterwards. It’s like she carved herself into his being, leaving him with claw marks on the walls of his heart. He would never forget how she pressed her face into his palm when he cupped her face, like some wounded animal, only to snap and bite and push him away one heartbeat later. Akaashi never laid his eyes on anyone more beautiful than her, with her mascara smudged, glassy eyes looking right through him, her bottom lip split open.

It had been his first year at university, at some welcome party. He really didn’t want to go, but Kuroo dragged him there, and while Akaashi stood alone in some corner filled with dread, regret and too much moscow mule, she found him.

“You’re lonely.”

It wasn’t a question, more an observation. Akaashi was pretty sure that his heart had stuttered from the way her eyes were pinned on him, drinking him in. Like she was ready to pounce on some prey, and gods, he wanted to let her devour him, just to see what would be left of him once she teared him apart.

She kissed him once, and he could tell that she had been crying, small hiccups swallowed between their lips. He didn’t even know her name at that time, but if anyone would have asked him, he’d tell them that his heart had recognized her, that surely they must be made from the same stardust. Why else did he feel so golden in her proximity?

He wanted to kiss her bruised knuckles and run his fingers along her jaw and allow her to sink her fangs into his neck, but she was vanishing as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of a ghost.

By the time he had found her friends to make sure they’d look after her, she had already gone home with some other man.

Akaashi could still taste her on his tongue, days later, when he walked into the classroom for his drawing class. Not expecting her to be there, not behind the scaffolds but in front of them, bare and inviolable. He remembers standing there frozen, his heart stumbling. She looked like a deity in the morning light, like something holy, an untouchable air around her. Someone you bow to.

He never forgot how hollow her eyes were.

Ever since, every piece of art he created was about her. Page after page, perpetuated in coal and watercolor, sculpted from wood and clay. Nothing would come close to her ethereal being, but he’d be damned if he gave up trying. Even a broken replica was something whole in another universe.

Akaashi found his muse. It didn’t matter if he could only watch her from afar. If her eyes never meet his again. If he carves himself from the inside out just to make room for her. None of it mattered.

She kissed him once.

It was enough, he lies to himself.

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@wyrcan @spacekedi

taglist open! dm/ask/comment to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

#akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smau #haikyu x reader #hq x you #akaashi keiji #akaashi x you #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu imagines

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dreams-writings · 1 year

Text

Reverse Interrogation -

Part 3

[sub!Feitan Portor x top!Reader]

‼️NSFW / MDNI‼️

Synopsis: For the first time in his life, Feitan fails an interrogation. Refusing to admit defeat and give up his perfect track record when it comes to his specialty, he begrudgingly allows reader to strike a bargain in exchange for her secrets.. and is shocked to learn what she truly wants. His body. Frustrated and furious with his predicament, he angrily accepts her conditions purely for the sake of the Troupe, agreeing to do as she says. No other reason...

[afab reader is more experienced, Feitan is a deprived virgin & gets edged / mind broken into submission.]

Tw: smut, torture, violence, NSFW/MDNI, vulgar language, Feitan gives verbal consent but still isn't happy with the situation/ (dubcon????)

taglist: @chrollosbiggeststan @astresoleil

If you are not tagged after asking, it's because your settings don't allow it.

Feitan regarded the woman above him in silent awe, drinking in her image as he reflected on the surrealism of the current moment. She moved with such effortless grace, and his eyes watched her back curve into a perfect arch as she straightened up a bit, not failing to notice the way her exquisite body became a living work of art with each fluid motion. All for exclusively him to witness.. and just his eyes only. it felt like an odd privilege to be here. Her shoulders rolled backwards, lifting her breasts along with the movement in a seamless display of striking beauty.

"Are you ready?"

She asked him softly. Before he knew it, she was reaching out to him, and he flinched beneath her touch. He was still unaccustomed to any kind of gentle, harmless physical contact. A tender thumb, tracing a smooth and delicate line down his cheek had him shying away. It felt out of place for someone like him to be touched in such a manner.

There was so much of her that he hated, including her awful need to always have the last word.. her entitled attitude and her cleverness which she consistently weaponized to make him feel powerless. She always succeeded, and eventually got the better of him, to his dismay. He could not handle how she backed him into a corner so well and left him without options. It was legitimately maddening.

