#you don’t need to do this much we get it he’s YOUR man

[kingkatsuki]

I’m not entirely certain I’m the best person to be writing for Suo, but one of my favourite people @m-ete0ra is in love with him so I had to try.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to gain the trust of the notorious Bofurin, but you’d practically been welcomed with open arms. But Suo Hayato had always been far more skeptical than the rest of his friends, and he was determined to reveal your true intentions.

Pairings: Suo Hayato x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, mean!Suo (but honestly he’s borderline obsessed/possessive/jealous of you), reader is hinted to be part of a rival gang, Suo restrains you, marking, nipple play, public sex, praise, degradation, forced creampie.

Word Count: 4.4k.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, my love.” You froze in your tracks when you heard Suo’s charming voice sound from behind you, shoving your hands into the pockets of your open hoodie as you turned to face him with a glare.

“Well if you’d stop following me, we would.” You cocked a hip out as he took a step closer, the same coy smile on his face as though he was greeting an old friend, “And stop calling me that.”

It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse that you both played, and it was certain that no matter where you were in Makochi Suo wouldn’t be far behind. Always a man who kept his cards close to his chest, never ever revealing his hand as he left you trying to decipher his next move.

“Don’t act like you give me a choice.” There was a dangerous undertone to his voice that betrayed the innocent smile that graced his face, his eye darkening as he took another step closer. The leather eyepatch he wore made him seem even more intimidating as he glared across at you, serving as a further intimidation tactic as he silently challenged you to run.

“There’s always a choice.” You shook your head, crossing your arms across your chest as you noticed his brows furrow. A dangerous air surrounded him, as though one wrong move would leave you backed into a corner and unable to fight.

“Not when you’re on Furin ground.” There was a menacing gleam behind his eye that had the unfamiliar sensation of fear blooming inside you.

“Your friends didn’t seem to mind much.” You gave him a sly smile as you remembered how kindly Umemiya had welcomed you, as though you were a sweet inconspicous lamb that needed protection from all the hungry wolves in the world, “I think they quite enjoy having me around.”

“You might have them falling for this cute and innocent act, but not me.” You could hear the warning tone in his voice as you felt your knees quiver, “I can see right through you.”

“Oh?” You hummed, smiling softly as you shifted from toe to toe, “Like the act that you put on too? Don’t tell me that you’ve got every one of your friends falling for it.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Suo gave you the same closed-mouth smile that he gave all his friends that oozed faux sincerity, but it was the subtlest lock of his jaw that gave him away.

“Yeah, sure you don’t.” You rolled your eyes as you turned to leave, “I wonder what they’d do if they found out about the real you.”

“Don’t walk away from me.” Suo reached out to grab your arm and you felt a surge of electricity conduct through you, pulsing through your veins as he kept his grip gentle but firm as he stopped you from leaving so soon.

“Don’t touch me.” You shot back while attempting to tug your arm out of his grip, but Suo was stronger. His hold tightened as you felt his nimble fingers squeeze your arm, blunt nails dug into the supple flesh as you gasped in a mixture of pain and surprise as he twisted your arm behind your back with trained precision. 

He always seemed to manage to back you into a corner, like a skittish doe who would startle at the faintest sound. Anticipating your next move so that he could ensure he was three steps ahead to stop you in your tracks, indulging in the thrill of the chase. 

“Get off me, Suo.” You moved to kick him, and one of your heavy boots managed to make contact with his calf but Suo was more instantaneous. Using his grip on your arm to pin your chest to the wall, his other hand pressed directly to the side of your neck against your pressure point. 

The impact spot that could kill.

“I don’t think you’re really in any position to be giving me orders,” Suo shook his head before letting his fingers stroke along the column of your throat, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear as his tassel earrings tickled your shoulder, “Especially when you seem to know what I’m capable of.”

You’d made a promise to yourself that you’d never run from a fight, especially not with a man from Bofurin. But the harsh grip that Suo maintained against you was almost frightening, as you instinctively began to struggle against him. You’d managed to weave your way into the inner rankings of Furin, befriending Umemiya and Sakura as though you were just another damsel in the town that needed to be protected, that needed a knight in shining armour. A role that they were far too happy to take on–

But Suo seemed to be the only one to see through the sweet, innocent role you’d tried to play in front of others. Perhaps, because he was also acting himself— trying to maintain a persona that was nothing like the real him, and in this game of cat and mouse it would come down to whoever was caged first. 

“Let go of me,” You growled, trying once more to struggle against his grip as you pressed your chest against the wall to give yourself more power as you pushed back against his firm body, “Now.”

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Suo cooed against your ear as you felt his teeth graze your helix, “I seem to recall you quite enjoyed being in this position.”

Your mind immediately went back to the nights he’d spent above you, watching those same tassel earrings swing as he fucked into you. And now you were standing in front of him like this, you wondered if that had all been part of his act too.  

“That was before I knew what a dick you were.” You sneered. 

“How vulgar,” He chuckled, a delicate rasp to his tone as he eased his hips forward to press against your lower back. Feeling the evident bulge beneath his pants as you found yourself increasing the pressure against it on pure instinct, “I think you’re getting me confused with someone else, sweet girl.”

His hand began to stroke against your hip as he followed the curve of your side up towards your chest, his lips now pressing scorching, open-mouthed kisses against the apex of your neck as his fingers settled beneath the swell of your breasts, “Because I seem to recall you rather enjoy my dick.”

Suo rut his hips forward, letting you feel his desire for you as he pressed your chest harder against the cold brick wall. Your cheek grazed against the surface as he kept you pinned beneath him, the musky scent of bergamot and sandalwood invaded your senses and made it difficult to breathe. 

“Is that why you’re not even trying to fight back?” Suo continued, deft fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to press skin against skin. Leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake as he pushed the fabric of your top up around your chest, “I know you’ve got more bite than that.”

He had you feeling vulnerable, and not just because of your precarious position. Suo had taken the time to study you since your time at Furin, to try to discover more about you and the reasons that you had ended up on their turf. While everyone else had let their guard down around you, Suo had kept his up. Maintaining a facade of pleasantries while he sought to discover everything about you, keeping his friends close and his enemies closer–

“Shut up,” You growled, struggling in his arms as you moved one of your legs to try and hook behind his knee to take him down. A move that seemed to delight Suo as he chuckled darkly behind you, taking the opportunity to shove one of his thighs between your legs as he pressed the flat of it against your clothed sex.

“I always did love how feisty you are,” Suo pressed a kiss against your pulse point before biting down hard, pulling a desperate whine from your throat as you instinctively ground yourself down on his thigh. His tongue slipped out to salve the mark he’d left on your skin as he pulled back to admire his work, pressing a lingering kiss to the bruise as his cock twitched with satisfaction.

In his mind, you’d always be his.

Suo kept your arm secure behind your body as he reached forward to palm one of your breasts, massaging it through the sheer fabric of your bra before pulling the cups down to watch them spill out for him. The thought that anyone could walk by and see you in such a debauched state had your clit throbbing beneath your panties as you continued to chase the desire for friction as you ground yourself against him.

“The marks I left on these are almost gone,” He murmured, “I’ll have to give you fresh ones.”

His fingers were rough as they massaged your naked breasts, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he felt them stiffen beneath his touch. Rolling and twisting them as he pulled more pretty sounds from the back of your throat, salving his tongue against the darkened mark he’d left on the column of your neck as he felt the pretty sounds vibrate against your skin.

“It’s quite amusing how turned on you get just from me playing with your nipples,” He groped your breast for emphasis as you mewled at his touch, “Bet I could make you cum from this alone, hm?”

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer as you tried to push back against him, the rough brick grazing your skin as you tried once again to struggle out of his grip or at the very least turn yourself to face him. But it was futile – Suo had you completely at his mercy.