But there were also parts of her that he found himself drawn to like a lost moth to a flame. He couldn't describe it.. or put it into words. But she was, in a way, comparable to all things associated with comfort. The more time he spent flush against her wonderful body, the more his own would ease and melt into the mattress beneath him. In his eyes, she carried the same sweetness of a first flower blooming in the spring, sprouting out from beneath the snowfall to clear away the biting cold. Like a hot meal after days of starvation, clutching at a warm bowl with trembling hands and savoring the swaying steam that warmed his cheeks and left a blanket of humidity on his skin. Like quilts, pillows, and clouds.. she was indescribably inviting.

All of this a stark contrast, to him - and his jagged, sharp, ruthless edges. If she were those wonderful things, he was a merciless blizzard wind that left sharp ice gnawing at your flesh and your fingers freezing off in morbid chunks of necrotic lifelessness.

He wasn't sure how to answer her question other than to nod.. just once. A bob of his head to indicate she could proceed. Feitan turned his gaze away from her, closing his eyes as his heart began to squeeze, and skipped a few beats. The palpations of nervousness made him a bit nauseous.. or maybe it was that odd phenomenon people described as butterflies? Either way he didn't like it. He wished his stresses would ease away because it was just an added discomfort to his insecurities with the situation.

Feitan's breath hitched as she began to sway her hips from the position of her naked straddle, feeling a rush of warmth wash over him like a wave both from the physical stimulation and also the slick of her arousal coating his hard length. It was all so new and so strange.. and he gave a shudder as she started to pick up into a slow rhythm. It felt so nice.

Maybe she was trying to properly lube him up before penetration, or maybe it was a teasing behavior, now that she was grinding back and forth over the shaft of his member in order to experience some contact on her clit. He was just waiting and hoping for the moment where she'd be gracing him with the generous experience of her pussy, if just this was enough to make him disintegrate into mush.

"You're so beautiful, did you know that? You really are breathtaking to look at, even if you're insufferable to talk to. Pretty eyes, pretty face... Beautiful voice,"

"...Don't understand you.." he admitted quietly, averting his gaze yet again in the opposite direction as she tried to lean in and catch his attention. At this point he was definitely thinking she was just fucking off her rocker. Nothing she said could ever be factual in any sense.

"You don't have to, love," she replied, matching his uncertain tone with a soft one. This has his head reeling with confusion. He'd never ever experienced feminine care before. Not that this was necessarily genuine care, it couldn't be - but this stranger really was pushing him far out of his comfort zone in more ways than he initially expected.

He wasn't sure if he even liked being brought face to face with comfort like this. It felt.. wrong, for someone like him to have. He was a bad person - he'd made peace with that long ago. It was difficult to endure such affection as a result. But it was unmistakable now that they were going a step further - there was more than just desire alone in her body language and her tone. Especially her eyes.. There was something softer there too. He hated it. Kind of. Maybe?

The woman paused in her movements to kiss him, dipping down to savor his lips, and for the first time, Feitan made a conscious effort to reciprocate. He was simply curious and engaged now, setting aside his personal feelings of a grudge to get a taste for these things and see what he might like.

He gave a soft exhale. A gentle, pleased sound. He had to admit, the sensation was relaxing in a way. "You're being so good for me. I'm very impressed. I'll let you continue to touch me as you wish, while I take care of your needs."

He was taken aback a bit by these words. Ever since he'd agreed verbally to continue towards heavier sexual intimacy, and after he'd eased up and started returning physical contact.. her entire demeanor had changed. It felt like she was almost amorous towards him.

There was something Feitan wanted to do, ever since he took in the full sight of her body under these contexts, so with her blessing on the matter he went ahead and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her downward in a deliberate motion. One hand went to clutch at her left breast, lightly squeezing the second his palm enclosed around it, while his mouth reached for the right. His lips locked over the erogenous zone, suckling experimentally.

The delighted cry of surprise she gave was very satisfying indeed. Enough that he instinctively rolled his hips upwards with a desire to fuck what made such nice sounds. Feitan doubted she would let him actually take full initiative here, but this small act of defiance was all he really needed to be satisfied for now. It was something he decided on for himself.

Sucking on her with a tad more confidence, he swiped his tongue over her nipple to see how it would feel, immediately grunting in surprise as he felt her grind a bit harder than before in a more sudden motion from the base of his length to the head. His dick twitched, a few droplets of desperate precum finding their way up his tip and immediately becoming indestinguishable from all the fluids, mixed in the excessive slick of his bed partner's arousal as she smeared the two together with a single motion. In his opinion.. it was mean to be using him like this, stimulating him with minimal friction while his cock essentially rubbed up the sensitive rim of her entrance.

He began to meet with her smooth motions, thrusting in harmony with her rhythm to feel himself glide between her vaginal lips, still brushing past her actual hole each time. He humped against her greedily, and she gave back a slow pace just to tease, easing him between the petals of her wet core and lightly petting her own clit with his cockhead. At the perfect time, a bit more of his virgin precum beaded together at his slit, kissing her clitoris and leaving the runny wet remnants over the sensitive bud.

"I'm going to put you inside now.. alright?" She whispered softly. Feitan unlatched himself from her breast, giving nothing but a small nod, bracing himself as he moved his hands from her chest to her waist.

"But I have another command for you. One you have to follow.. for the sake of this whole trade. Look me straight in the eyes while I take you inside me, okay?"

The woman, who's name he didn't even know yet, lowered herself slowly to align her body, and she even kissed softly a few times over his flushed neck in a way that was unmistakably adoring. She couldn't possibly be mistaking this for some kind of romantic exchange.. it wasn't. Nonetheless, he felt kind of lightheaded, but in a good way. Cheeks warm.. stomach warm.. everything was warm. Her body heat was like utter sustenance to his skin.

He glanced down to watch where they were soon to be connected as one, noticing his penis was an angry red near the top, swollen from how much he'd been sexually tortured, teased, and turned on since the start. He was sure the relief would be worth everything.

Feitan really craved to be imbedded in her core. Perhaps it originated from how touch starved he was. But he was not the first to move and shove himself upwards into her like he wanted. Instead he felt the soft head of his desperate length penetrate past the initial coating of her wetness, stretching and pulling apart tight walls, and he held his breath for a split second. His jaw dropped upon feeling himself deliciously slide into her with perfect fucking ease.

Something about the way she so sensually and teasingly took her time with him here made him shake with impatience. He could feel the warm, velvety walls squeeze around his most sensitive place in a way that made his body practically melt into puty. He moaned quietly, quick to tighten his lips around the sound to stifle it.

All the while he was sure to follow her order. Don't look away, she'd said. He remembered it. He watched her eyes soften into a look of satisfaction, maybe something even more than that - her lips parting into a gasp as she also assumingly felt something by him filling up her cunt to the brim. It was all horribly vulnerable, and he was sure she had witnessed every miniscule piece of him that shattered and broke into a messy pile of transparent honesty.. screaming the truth out that he fucking needed this so badly. But also.. it was hot watching her face contort in response to the penetration.

Feitan knew he couldn't pull himself together enough to keep the shameful evidence off his expression with how quickly he was unravelling here. He knew his cheeks and ears were blistering red because they felt scorching, and he knew his look had changed, and his eyes too - all by the way she was staring at him with such smugness.

Still.. the intimacy of conjoining bodies really hit him differently with the eye contact all throughout start to finish. He felt humiliated and yet... More frantically turned on at the same time.

Mouth slightly parted, moistened lips trembling, he involuntarily gave a sweet sound once he bottomed out. The sinfully sensual embrace ripped a shudder from his body, too - all so barely audible. His mouth started forming words before he could even comprehend them leaving his tongue.

"Ohh fuck.. so good.. tight.."

he spluttered out these vulgarities, eyes glassy and hazy. "I know baby.. it's all just for you," He faintly heard her chuckle. But all he could focus on, all he could drown in, was this feeling of being sheathed in a pretty, tight hole between her plush thighs. Wrapped within her body, he squirmed a bit, pressing his hips forward to feel her cervix rub a few circles over his tip, and it made him groan.