“I don’t know why you keep fighting it,” Suo pressed, moving to give your other breast the same attention as he pressed his knee against the wall so that your body was practically held up by the flat of his thigh against your covered cunt, “When you make it so obvious that you’re enjoying every part of this.”

Your body betrayed you as you leaned into his touch, practically mewling when his fingers tugged and teased your pert nipples with honed practice. Arching your back to give him better access he pressed a trail of kisses along the exposed skin of your neck, swiping his tongue against your pulsepoint.

“Do you forget how many times I’ve made you cum, sweet girl?” He laughed, low and throaty as his hand ventured lower, “How many times you’ve creamed my cock?”

“The same number of times I could’ve made myself cum.” You spat back, struggling again as Suo shook his head.

“You’re doing everything you can to be defiant,” Suo pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your cheek as his hand smoothed along your tummy, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt to cup your crotch. Feeling the soaked fabric of your panties beneath his touch as his lips curled into a smug grin against your skin, “But at least your body is honest, isn’t she?”

“No.” You groaned, lashes fluttering as you felt Suo begin to press his fingers against your neglected clit through the thin layer of fabric, circling the sensitive nub as you writhed against him.

“No?” He tugged the material to the side roughly, feeling it dig into your skin as he exposed your slit, “Then why are you dripping all over my thigh?”

Suo’s fingers dipped into the seam of your cunt, collecting your slick against them as he pressed against your tight entrance. Feeling the way your body reacted to him your inner walls fluttered around the calloused pads, desperately trying to coax him deeper as he let out a soft groan against your cheek. Gathering more of your slick as he dragged it through your sloppy folds and pressed two fingers against your needy clit, rubbing slow persistent circles against it that had you crying out for him. His palm splayed against your pelvis, increasing the pressure as he nuzzled your cheek. Every saccharine sound he pulled from your throat had his cock throbbing beneath his pants as he imagined burying himself inside you and filling you with his spend. 

“If you weren’t so much of a brat we could’ve done this privately,” He continued talking as he circled your clit, “Instead you’d rather I have you spread out like a whore for anyone to see.”

You were far too acutely aware of your position, pressed against a dirty wall in a throughway in town. Dangerously close to the cafe that most of Furin liked to frequent, a sure sign that anyone could walk by and catch you in such a precarious position. Your skirt bunched up around your hips and your tits out for anyone to witness, a thought that only seemed to heighten the pleasure that rippled through you.

“Perhaps that’s what you want though, isn’t it?” Suo’s voice did nothing to alleviate the tension between your thighs as you felt yourself hurtling towards your climax, your toes curling inside your heavy boots as you teetered on the cusp of release, “For everyone to see that you’re a whore for Furin.”

The sinful husk of his voice had your cunt clenching around nothing as you let out a desperate whine, your body reacting to his touch as you felt your orgasm surge through you as you came hard.

“That’s it,” He cooed gently, “Just like that.”

He kept his fingers persistent against your clit as he trapped your body against the wall, his grip bruising against your arm whilst watching intently as you rode out your climax. Suo always seemed to know your body better than yourself as you lay your cheek against the wall. Allowing him to lean forward and capture your pouty lips in a languid clash of tongues and teeth, swallowing your moans in his throat as he moved his fingers lower towards your tight entrance to feel your walls trembling in the aftershocks of your orgasm as they clenched at the intrusion.

“Doesn’t it feel much better to be obedient?” Suo grinned against your lips as your brows furrowed in a tired frown, feeling you begin to struggle against him again, “Ah, don’t be like that– you know I’m right.”

Suo shuffled behind you as he pulled his pants down just enough to free his throbbing cock, fisting himself at the base as he pressed the drooling tip against your slick folds. Stroking himself through the mess between your thighs as he coated himself in your slick, the swollen tip nudging your tight entrance with each steady rut that had you instinctively pushing back into him. 

“You know something that I’ve learned about people who try to be deceptive,” Suo murmured as pulled back to see the euphoric desperation on your face as you shamelessly ground yourself back against him, his mahogany eye focused on the way your thick lashes fluttered as your eyes rolled back into your skull at his touch, “They can never deny the bodies instinctive desire to seek pleasure.”

You gasped when you felt Suo line himself up with your tight hole and snap his hips forward in one quick thrust, feeling the dull ache of the stretch surround you as he bottomed out inside you. Stealing the air from your lungs you choked back a debauched whimper as he pulled back enough to watch you completely lose yourself to the pleasure. He remained still inside you as he cherished the sensation of your walls clamping down around him, his lips curling into a sly smile when he felt your feeble attempt to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“So are you going to blame your body for this reaction?” He murmured as his lips hovered inches from your face, “Or are you going to admit that you like me using you like this?”

“Fuck.” You felt lightheaded as you leaned your temple against the wall, trying to stop your legs from giving out as Suo slowly began to unsheath his cock from your velvety walls. Immediately despising the empty sensation as he moved until only the tip was still buried inside your wet heat, smoothing his hand along the curve of your ass as he glanced down at the length of his cock completely coated in your slick already. 

“Tell me.” He persisted as you whined, your free hand reaching around to try and grab his cock but Suo’s reflexes were faster as he held both your arms behind your back now. Grasping your wrists in one large palm as he tutted, “Why do you find it so difficult being good for me?”

“Suo.” You choked back a sob that threatened to wreck through your body as the fire inside you blazed like a raging inferno, the scorching heat almost too much as you sought to extinguish it.

“Say it,” He pressed, reaching around to knead your breast roughly between his fingers, “Say the word and I’ll give you everything.”

You didn’t want him to think he had won– especially not this kind of victory. Your body begged for relief but your mind tried to fight through the salacious haze that shrouded it, you couldn’t deny the way you felt for him. The irrefutable ache that lingered inside you at the thought of having him, of keeping him.

“She missed me didn’t she?” He continues, watching you eagerly grind yourself against him, leaving messy glistening lines of slick against his pants as you seek out the delicious friction, “Look at the way she’s grinding against me.”

“Oh my god,” You whimpered, “Please.”

The continuous throb that pulsed in your core felt almost unbearable as you willed something, anything to soothe the ache. Unable to close your legs to try and satiate yourself with Suo’s muscular thigh trapped between them as you tried to rock your hips to give yourself even the slightest ounce of friction to help quell the incessant desire that emanated inside you.

“What was that?” He hummed, “I’m not quite sure I heard you–”

You hated how he knew exactly how to push your buttons, deliberately trying to garner a reaction from you as you could feel the satisfaction seeping through his sickly sweet undertone. Suo knew exactly what he was doing to you right now, and how much your body craved him.

He just wanted to hear you say it– to submit to him so he could claim another useless victory over you.

But to him, this victory was far from useless.

“Hayato, please–” You choked back a sob, “Please fuck me.”

“That’s what I thought.” He didn’t even give you a moment to respond before he was forcing his hips forward and burying his cock back inside your tight hole, starting a brutal pace that had you pressed against the wall. Fucking into your pliant body as he set a steady pace, the slap of skin against skin echoed around the alleyway, positive that it could raise enough attention to have anyone in the vicinity investigating the sound. 

“I don’t know why you insist on being insubordinate,” Suo growled against your neck, “When I know you’re fully aware that no one else will ever make you feel this good.”

Your tight cunt always took him so well, clenching around him as he fucked you back into the shape of him. Pulling more desperate whines from your throat as he used his grip on your wrists for leverage, forcing you back on his cock as he buried himself deep inside your walls. The blunt tip of his cock speared against every inch of you as he carved a path towards your cervix, bruising it with each thrust as he felt your entire body quiver from the force of his movements. 