Did she really want him to push past here and dump his cum so far up into her? Did she wanna get knocked up or something? Well.. he didn't care. Not his problem. He was eagerly thinking about filling her up, clear into the deepest part of her womb if she would let him reach her there with his seed.

All Feitan could really reflect on right then was how beautifully blank his headspace was. No stress.. no tension or suffering. He just felt good and there was nothing else to consider. Nothing else mattered but just how much of this feeling he could milk out of her, all for himself. He hated to admit it even to himself, but it was a much needed relief. Total, absolute freedom in that moment from responsibilities. he felt disentangled from all the millions of little things that weighed him down day by day.

"Oh-"

A second later said feeling was amplified so quickly he felt his stomach.. and other places.. light up as if on fire, but much more pleasant.. a fizzy summersault sensation just squeezing together under his tummy. She'd started moving. He got maybe two or three slow bounces from her before she halted. Suddenly and without any verbal explanation.

"Nng.. Don't.. s-stop.."

He clawed with impatience at her hips, realizing he had been digging his nails recklessly into her skin just a moment ago. Well.. what was to be done about it? After she let him pick out something to touch earlier and he'd gotten a brief moment of victory earlier, touching her breasts - he'd been pretty unreserved with his fingers. Trailing all over and exploring.. sometimes squeezing over her curves to absorb as much as he could before this all ended.

But to his disgruntlement, she was frowning at him a bit. But.. she looked.. thoughtful? Lost in an idea perhaps.

"Stay right here."

Feitan didn't know he could lose so much so quickly. He gave a breathless gasp of protest as she moved upwards and removed herself from his body, his sound of despair warping into a strangled whimper of agony the second he lost that tight warm grip around his leaking and ready cock. His rock hard dick was again deprived of attention, left throbbing and painful in the exposed chilly air.

He flushed red immediately, he hadn't ever thought he was capable of such a lewd noise like the one he just made. His lip quivered, his breathing becoming almost erratic as he realized..

This was it. His last fucking straw. His breaking point.

It was like giving a microdose to a full fledged addict and watching them crash instantly.. a truly evil power play.

He struggled to stop himself from succumbing to panic and doing something he would regret later.. like begging. He would rather die than plead or ask.

Instead he coped by slipping back into his first language, his gut reaction being so strong that he had to curse profusely in Mandarin to feel even slightly better about her depriving him.

A few more disgustingly pathetic whines made their way out against his will and he realized that if she wasn't gonna touch him then maybe he just needed to do it himself finally. It was her fucking fault for being so fickle and deceitful.

Hand wrapping around his cock before he could think straight, he began jerking himself, breathing labored and coming out in short puffs. This had always been the perfect solution to frustrations he had with unfulfilled lust but suddenly he realized his dry, icy hand lost all appeal in less than a second.

After one new experience for half a second, suddenly.. compared to the luxury of vaginal stimulation, this idea ultimately delivered no sense of relief either. It also would get him in trouble apparently.

"What do you think you're doing? I didn't say you could jerk off in front of me. What an insult. Can't you wait two more seconds? I just decided.. I want to bind you down. Have some damn dignity."

He flushed with a mix of rage and exasperation at her words, completely baffled she would suggest he could ever throw his dignity away as if SHE hadn't pushed him to this point.

He stuttered, unable to even begin reprimanding her about that, because he was simply too flustered and disheveled to feel confident doing so. Rather, he could only tense up and give a hitched gasp as soon as her body came into contact with his again. Her precious warmth returned, and he noticed she was indeed holding the same restraints he'd used earlier to bind her to his torture chair.

She must've remembered them and where he set them down. But why bind him up? He felt an uncomfortable lurch of suspicion cloud his emotions, wondering if he was failing to proceed with proper judgement here just because her seduction was so effective. He still hated himself for his weak will in this particular scenario.. but.. he had to reassure himself that he could break out of those bonds if need be. Feitan was already certain she would demand him to wear them, and not hinder her plans, as per the rules of this agreement in the first place. So it might displease her if he didn't obey.