“Do you think Sakura could fuck you this well?” He murmured, a stark contrast to his brash movements, “You think he would make you feel this good?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It was the only word you could manage as it left your lips in a dull mantra as if reciting gospel as Suo continued his rough pace. Trying in vain to roll your hips back against his in a feeble attempt to match his thrusts as he moved his fingers lower, pressing them against your clit to rub sloppy circles against it. Trying to get you to come undone before he reached his peak, already shamefully close to his own end with the way your body reacted to him. His balls were already tight and heavy with cum as he began to think about filling you up with his spend and watching it leak from your abused hole that he had fucked into the shape of his cock.

“You know deep down that no one will make you feel this good.” Suo threw his head back in a duplicitous laugh.

And he was right. No matter how many times you rubbed your clit raw or fingered yourself to a pitiful climax, it would never compare to the way Suo’s cock felt inside you. The way his body felt against yours as you found yourself leaning into him, seeking out the warmth of him pressed against you it willed your mind to give into the pleasure. 

“Come on, pretty girl.” He whispered against your cheek, the tassels from his earrings swinging from each rough thrust as they tickled your skin, “I know you want to cum.”

“You may think you can lie to me,” He chuckled darkly, pressing down on your pelvis as you felt everything become tighter as you let out a debauched whimper, “But your body always gives you away.”

You didn’t want Suo to feel like he had won, although you were almost certain that he already did.

“I know you’re close,” He teased, letting his fingers continue a trail to where your bodies were connected to press precise figure of eights into your puffy clit, “Come on, just let it happen.”

You tried to stop yourself from obeying his commands, trying to ignore the way your clit throbbed from the dark timber of his command. Your teeth gnawed your bottom lip to try and stop yourself from moaning out loud as he persisted.

“I want to feel you cream my cock.” He kept his rough pace as the added pressure to your clit had your cunt pulsing around him, his cock hitting that same spot inside you with each forward rut of his hips had your climax surging through you in harsh waves, the coil inside you snapping harshly as you came undone with a debauched cry of his name.

“That’s it,” Suo practically cheered, “I knew you’d give it to me– good girl.”

Suo let go of your arms, and the shift in position almost had your face slamming into the brick wall, barely managing to press your palms against the rough surface before his hand was weaving around your throat to pull you back against him. Using your body for his pleasure he kept thrusting into your pulsing walls as he pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lips to taste the artificial strawberry that glossed your lips.

“I’m gonna–” Suo groaned, his fingers digging into your hips almost painfully. You braced your hands on the wall to prevent yourself from falling to the ground as his heavy balls slapped against your clit. The rough brick scratched your palms as you fought to keep your balance, your head lolled and your chin knocked against your clavicle. 

“Not inside.” You gasped.

“Ah, but who am I to deny her what she wants–” Suo grinned, using his grip on your ass to slam you onto his cock as he lingered on the edge of his bliss, “I can feel her squeezing me.”

Your greedy cunt clamped down around him in an attempt to milk him of his own release as he moaned against your lips, his tongue brushing against your teeth as he followed you into bliss with a final harsh cant of his hips. Spilling ropes of warm cum inside your quivering walls as he coated them with his release, giving a few more messy rolls of his hips to ride out his pleasure as he fucked his cum deeper inside you, smearing it against your cervix.

“I don’t know why you always insist on fighting it,” Suo cradled your body as you both came down from euphoria, his fingers pressing into the indents he’d left against your wrists as he held your arms behind your back. Gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes as you tried to blink back the pearly tears that clumped in your lashes, feeling his cock begin to soften inside you as you whined when he pulled out, “When you know you will always be mine.”

His eye immediately shifted to the mess he’d left between your thighs as he pulled your panties back into place, patting your covered crotch gently as your fluttering walls continued to push more of his cum out of your hole and onto the ruined fabric. 

“Now,” Suo’s hand was rough around your neck as he held your back against his chest, his grip the only thing preventing you from falling to the ground on shaky legs, “You’re going to tell me exactly what you’re looking for with Sakura.”

“What makes you think I’m looking for anything to do with him?” You feigned innocence, which only had Suo’s palm tightening around your throat.

“I thought we’d been over this,” He heaved a sigh against your cheek as he shook his head, “And you were going to tell the truth.”

You could feel him stealing the oxygen from your lungs as his fingers flexed around your throat threateningly.

“It isn’t wise to play these games with me, pretty girl,” He cooed against your ear, “All I want is to protect Furin, and you should already know–”

His voice darkened as he exerted more pressure against the same specific point in your neck, your eyelids starting to feel heavy as you felt your body start to become lax in his grip.

“I’d do anything to protect it.”

[saturncodedstarlette]

[Lucifer & Satan just had a huge fight, Satan stormed off to his room without eating dinner. MC & Mammon is checking up on him]

Mammon : man, why do we have to be here? They fights, it’s nothing new.

MC, holding a plate of food : don’t you care for your brother? I’m just gonna give him his dinner.

Mammon : you’re spoiling him too much, he’s a grown—ass demon, MC. He can get his own dinner when he’s hungry.

MC : hmph, that’s rich coming from you. I don’t hear you complaining when I’m checking up on you after Lucifer punishing you.

Mammon, blushes : W-well, that’s different!

[In front of Satan’s room]

Mammon : geez, I can even smell his anger from here..

Mammon : MC, just leave the plate on the floor. H-how about we head to my room after you— hey, are you even listening?

MC : I’m just gonna check in on him for a bit, besides, leaving it on the floor is bound to get eaten by Beel if he smells it..

[MC knocks on his door]

MC : Satan? Satan, it’s me. Are you alright?

[No response]

MC : . . .

Mammon : he’s probably busy sticking his nose into books, just leave the—

[MC slowly turning the door knob. The door’s opens, revealing completely pitch black view]

MC, hesitatingly steps inside : Satan?

MC : Satan, where are you?

MC : Sat—

[The door shuts behind MC with a loud thud; horror movie style]

Mammon, slamming on the door : MC! Satan, you jackass!

[Inside Satan’s room]

[MC got cornered to the wall, opening their eyes to see Satan in his true demon form hovering over them]

MC : S-Satan?

Satan, panting : M-MC, what are you doing here?

MC, holding up the plate : Uh I’ve brought you dinner, and to check up on you as well

Satan : you’re lucky I was able to tell it was you, otherwise I would’ve tear you apart already. But thank you, you’re not hurt anywhere, are you?

MC : No, I’m just surprised. So.. this is your true-true demon form? Not the usual humanlike one?

Satan, chuckles : indeed, yes this is my true demon form. I can’t control my body very well at the moment…

Satan : it might be a little scary, but let me stay like this until I calm down please.

MC : take as long as you need

Satan : here let me move us to a more comfortable place..

[Satan carries MC to his bed, they ended up sleeping, cuddling]

[While Mammon is still outside trying to break down the door that Satan just enchanted]

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 📍

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

 I don’t see any ladies here.

 He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him. 

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ 

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily. 

Time to use the tried and true tactic, ��I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys. 

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor. 

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for. 

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….” 

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.” 

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?” 

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else. 

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open. 

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said. 

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in. 

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit. 

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you. 

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you. 

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed. 

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? 

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked. 

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama? 

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.” 

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it? 

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home. 

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.” 

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew. 

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge. 

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.”  Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving. 

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again. 

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill. 

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

Maybe he had been running himself ragged. 

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure. 

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running. 

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them. 

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation. 

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing. 

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head. 

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.” 

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one. 

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there. 

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week. 

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare? 

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming. 

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did. 

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core. 

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up. 

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night. 

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps.  “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling. 

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[ghettogirly]

Head Cannon: How will Armando be when you're pregnant ? Btw I live for page 💕

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: how would he take care of you when you’re pregnant?

-> format: headcanon.

-> theme: fluff!

-> warning: armando is a little overprotective.

-> authors note: hope you enjoyed it, i think we need a little fluff of him being a family man!! thank you for supporting my blog!! 💕 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> you’re going to have everything you can possibly think of.

-> new baby clothes? he’s bought them. new room for the baby? workers are already on it. more food? already on its way.

-> you’re not lifting a FINGER. do not let that man see you do anything otherwise you’re getting a lecture.

-> “¿Estás tratando de darme un ataque al corazón?” “Babe, i just picked my glass up.”

-> yeah, don’t even think about doing any chores. he’s got workers for that or he will do it himself.

-> he definitely has hidden cameras around the house to make sure you’re not doing anything for yourself.

-> it may seem a little excessive but your priority should be resting and taking care of yourself and the baby, he believes you should rest to the maximum and it should be a stress free journey.

-> while it can be annoying with how much he cares, it’s honestly heartwarming.

-> sometimes he’ll come back with some flowers just to appreciate how strong you have been with carrying his child.

-> i totally believe he will give you little foot rubs and massages if you need it!

-> ALWAYS there for the doctor appointments, you can’t tell him otherwise. he always wants to make sure you and his child is okay.

-> packed everything needed for labour at least the week before so you don’t need to stress.

-> with your moods, he will initially be defensive and fight back but will come to the realisation that it’s your hormones. then he will just listen and take it.

-> “Estás pasando por muchas cosas, nena, está bien.”

-> when your water breaks, he does freak out a little on the inside but quickly gets you in the car and on the way to the hospital.

-> he makes sure the doctors cater to your every need, giving death stares if they’re not listening to your request.

-> his hand is automatically there if you need to crush it to death while pushing. gives you words of encouragement while you’re pushing out his child.

-> “Ya casi llegaste a esto.”

-> when his child is placed in his arms, a tear does slip out. He feels as he’s done it right and broke the cycle of his parents.

-> even seeing Mike, his father, hold his child made him feel happy. Kissing your forehead, you both smile at the happiness your new edition has made people.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“¿Estás tratando de darme un ataque al corazón?”: Are you trying to give me a heart attack?

“Estás pasando por muchas cosas, nena, está bien.”: You’re going through a lot baby, it’s okay.

“Ya casi llegaste a esto...”: Nearly there, you got this..

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @milliumizoomi @shurisgf @sarcasticbitchsblog @tyneshaaa @5tarlan7 @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @armandosbabymama @thedarkworldofhananerea @deadpool15 @believeinthefireflies95 @dyttomori

[roseyodditea]

Just Fix It - Wriothesley x gn! Reader

Summary -> 1.2k words. Your repair work is interrupted and then ruined by The Duke himself.

Warnings -> Swearing, Minor injuries.

A/N -> I love the idea of being a mechanic in Meropide. lmk if it's actually interesting to anyone that isn't me and I can write more. I'm just testing the waters with this one lmao

**********

For the first time in a long time, the halls of the Fortress of Meropide were quiet. The consistent and loud clanging of heavy machinery was absent, much to the pleasure of a lot of the prisoners. However, prisoners that were close to the elevator could hear the shouting of the scariest man under the water and the most stubborn person to probably ever exist. The shouts of The Duke and you, the head mechanic of the Fortress. 

“Get down from there!” Wriothesley shouted at the top of one of the large presses in the production zone where you stood, 10 feet in the air. His tone was half amused and half frustrated.

“You aren’t my boss! I don’t take orders from you!” You chuckled, standing in triumph on top of the machinery, holding nothing but an angle grinder. “I am literally your boss!” You let out a scoff. “I am an employee of the Fontaine Research Institute of Kinetic Energy Engineering. I am on loan to you, bitch.” A few of the newer prisoners looked away in fear as you insulted The Duke, not understanding the dynamic between the two of you.

“How much longer do you have on the repairs?” He rolls his eyes, trying not to laugh in front of others.

You scoff and return to cutting off some of the warped metal of the old press. “Not too much longer. I’m just cleaning up some metal that’s causing some of that god-awful screeching. I could fix it faster if you stopped distracting me.”

“Just hurry up and fix it. You’re wasting my precious time.” “What, you planning on dying soon, old man?” You snort to yourself and duck as a wrench is thrown dangerously close to your head, the guards and prisoners in the production zone moving to quickly leave now that metal was being thrown around. You put down the angle grinder and stand up, looking down at Wriothesley. “Say that again.” He looks at you with that cocky smirk you’ve grown to love and picks up a hammer from the toolbox you left on the ground.

“Careful there. That’s heavy, you might throw out your back trying to toss that all the way up here.” You taunt and hold your arms out wide, making yourself a bigger target. 

Wriothesley was throwing the hammer when the high-pitched sound of someone clearing their throat caused your blood to run cold. “Need I remind you both of the strict safety procedures we have in place?” Sigewinne’s voice immediately caused you to panic, looking away from Wriothesley, not realizing the hammer had already left his hand. You were about to say something when the hammer flew towards you. Panic ran through your body as instinct took over, dodging backwards, but losing your footing and falling off of the top of the machinery. Before you fully realized you were falling a ramp of ice emerged and broke your fall, but causing you to catch your wrist as the transition from ice to metal flooring caused you to roll. You didn’t even try to get up, a throbbing sensation in your wrist overpowering you. Two sets of footsteps approached you quickly. Sigewinne grabbed the wrist you landed on and furrowed her eyebrows, your body relaxing now that you knew you were in good hands.

“It’s just a sprain. It should heal just fine in a month” Sigewinne went to grab one of the first aid kits always kept in the production zone. She took out some wraps to help stabilize your wrist when Wriothesley grabbed it from her. 

“I’ll take care of it. It’s my fault they got injured in the first place.” He nodded at Sigewinne and she took that as an order to leave the both of you alone. He took your wrist in his hand and began to gently wrap it. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.” 

You tried to ignore the pain in your wrist and chuckled. “Yeah, it kinda was.” You watch his hands move around yours shockingly delicately, his brows furrowed in concentration as he looks down at your hand. “It’s really not a big deal. This isn’t the worst sprain I’ve gotten from climbing on equipment like that. I should have expected it.” Wriothesley shakes his head. “Stop that. This is serious. I hurt you and now you can’t work.” “Oh come on. You have plenty of other mechanics at your beck and call that will come to fix this and do it safer than I would.” You were met with silence, Wriothesley still focused on your wrist, refusing to look up into your eyes. “Unless you have a personal attachment to this one?”

“How bad does it hurt?” He tried to push down the lump he found stuck in his throat, but it still made his voice crackle in a way you hadn’t heard before. “Oh my god, you do have an emotional attachment.” You move your wrist closer to your body. Wriothesley doesn’t seem to notice and moves closer. “Just tell me how bad it hurts. I can get you some medicine from the infirmary, or I can-” “Oh shut up.” You pull him even closer, but this time he notices. Neither of you make any move to back away from each other. “I’m not worried about my wrist anymore. Something more interesting came up.” Wriothesley finishes wrapping your wrist, the support lessening your pain. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and you feel a chill creeping up your arm, his cryo vision glowing subtly as he tries to soothe the inevitable swelling. “I find your company enjoyable. You bring a sense of fun and light I never could afford to have in my life until recently. And the fact that you’re willing to consistently make the trip down here to this damp metal prison means a lot.” He sighs and shakes his head. “And for some stupid reason, I got wrapped up in the moment and threw a hammer at you when you were already in a precarious situation without any sort of safety harness on.” He fully sat down instead of just awkwardly crouching over you.