He hadn't come this far for nothing, so he sighed and growled in disapproval the whole time she worked to lock his wrists together. Sure, he'd take it, but he'd let her know he was pissed about it.

"Sorry about that baby. I just figured this might be my only chance to enjoy you like this.. so I wanted to add this little detail last minute. You'll forgive me if I do a good job riding you, right?" She gave him a devilish smirk and Feitan's jaw went slack the second she took hold of his painful erection again, lined him up effortlessly, and.. slid completely down to the hilt in one instant motion.

Being fully sheathed for the second time so abruptly, was like a straight hit of heroin to the body. He began to quiver and shake, wrists catching on the bindings as he gave an instinctive tug, and he gave a deafening moan, the first sound ripped clean out of him against his wishes similarly to the violent method in which he could tear someone's tongue from beneath their teeth.

"F-fuck!"

He hissed sharply, writhing as she started to bounce on him repeatedly. She was picking back up on where she left off so casually, not allowing him any kind of readjustment before stimulating him. With every rhythmic rock of her hips, he gave a soft pant, eyes glazing over with pleasure as he scatteredly obsessed over how incredible her body felt.

"Does it feel good sweetheart?"

More of his shy little squeaks and whimpers were immediately coaxed from his throat in a sequence one after another, completely out of his control.. as she began to really grind her hips and rub him up with friction. It felt as if her core was practically sucking him in with every drag of his cock back to the rim of her entrance, inviting him to plunge back in and stretch her cunt.. and he was losing it. He'd never experienced anything so mind numbingly pleasurable. "Something about your beautiful voice really gets me going, my dear~"

He whined again, realizing he didn't have much control anymore over his noises. And it dawned on him why she'd restrained his arms above his head to the bedrame. Knowing his tendency to close off and evade embarrassment.. she'd probably guessed he would cover his mouth or bite on his fingers to withhold his sounds from her. He didn't want her to have evidence of his weakness, and yet here he was, a complete mess. A sweaty, panting, flushed red puddle of shame and ecstasy whom she was playing with like a fun new toy. Indeed, there was nothing he could use to stifle any noise now that his hands were taken from him, and he felt all the more helpless.

Transfixed, Feitan's gaze lowered, and he adjusted his head to both relax better and watch better. He observed her body intently, seeing her hips and her waist move in a repetitive swaying pattern which was almost fucking hypnotic to witness.

He could literally see his dick sliding with perfect ease in and out of her.. profusely coated in what he presumed was her aroused lubrication. She would pull him out, feeling the suction of her pussy resisting the loss of contact, before she sunk back down on him in an instant and the head of his cock kissed the surface of her womb.

He was fucking frantic, fingers curling hard to make indents into the bindings, groaning and hissing at every last jolt of stimulation to his groin.

Every once in a while, despite his best efforts, his normally raspy and soft-spoken voice would escape through the form of a moan or a whimper. He really couldn't help it - the whining was more or less a result of him being overly sensitive as an inexperienced virgin as well as his natural tone of voice typically raising a few octaves when he was normally pleased. He did have an overall softer voice. She'd been complimenting it.. and as he watched her face, her look of approval with every sound that slipped by made him wonder if he could earn her favor this way. Should he contemplate being louder?

The bed he'd brought into this basement area was for rare occasions when a victim of his lasted through the night, or longer than he was able to really stay awake for. It almost never happened, but when it did, he would sleep here to keep an eye on them and ensure they stayed put. He also liked that it kept them up, feeling paranoid and threatened by his mere looming presence.

Therefore, it wasn't a very nice bed, being seldom used, and the frame was flimsy at best. Their intense fornicating made the metal squeak and cry with every plunge of the mattress, mixing in beautifully with their shared heavy breaths and moans. She wasn't apologetic about her sounds, a few of them making his body tremble, thinking to himself that girls sound nicer than he thought when fucking someone like him. She really sounded happy.

He tugged on his restraints a bit as he felt his skin grow more heated and sticky with sweat, his lips slightly dry from his repetitive pants. Everything was so heavy and thick with tension between them, but in the best way possible, and his head swimming with euphoria. By now, he was eagerly meeting her descending motions with light thrusts of his own, trying to encourage her to speed up. He was becoming a little feral with more impatience by now, chasing his orgasm with over eagerness.

His respiratory rate began to heighten into excited hyperventilating, his eyes widening in ecstasy as she sped up for him too, to accomodate his need to be pushed into climax. Feitan began to assert a little more strength with his yanking on the bonds, feeling the bed creak again under the pull of his ungodly strength. He shut his eyes tight, biting on his lip as he felt the wave fast approaching.

"Gonna.. gonna c-cum.. gonna cum-" he husked breathlessly.

"What's the matter, love? Am I making your pretty dick feel really good? Is it too much to handle..? I can stop if you want."

And she fucking did. He gave a choked dry sob this time, eyes brimming with a look of genuine torment as he felt his impending orgasm slip away from sight. The searing heat in his nether regions ebbed away into a far more subtle tingle of warmth. And then, it disappeared altogether.

She giggled, amused by his flustered state. And it only made more blood rush to his cheeks, if even possible. He was being brought to the cliff of his own frail sanity, and pushed by her to the edge in so many ways. He couldn't believe she was teasing him again. And at this point his face and his body were feverish, his limbs shaking with withdrawal from the whiplash of complete orgasm denial during his first time.

This.. this was torture.

Forget the many times he'd lost blood, suffered a bone snapping in two, or his body mangled in some way through the countless grueling trials he'd endured in life.

THIS was what he found insufferable.

"D-don't s-stop, want more.. give m-more-" he gave a sharp snarl as she suddenly leaned over him, snaking her hands behind his neck to grip some tufts of his hair and tug his head roughly upwards to force eye contact.. her lips capturing the silky smooth skin of his neck, just above the collarbone. His weak spot too, apparently..

"Ah-ah, you must wait a moment longer now," she purred softly, smoothing back some of his hair ever so gently despite having just performed such a cruel act on his body.

Oh God. His response to this was simply a low, drawn out groan, his expression becoming even more faraway and wanton with broken desperation. He was practically a melting puddle in her arms by now. A ragdoll that was her plaything. And Christ did part of him despise this fact. Nonetheless, this didn't change the fact that it was somehow.. very much needed. Without the movement, his dick twitched momentarily, and like an animal in heat he started trying to rut back up into her by his own volition.

"I n-need it.."

He tried again, still hesitant to plead too much in any way, gripping onto his last miniscule shred of pride like his life depended on it. There wasn't much left to salvage, of his image and reputation. At least in her eyes, as of now. Should he just give it up?

"I know baby... You really wanna cum don't you? You poor thing.. how about, if you're good for me, I'll promise not to tease anymore and I'll let you finish."

He nodded frantically, eyes wide with urgency as he attempted to get her to understand how much he needed this and therefore how crucial it was that she let him have it.

"I think that pretty voice of yours would sound so nice begging me to let you finish. Hm? Can you do that just for me?"

Now.. Feitan did hesitate. He had never been pushed that far before, and he'd never succumbed to defeat like this, pledging to never mirror how his victims acted. He could never judge them again if he ever did this. He couldn't maintain his sense of superiority and indifference to their pain, if he was just as much of a weak man at the end of the day, too.

So this was a major ultimatum for him. He just blinked, terrified of what she'd done to him and how. The fact that this would bring him to this fork in the road, of all things. After all, his victims didn't have a choice at the end of the day. Uvogin had once stated - Feitan didn't ask his captives to spill their secrets by speaking to their minds. He asked their bodies.

She was doing the same.

Who knew pleasure could be as motivating as pain.

"I...."

He struggled to find the words. It went against every fiber of his being.

But his violent shaking and his tortured, swollen cock demanded it of him. There was no room for a choice.

"Please.." he tried weakly. He felt himself shrivel up internally with self loathing.

"Please.. have to.. h-have to cum.. n-need it.. hurry.."

And his expression began to sink with defeat. She could pinpoint it, unbeknownst to him, that this was finally, officially the moment she'd broken him into submission. His eyes said it all.

The look of euphoric satisfaction on her face might give it away though, as her tongue dragged across her lips hungrily.