“And who’s fault is it I wasn’t wearing a safety harness?” “Mine. I’m your boss and I’ve been letting you get away with not wearing one for far too long.”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “You’re not technically my boss. You don’t even sign my paychecks.” “Can’t you let me have anything?” He lets a playful smirk grace his face, the chill making you forget all about your pain. “You’re one of the few people I trust with half the old equipment in this prison. What am I going to do for the next month while you’re healing?”

You moved to rest your head on his shoulder. “You know I’d make a good supervisor.” You wiggle your wrist out of his grip and slide your arm to hold his hand, not minding they were still ice cold.

“For me or other mechanics?” He asked with a hopeful tone in his voice, leaning in slightly.

“I think you know that answer.” You lean in the rest of the way, placing a quick and gentle kiss on his lips. 

“Hmm. I‘ve never heard of that supervision strategy.” “You’re a fucking idiot”

**********

[pitchsidestories]

lunch II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1181

a/n: hi, it's based off this request here. We're not completely happy with it, but hope you'll still enjoy it. <3

warnings: smut ahead, mdni, 18 + content

In front of her eyes, laid a stunning coastal landscape, but the beauty of it couldn’t satisfy the hunger Ona felt inside.  

“I’m so hungry.”, the defender mumbled.  She was certain that the sound of the crushing waves against the shore made it impossible to hear what the brunette just said. But the young woman was wrong of it.

Her brother who came to a halt next to her, raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“You haven’t even touched your food.”, he reminded her.

“Not like that.”, Ona replied smirking.

“Oh my god, Oni!”, the older man spat his coffee out, he wasn’t expecting such a reply from his little sister.

Before she had to explain herself in front of him, the defender thankfully received a phone call from her girlfriends.”

“Sorry, I need to take it.”, Ona bit her lip in an apologetic manner.

“Go ahead.”, her brother waved it off.

“Thanks.”, the football player got down to the beach, looking for a stone to sit on, when she chose to videocall her lovers back.

The young woman was excited to watch the sunset, the sun made her skin appear golden, her heart sank from longing once she saw Lucy and you on the screen of her phone. The sight of you both almost pained her physical.

 “Finally.”, you sighed relieved while you looked at your girlfriend who wasn’t in the squad for the last away game of the season, your hair was still wet from the shower.

“Hey, girls.”, Ona greeted you both with a warm smile on her lips.

“Hi, you already look like vacation herself.”, Lucy noticed the tanned skin of the defender and the many adorable freckles around her nose.

For a moment the Catalan player turned around so you got to see the sea in its full glory.

“Oh my god, we’re jealous, that view behind you looks stunning.”, you replied.

“I can’t wait until you come and join me.”, Ona answered, her voice full of yearning.

“We can’t wait either, pretty girl.”, the older defender assured the younger one.

“Who are you calling pretty girl here, huh?”, she teased her.

“Both.”, Lucy said in an honest tone.

“Just hurry up and come here, I’m starving.”, the Spanish woman’s eyes darkened with want and desire.

It didn’t get unnoticed by you.

“We’ll be there as quick as possible we can’t let you starve.”, you promised her.

“Good.”, Ona nodded, visibly satisfied with that answer.

“See you soon, love.”, the older defender muttered her goodbye.

“I can’t wait.”, the Spanish woman admitted passionately.

“We’ll arrive at lunch time.”, you added who couldn’t wait that much longer either.

The following day Ona was waiting in the hotel lobby. It was Lucy who reached her first and gave her an heartfelt kiss: ”Hi, Ona.”  

“Hi, my loves.”, she chirmed, giving each of you a kiss on the mouth.

“You look great.”, you complimented her.

“So do you.”, the young defender winked at the two of you, eager to guide you to somewhere you all could be alone without any other people watching.

“What’s for lunch?”, the older English woman asked curiously.

“Just you wait.”, Ona grinned mysteriously while leading Lucy and you to the room you’d share in the upcoming days. You could already taste the anticipation. Just for the food or for something else? Likely it was both.

When you arrived, you turned your head around in confusion:” I don’t see any food here?”

Wordlessly, Ona opened the door out to the balcony. There was a hot tub peacefully bubbling just for the three of you.

Glasses of wine stood on a table right beside it, small plates with olives and nuts right next to them. You could not help but notice that there were small bouquets of flowers on the balcony as well.

“Maybe I prepared a different kind of lunch.“, Ona smiled innocently.

Lucy immediately understood the hint. She licked her lips impatiently: “I like that.“

“Oh, me too.“, you smirked.

“You can leave your travel clothes on the chair.“, Ona suggested, pointing at an empty chair inside the hotel room.

“Someone’s really impatient.“, Lucy laughed while pulling her shirt over her head anyway.

You bit back a comment about how was being impatient now.

“In my defense, I had to wait a long time for you two.“, Ona shrugged with nonchalance.

You laughed as you slipped into your bikini: “Don’t worry, we won’t let you wait any longer.“

“Finally…“, Ona smirked once you had all changed and were ready to finally slip into the pool.

You enjoyed the warm water as it touched your skin.

Ona handed you and Lucy the glasses of white wine.

“Cheers.“, she said, holding out her glass so you could all clink your glasses together.

You took a sip of your wine, it was sweet and delicious. Ona had created the perfect relaxing experience for the end of your season.

You were about to compliment her on that when you suddenly felt a hand grip the inside of your thigh.

Lucy smirked at you, tightening her grip and you immediately knew that it would leave a bruise.

You sucked in a breath as Lucys hand started wandering, sneaking into your bikini bottoms.

Simultaneously, Ona untied your top, pressing hungry kisses down your neck and your breasts.

You felt yourself lose focus. You even had to put your wine glass down, too scared that you would drop it while your girlfriends spoiled you.

Maybe they were impatient to get this started but you were impatient to finish this. You thrusted your hips towards Lucy, signalling her to move faster and deeper.

And then finally, relief floated your body. You moaned as quietly as possibly, suddenly remembering that you were still at a hotel.

Ona kissed you excitedly. You knew that watching you come turned her on, you could tell from the way she was shifting impatiently.

You were eager to share this feeling of ecstasy with her, so you slipped onto her lap and ran your hands along her tanned abs. Her freckles were even more pronounce from the time she had spend in the sun. You felt almost hypnotized by the beauty of them.

But before you could do more than press a few kisses along her jawline, Lucy pulled you both towards her: “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.“

You had to agree. The pool was nice and warm but not spacious enough for what you three were planning to do.

Ona and you followed her out of the pool and straight into the hotel room where you all stripped out of your wet swim wear.

As you climbed onto the bed, you realized that Ona had also prepared this. There were scented candles, massage oils and various toys on the bedside table. You smiled, Ona had really been craving to see you.

You could not wait to repay both of your girlfriends. And you wanted to taste them both.

Even if that meant lunch would turn into dinner. You would take your sweet time to satisfy this hunger.

[cheeeeseburger]

B-a-b-y, baby

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: This was almost called "Put a baby in me one more time", like the Britney Spears song lmao. Also, this was inspired by that one interview where he is asked about not having children. Anyway, English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes, enjoy!

Cooking was your love language. It’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, because that’s how you got your husband, Fernando Alonso. You had cooked him his favourite dish and he had fallen right into your arms. On the other hand, baking was your way to relieve stress. The night before your wedding, you were up late baking a pie.

Today, you were both filled with love and stress, and that’s why you ended up with your large dinner table buried under elaborate dishes and delicious desserts. There was enough food to feed an army. The entire F1 grid could’ve gone for seconds or thirds and there would still be enough for leftovers.

The reason for all of this? You had taken a pregnancy test, and it was positive. While this was wonderful news, you had yet to tell your husband.

“Princesa?” Your husband called out for you as he entered your home.

“In here!” Your stomach was doing cartwheels.