"That's a good boy~!" She drawled in complete delight. "You've done it, the hard part's over, so now I'll let you cum like I promised. Make sure you really enjoy it, I won't hold back anymore."

And he could only give a deep shuddering exhale of relief. He purred softly, as she started moving again, only fidgeting slightly when he realized that all the cock teasing made him even more sensitive than before.

Feitan was the type of person who had to be in control of everything at all times. It took a toll on his body, and his mental health - to be so constantly wound up like a pressure pot about to explode. All the pressure was seeping from his body right now, though.. he was succumbing to her will and her plans for him.

And honestly? It wasn't anything like he had expected before. He didn't feel any less of himself at this point.. at least not by the amount he was dreading. Perhaps this was just the nature of rock bottom.

He just felt complete desire. For once in his life he didn't have to have total obsessive control over how things were around him. Whether it be the situation, what was to come, and what was happening to him... He just let her do whatever and found that the feeling was truly liberating. He knew somehow now that she wouldn't harm him. That it was something his mind needed, to let go.

Did he have a choice? Not necessarily. She had seduced him with tricks he didn't understand, to get him stranded in this weird state of hypnosis. It wasn't natural for someone like him and therefore still new. Kind of foreign.

For a while she laid some wet kisses over his neck, sensual and slow, before moving upwards to suck softly on his earlobe. Another kryptonite spot for him. By then he was practically buzzing with overwhelming bliss.. instinctually chasing the rising feeling of pleasure, threatening to burst. A melody of whispered praises and pleasures began to slip past his lips in his native tongue, reverting again to what was natural to him in such a mindless state. He would speak in her language, though, to make a request.

"More.. more, m-more" he began, seemingly only capable of forming the one simplistic word. She wasn't fucking moving enough, dammit. He was getting fidgety and extra impatient again. With all these interactions with her though, he thought briefly to himself that she was putting actual effort into this. Not just fucking him. Actually, the woman was gushing all over his dick by now. It was very enticing.

She had decided to have mercy on him.. mostly because he'd been so wonderfully responsive to her wishes.

"Feitan~" she moaned his name for first time during the entirety of the session as the beautiful woman nearly doubled her pace, reacting in her own way to his cockhead now pushing harder against her cervix with every bounce. And good Lord did it turn him on. He didn't like being called submissive but he found that he couldn't bother to cause a problem when he really was focused on chasing his high right now.

She leaned over him, gripping onto his shoulders for leverage as she increased her speed and roughness more and more, in turn the result being a much higher level of stimulation for them both.

This new rhythm elicited sounds of wet skin slapping together, as he felt himself penetrate her deeper than before with the new angle she'd adjusted him to. She gave a cry, hips stuttering, and he responded with a low groan.

"Feitan, I want it in my cunt, p-please, I could touch myself just thinking about your cum dripping down my thighs. I want it.. g-gimme it.. baby.."

The slow, intimate love making had really done it for him.. but this was something he definitely found himself addicted to as well, just moments after she initiated the rougher sex. Their passion ignited further as she loomed over him, hair cascading like curtains and tickling his cheeks, whilst a hot and heavy open mouthed kiss began. Moans suffocated by her mouth, he put more effort into his own thrusts, lifting his body to meet with hers in the middle each time.

What qualified prior as potential gentle fornicating became the two of them fucking into wild abandon - short, harsh thrusts to achieve a heightened speed. Both just wanted to cum so badly.

Such shamelessly lewd, dirty language could have gotten him off alone. But when paired with so much stimulation, well.. he broke down completely, helpless and at her mercy pressed into the mattress. He gave a broken whimper, followed by a deafening moan as he hit his limit.

His orgasm hit him with blinding force which he was not entirely prepared for, white hot pleasure viciously tore through his mind and body, stranding him into a welcome purgatory of ecstasy. He thought deliriously to himself that he loved this woman- For a second, for making him feel this way. It all stole his breath away.

He could only ever worship someone who ignited his body in such a way. So, he drank in her image like that of a benevolent deity, feeling her also come undone as her muscles went slack and she collapsed upon him to ride out her orgasm in a clouded high. She sighed and ground her hips lazily a few more times, using his lasting erection just to gently coax her high into dragging on a little longer.