It’s not like he wouldn’t be happy. He had always wanted to be a dad, but as he got older, his dream of having his own children slowly started to fade away. You also wanted to have children, and although you were still young, you had yet to meet the man you imagined getting you pregnant. Luckily for you two, you found each other.

“Mi amor, are we having guests tonight?” Fernando asked when he saw the table full of food. As usual, he gave you a quick kiss.

You let out a nervous laugh. “No, no, it’s just us tonight. Why don’t you sit down?”

“Which bottle of wine shall I open for tonight? What will go well with all this wonderful food you have cooked?” Oh no. Wine was definitely out of the picture.

“I made lemonade, we don’t need wine! Please sit down my love, I don’t want the food to get cold.” He looked at you, noticing your odd behaviour, but he did not pick up on it.

“Alright princesa, if you insist.”

The meal went fine, but you had not yet found the courage to tell him the news. You didn’t know if it was because of all the sugar, the nervousness or the baby, but you felt like throwing up. At least, he seemed to really enjoy the food.

“Mi amor, I’m not going to fit in my race suit because of you!” He patted his stomach, and you knew it was your moment.

“Actually, I’m not going to fit in my clothes either. I’m going to be eating for two.” You got up to go behind his chair, and you kissed him on the top of his head.

“What do you mean?” Bless his heart. He had no idea what was coming. You put your arms around him and leaned down to whisper in his ear: “We’re going to have a baby.”

“¡Dios mios, princesa!” He got up from his chair and immediately pulled you in his arms. “Is this for real? I’m going to be a father?” The joy in his eyes was too much for you.

With tears in your eyes, you answered: “Yes, my love. You’re going to be a father. In fact, you’re going to be the greatest father there ever was.” He lifted you off the ground and made you spin in your dining room.

He put you down and gave you a big kiss full of love. “How did this happen?” He patted your stomach.

You smirked. “Well, I know how it happened.” You put on your best imitation of Fernando: “Please, princesa. Can I put a baby in you? I want to get you pregnant so bad, princesa.” He laughed at your poor attempt at a Spanish accent.

“I remember now.” You laughed, and he wiped your smirk and your tears away with a kiss. “You’ve made my dreams come true, mi amor. I didn’t think it was possible, but I love you even more now.” He hugged you tightly.

“I love you too, baby. I hope you’ll still love me when I ask you to go buy my pregnancy craving a two AM.” Fernando chuckled and tenderly brushed your hair with his finger.

“Lucky you, princesa. I drive fast. You won’t have to wait long for your food. And it will only make me love you more.”

You made a mental note to buy a cookbook about baby food.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

You and Fernando, like any other new parents, stared in adoration at the crib in which your baby boy was sleeping. Although it was hard to believe, your son was now nearly a year old.

“He looks so much like you. I’m kind of insulted. I carried him for nine months!” You whispered at your husband. He laughed quietly.

“Let’s hope he has your brain, then. With your intelligence and my looks, he is sure to make a great F1 driver. My legacy will be secured!” You lightly smacked him on the arm.

“I’m never letting him go in an F1 car ever! I’m already on my knees praying that you be safe at every race, I’m not signing up for another 20 years of that!” You whispered-shouted at Fernando. You were kidding, but also not.

“It must be very hard, since I also make you go on your knees after every race and more.” He chuckled at his own joke. You smacked him again, harder this time. Forget the lightly. He continued: “Are you going to be very mad if I tell you that I have already bought him a kart?” Your eyes were big as saucers.

“Fernando!” You shouted a little too loud for your liking. Your son babbled in his sleep. “He’s not even one year old yet!” He faked looking sheepish, but really, he was proud of his scheming. You were not actually mad either, you were only pretending to toy with him. He grabbed your hands and kissed you. All his wrongdoing (that was not actually wrong) was suddenly forgiven.

“I’m sorry, princesa. But you can’t blame me for wanting to show him what I do.” You fake-pouted at him, but that did not last long because he looked too adorable.

“Alright, I get it. You will have to buy a second one, though.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Another one? Why, princesa? Are you planning on starting karting soon?” You put his hands on your stomach. Just like the first time, you were full of nerves, but also happiness. You cupped his face with your hands.

“No, my love. But the baby in my belly might.” You flashed your biggest smile at him. It was true that pregnancy made you glow because you lit up the whole darkened room.

“What?!” He shouted, and that effectively woke up your son from his sleep. Laughing, you picked him up from his crib.

“You’re going to be a big brother!” you exclaimed to your son, who giggled in return. Fernando was still in shock. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his disbelief. Finally, he returned to his senses.

“Princesa! I’m going to be a father!” He pulled you and your baby in a big hug. You laughed against his shoulder, as tears of joys were running your cheeks.

“You already are, my love. You are the greatest father there ever was.”

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Fernando was an extraordinary father. He was so good to you and your two sons, who were now celebrities around the paddock. Alonso 1 and Alonso 2, they were called. When your husband approached you with the idea of having another baby, it was a no-brainer. How could you ever say no to the opportunity to give an already amazing father a chance to be an even better one?

And you loved being a mother. You loved cooking for your family and seeing them all enjoy it together at the dinner table. After you made a particularly good tiramisu, you got pregnant for the third time. Turns out that your tiramisu was so good that it made you get pregnant with twins.

That’s how you ended up walking around the paddock, pregnant with twin girls. Actually, it was more of a waddle than a walk. Your belly was huge, and you were holding your youngest son in your arms while the oldest tugged on your dress to keep you close.

“Princesa, what are you doing? You should be sitting down!” Fernando trailed down after you and immediately took your youngest in his arms, which made the people around you laugh. He really was the cliché of the overprotective father and husband, but it was cute. Still, you rolled your eyes at him. It was the children he was supposed to scold, not his wife!

“Fernando, I’m fine. I don’t want to sit down, it’s all I do these days. The girls and I, we want to have to have some fun.” You pointed to your belly, full of two little girls.

He gave you a kiss and he put his hand that was not holding your son to your belly. “I’m glad you’re here, princesa, but maybe use the stroller next time, yes? And you, tete, you were supposed to be watching your momma!” Your youngest son pouted at his dad and laughed when Fernando ruffled his hair.

“There’s just so many people here, I can’t pass with the stroller,” you whined, pointing to everyone around. Fernando raised an eyebrow at you.

“No, we can’t have that, can we, princesa? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have all the space you need, mi amor. All the best for my family.” He gave you a small slap on your ass and put his hand around your waist. He led you so confidently around the paddock that honestly it was a turn on.

You blushed and whispered to his ear so your children could not hear: “You’re making me feel hot. Maybe I’ll give you triplets next time, huh?” He gave a you a devilish grin while you made your way around, you holding your oldest son’s hand and your other hand resting on your full belly while Fernando had an arm around your waist and your youngest in the other.

Move over, everyone. The Alonsos are here.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

You were resting on the sand of the private beach attached to your villa in Spain. Your twin girls were napping peacefully next to you, in the shade. You were trying to imitate them, but falling asleep next to the view you had was impossible.

Fernando was playing in the water with your two boys. Shirtless, the sun of his home country made him shine. Every time you had his back in your sight, you swooned at his tattoo. You wanted to fill it with kisses. It should be illegal to look this good.

Him playing with your children shouldn’t be that attractive, but being a father really did make him glow. His eyes lit up with joy when he was around his family.

“Boys, come here, you need to reapply sunscreen!” You shouted at the three most important men of your life. They all came running to you. You had trained your husband and children well, apparently.

“How are my girls doing?” Fernando leaned down and kissed you. You started to apply sunscreen on one boy while your husband did the same for your other son.

“They are doing well, my love. You’re giving me quite the show.” He smirked at you.

“You like the view, princesa?” He played cocky and showed off his body. You chuckled. What a show off. Thank God he was a show off.