He felt more warmth, as his semen released into her drooling, hungry cunt just in the way as he'd hoped, his eyes rolling backwards in motion with his head as he let his climax overtake his senses. The amount of prolonged repression and teasing during the entire session caused his brief moment of euphoria to extend as well.

The high of dopamine that he felt right then was simply intoxicating, even as he began to cool down from the rush. His mind was so wonderfully blank of anything but contentment and relaxation. He oddly felt warm, and deeply happy with the current moment in time. Sure, he still didn't like this girl, but the sex had been incredible. He kind of somehow hoped she felt the same.

It felt so nice, to the point that his body was still involuntarily pulsing and twitching with the rapid sequence of his cum stuffing her fuller in spurts, pulling a second groan from her at the sensation of being properly filled.

He caught his breath, both of their panting slowly beginning to return to normal, and he sighed one last time, collapsing without a word. He felt very loose, and careless. It was nice to be at ease like this, feeling her walls still flutter around him on occasion in recovery from everything that had happened.

He said nothing, closing his eyes and trying to bask in a rare moment where he felt no pain and no discomfort whatsoever. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so calm.

He wasn't thinking about the interrogation at all or the original trade they'd agreed upon, either. Not even a little bit. It just wasn't really on his mind right now because that was all work related - he was in a completely different headspace, reflecting on his first time having sex and how he definitely already knew he enjoyed it significantly.

His first wasn't very appealing personality wise but she was cute and pretty, both things he was admittedly grateful for. Her body had done a good job helping him adjust, being how soft and inviting she was from the start. He just thought.. she might've been perfect if only her ruthless teasing habit went out the window. That was his only enormous critique.

Now, he gave a half-hearted groan as she eventually pulled herself off of him, vaguely taking note of the fact some of his own cum had apparently eased its way out of her body and pooled between his legs during their moment of recovery, and he'd have to clean that up. But his legs were jelly, his body was tired, and he oddly felt like someone had drugged him with a bit of melatonin, not realizing that cumming too hard can make you sleepy.

He blinked tiredly, seeing her rise to her feet, wondering if she'd untie him. But it was oddly quiet, save for a bit of shuffling around and a humming melody in her voice.

He tried to lift his head and see what she was doing but he just couldn't bring himself to give a fuck right now. She was still here, she hadn't escaped. It was fine.

A rustling of paper could be heard and then she returned to his side - he felt her presence again.

"You did so wonderfully~" she purred gently. "I don't cum very often, did you know that? But you were perfect. So perfect. And it felt good."

He purred softly as she cooed at him, and he was only half awake by now, feeling her hand which was now semi familiar settle on his forehead to pet his hair out of his eyes. She kissed his forehead. Feitan sighed wistfully, feeling his exhaustion start to pull him under.

........

When he awoke, Feitan sat up abruptly, brows knitting together in concern as the issue dawned on him almost immediately.

He felt a lot less tense than usual, which was a nice surprise. But he was instantly overcome with stress as he whipped his head around and noticed the woman he needed to complete an exchange with was missing.

Fucking lying snake...

She hadn't told him her secret as she had so insistently promised.

He noticed he was clean and had been bundled up into a cocoon of fresh blankets, shielding his naked body from any eyes, but also the cold. It didn't seem like anyone had come in here, as they would likely wake him up and scold him for losing sight of the Troupe's prisoner.

Nonetheless, something caught his eye that was out of place whilst looking around in a panic for traces of her whereabouts.

A note, in handwriting he didn't recognize.

In a rush, he scurried over, hopping to pull on his underwear and pants in the process. She'd left it by the rest of his tools, which were never completely cleaned from their first interrogation together. Her blood still caked onto three in particular. But he wasn't looking at that right now.

Her message certainly made him feel many things at once. For one, she had left him what he'd worked so hard for, and sacrificed so much of his dignity to obtain. A detailed secret, written perfectly with concise wording but nothing left vague for his mind to guess at.

Despite all that effort, that wasn't really what he was staring at in complete disbelief.

She'd left an address for him. And beneath it, a short but sweet departing message.

I had fun. See you again sometime soon.

-(Name)

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