It was his turn to get the sunscreen. Your boys played in the sand near their baby sisters. “Absolutely, baby. I’m hot all over, and it’s not because of the sun,” you answered while putting sunscreen on his back. He laughed, but you could tell he was pleased at your words.

“Oh really?” Fernando raised an eyebrow at you. You nodded, acting innocently.

“Yeah, baby. In fact, I kind of want you to put a baby in me right now.” His eyes got big, but he quickly came back to earth.

He threw you over his shoulder and spun you around. You were laughing hysterically. He exclaimed to your boys and your girls who were now awake because of the noise: “Do you hear that? Mamma wants another baby! You’re going to have another brother or sister!” His voice was full of joy. Your children were all laughing and screaming, clearly amused by the fact that mommy was on daddy’s shoulder.

Fernando untied the string around your neck holding your swimsuit top in place and put you down, laughing. “Fernando!” you yelled as you tried holding your top. He was already gone, too busy chasing your boys on the beach. The twins were doing a mix of laughing and cute baby noises. In revenge, you flashed your husband, to which he replied with a wink.

Oh yeah, you were getting that fifth baby. Tonight.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

The room was silent, except for the faint sound of the heart monitor in the hospital room.

“Oh Fernando, he’s so perfect. I think we’ve outdone ourselves.” Fernando laughed softly. You were sitting against his back on the hospital bed, holding your newborn son.

“Princesa, you say this every single time.” You smiled at him.

“But it’s true, my love. All of our children are perfect. We are so lucky.” He kissed the top of your head.

“Yes, we are. I love you, mi vida.”

“I love you too.” At the same moment, your four other children came running into the room, all whispering-shouting when they saw their newest brother.

The love in this room could be observed from a fifty miles radius. Fernando looked around at the room, and he nearly choked up. A few years ago, he had nearly given up on his dream of having his own family, yet here he was, husband to a perfect wife and father to wonderful kids.

After a few minutes, your kids left to go back home with Fernando’s parents. You were perfectly happy, yet something was wrong, but neither of you wanted to mention it first.

Fernando finally broke up the silence: “You know, mi amor, I don’t really like odd numbers…” He softly brushed your hair with his fingers while you did the same to your baby boy.

“Me neither, baby!” you exclaimed, happy to see he was thinking the same thing as you. “And, you know, I think it’s not fair if we don’t give this precious little baby a friend! We would be failing as parents.” He laughed and added to your comment: “Oh yes, definitely. We would be bad parents. Horrible, even.” You nodded solemnly.

“Absolutely, baby.” He kissed your shoulder. “What’s one more?”

Yeah, what’s one more?

This man wanted children? He would be getting them.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Fernando had just done really well in a race, even landing a place on the podium. You and your six kids were all cheering for him, all dressed up in his merch. He waved at you from the podium, and all your kids started jumping and screaming for their father. You blew your husband a kiss, and he felt as if he had just won another championship.

“A question for Alonso. You had a great performance today, even landing on the podium. Tell us, Fernando. What made you perform so well today? Is it the changes on the car?” asked and interviewer during the post-race interview.

“The car is good, yes, but I got on the podium today because of my family, definitely. My wife and my children are always the reason why I succeed.” Fernando winked at you, and everyone in the room laughed as you turned beet red. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and you were.

Okay, another baby wouldn’t be so bad, right?

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Surrender Part 1

Welcome to the Paper Hearts sequel I've been banging on about for a while. This picks up literal hours after the first one ends so...yeah. Read that first.

I'll be using the tag list from Paper Hearts for this, but due to the purge I do have FIVE slots open.

This is mature. The second chapter is their first time, so just a heads up. Also it has extended to 4 chapters and might end up being five. I tried so hard to stop that. I honestly did. But alas! I had even given myself permission to make the chapters as long as they needed to be, and STILL it added an extra chapter.

*sigh*

Summary: After the events in Paper Hearts, Eddie and Steve navigate their first date, their first time, Eddie's friends, Steve's ex, and prom! It's a lot, but they'll make it through.

****

Steve only had mere hours to come up with the perfect Valentine’s day plans. But he knew what to do.

He bought flowers. Not roses. But white daisies. Beautiful and simple. He showered and merely changed into a long sleeved shirt and his nicest jeans he had. He told Eddie not too worry about getting dressed up. He had different plans.

After checking in with his kids to make sure he it all correct, he went to pick Eddie up from his trailer.

Wayne answered the door and he blinked at the sight of Steve Harrington at his door again, this time with flowers.

“Got lost again?” he teased, opening the door wide enough to let the young man in.

Steve grinned in response. “Not this time, no.”

“So I’m guessing the flowers aren’t for me then,” he said, indicating that Steve should sit on the sofa.

“No, sir.”

Wayne smirked. “Uh huh. And where are you going that you have to leave so early?”

“Bloomington,” Steve said, cheerfully.

Eddie came out of the bathroom fluffing his curls. “What’s in Bloomington?”

“It’s a surprise,” he replied, standing back up. “These are for you.”

Eddie’s expression softened. “Stevie, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I believe a request was made for the full Harrington charm,” he said with a smile.

Eddie took the flowers. “I don’t think we have anything to put these in.”

Steve’s smile turned into a grin.

“All I need is a pair of scissors and a tall glass.”

Wayne got out the glass while Eddie got the scissors. Steve held up the flowers to the glass and then with two mighty snips, the flowers were much shorter. He put them in the glass and filled it with water from the kitchen sink.

“There you go,” he said handing the glass to Eddie.

“Wow.”

Wayne chuckled. “I’ll admit I was little worried about the flowers, but I guess I wasn’t banking on you being so resourceful.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head.

Eddie decided to save his boyfriend from the embarrassment and said, “You ready to go?”

Steve brightened. “Sure thing.”

Eddie grabbed his leather jacket and they made their way to the car.

“You really aren’t going to tell me where we’re going?” he asked as Steve held the door open for him.

“Nope!” Steve replied cheerfully and then hurried to get over to his side of the car.

****

On the way down, Steve and Eddie talked about music and what influenced those choices.

“You don’t like pop?” Eddie asked. “I thought that was a prerequisite of being king of the social ladder.”

Steve shook his head. “And if what Max says is true, Billy Hargrove is a metal fan, so... no.”

Eddie tilted his head to the side and regarded Steve for a moment. “She that red-headed girl I see him with sometimes?”

“That’s the one,” Steve said nodding his head. “She’s his step-sister, but she hates his racist, homophobic, abusive ass.”

Eddie grimaced. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s got a lot of people looking out for her,” Steve said with a nod. “It’s hard sometimes, but we make it work.”

“Argh,” Eddie scoffed. “I can’t believe Hargrove is a metal fan. That’s a disservice to the genre, sweetheart.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “That’s what Dustin said.”

“Wait your pocket nerd is a metalhead, too?” Eddie asked, his eyes going wide. “How the hell did you fall in with this kid?”

“Oh, entirely by accident,” he huffed, “I assure you.”

“Huh.”

****

They arrived in Bloomington and Steve deftly navigated the town as if he was born in it. Eddie watched him in fascination as the other boy took what was clearly a well known path.

“I had to ask several times to make sure they were talking about the right shop,” Steve said pulling up to a two story building. “Because my dad used to take me here all the time when I was a kid to get baseball cards, but apparently in the ten years since I was last here, they’ve expanded quite a bit.”

Eddie stepped half out of the car onto the pavement, standing up. “Holy shit, Stevie.”

Steve chuckled and got out of the car. He leaned on the roof of his car, with his arms folded between him and the cold metal. He smiled fondly. He knew this was a great idea.

“Azathoth’s Emporium?” Eddie asked in awe. “Holy shit, Steve. This is like the Holy Grail of game shops in Indiana.”

“Yup!”

Eddie looked over at him and leaned on the roof top as well. “You are off to a banging head start there, darlin’.”

Steve slapped the roof and said with a grin, “Just wait until you see what’s inside.”

Eddie scrambled to get out of the car and close the door behind him. He caught up to Steve and leaned into his space. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Count how many times you want to do that,” Steve whispered back, “and tell me the number so I kiss you that many times when I drop you off at home.”

A feral grin spread out over Eddie face. “You might regret that.”

Steve tucked a hair behind Eddie’s ear and murmured, “I think I can safely promise that I won’t.”

“Full Harrington charm, huh?”

Steve threw his head back and laughed. “Right in one, babe.”

Eddie stayed close to Steve as they entered the shop. All around them were games and figures and posters and dice and cards and comics and everything thing that Eddie could have ever dreamed.

“Come on,” Steve said softly, grabbing his elbow to steer him toward the stairs. “What you want is on the top level.”

Eddie looked around in awe. “Maybe just a little...” he waved at the first floor with a quivering lip.

Steve swung round to look him in the eye. “I’m saving that for the grand finale, I just want to show you something first.”

Eddie brightened up immediately and dutifully followed Steve up the stairs. It was a light wood stairs with black iron wrought banisters. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from anything. Steve looked back and chuckled.

Then Steve started looking down each aisle searching for the particular part of the store but he needn’t have bothered. Toward the back was a large red dragon looking like it was bending the shelve it was standing on.

Eddie stopped in his tracks. “Stevie...there’s a dragon over there.”

“Yup!” Steve chirped happily. “And we’re going over there to meet him.”

“Mmk!”

Eddie hurried to catch up to Steve as he motioned for him to move faster.

There were figures, books, dice, DM screens, character sheets, and just about everything Eddie could every dream of for D&D right there in front of him.

“Stevie...” he whimpered. “I didn’t know there could be something like this here.”

Steve looked around and then gave Eddie’s hand a squeeze. “Come on. I’ve got money to burn and a boyfriend to spoil.”

Eddie’s head turned slowly to face Steve and when he saw he was serious, his face transformed into the most besotted grin. He skipped over to the display and began hopping around, looking at everything.

Steve just watched with a smitten expression on his face, please that his idea panned out. Eddie ended up picking a DM screen, a pad of character sheets, two figures and a red and black speckled dice that reminded him of his guitar at home.

“Ready to go see what else this place has to offer?” Steve asked as Eddie loped over to him.

Eddie nodded.

He picked up a couple of comics he had been dying to read, a book or three, and an action figure of Superman.

Steve got a couple of baseball cards.

As they walked out to the car, Eddie complained. “I don’t think it’s fair that you only got two cards when I got all these.” He held up his bags to show his point.

Steve laughed. “Eds...those cards are rare. They weren’t cheap. I assure you that I got the equivalent of what’s in those bags.”

Eddie eye him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Yup!”

Steve put their stuff in the trunk and they drove off back to Hawkins.

“What’s next?” Eddie asked with a grin. “Not that this wasn’t amazing. I just have a feeling you were just getting started.”

“Dinner.” Steve glanced over at him and smile at the deep blush on his cheeks.

“I’m not exactly dressed for something fancy,” he muttered, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans.

“Fantastic!” Steve said, happily tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “There was no way I was getting somewhere expensive this late into planning. Their reservations would have been full on months ago. I’ll take you somewhere fancy, make no mistake, besides I wanted to do something fun. Sitting for three hours in stuffy clothes being judged by the staff and other patrons for looking at the menu for too long is NOT fun.”

Eddie looked up at him for a moment and the ducked his head again, this time blushing with pleasure instead of shame.

“We’re going to Benny’s!” he announced proudly.

Eddie’s eyes darted up and at Steve for a moment. “Wait, really?”

Steve hummed his agreement. “It won’t be as busy by the time we get there and we can share a shake afterwards.”

Eddie lifted his head and shimmied haughtily. “And what makes you think we have the same taste in milkshakes, Stevie?”

“I was hoping you’d want to share the triple chocolate brownie shake with me,” he replied with a half shrug.

Eddie’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “Um...statement retracted, we obviously have the same tastes in milkshake.”

“I hoped so.”

*

They got Benny’s and had a wonderful meal and by the time it was time to share their milkshake they were the only ones left in the place.

They sat next to each other and playfully fought over every bite, chasing each other’s spoons and smearing it on each other’s faces.

Benny and the waitress just shook their heads and left them alone. Finally they said goodbye and Steve walked Eddie to the car to open the door for him.

“I’d normally take out to the quarry to do some star gazing before taking you home,” Steve murmured as he held open the door. “But there are a couple of problems with that.”

“We’d freeze our asses off?” Eddie guessed. “And considering how delightful yours is, it would be a damn shame to lose it.”

Steve chuckled and went around to the other side of the car, allowing Eddie to close his own door. “And there’s school tomorrow. So how about this, if you aren’t busy tomorrow, I’ll take you star gazing then. I’ll bring lots of blankets and thermos of hot chocolate if that’ll sweeten the deal.”

Eddie pretended to think about it, tapping his finger to his lips. “Sounds amazing, sweetheart!”

Steve grinned and took him home. He followed Eddie inside, a little pleased that Wayne wasn’t home at that moment.

“So, rockstar,” Steve cooed, pulling Eddie close to him after they had shucked off their coats, “How many kisses do you get?”

Eddie held up his hand that he had been using to to keep tally marks. “Looks like ten.”

Steve grinned and cupped Eddie’s cheek and placed a gentle kiss to his lips. “That’s one.”

Eddie took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slow. Then Steve kissed him again. This one a little deeper.

“Fuck, Stevie,” he muttered after the fourth kiss. “You really are good at this, aren’t you?”

Steve hummed his agreement before diving in for kiss number five.

By the tenth kiss, they were making out, standing in the middle of Eddie’s trailer, bodies pressed together like pieces of a puzzle.

“Shit,” Steve breathed, pulling away only far enough to press their foreheads together. “If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. And we still have school tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled. “So what you’re saying is that after our little star gazing trip to the quarry tomorrow, we’ll be coming back here for sex?”

Steve’s head shot up and he looked Eddie in the eyes. “And you’d want that with me?”

“Sure would,” he whispered. “It’s hard enough stopping right now, but make no mistake, I want it all with you.”

Steve gulped and then nodded. “Yeah, me too, Eds. Me too.”

“Go on then,” Eddie whispered. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

Steve smiled and then said his goodbyes. He walked out to his car and leaned on the steering wheel, looking up at the lit windows of the trailer park. The first time he’d come here was because he had been stupid. Running without direction or purpose. But he couldn’t deny that it had probably brought him here. Staring up at his boyfriend’s home and staring dreamy-eyed up at it like some love sick fool.

He shook his head fondly and started the engine. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington, but at least you’re someone’s idiot.”

He pulled away and drove home. When he got into the kitchen there was a message on the answering machine.

“Steven,” his mother said sharply. “I understand it’s Valentine’s Day but you should be home by now.” There was a gruff voice in the background and then his mother’s voice rang out on the tape. “Your father has just informed me that it’s barely 6pm in Hawkins. So when you get this, just be aware we are extending our stay. You father met some Japanese business men that he’d going to be trying to get a deal on their microchips. We won’t be home for at least another week. We’ll be transferring $500 to your account to make you get enough to eat. Be home soon. Kisses.”

Steve let out a long sigh. As much as he hated having his parents gone, this was a blessing. He had almost cleared out his allowance for the month on his little Valentine’s trip with Eddie. Not that that was a problem. Quite the opposite, but still that extra money would really help him out.

He really couldn’t wait until tomorrow now. He didn’t have to worry about his parents asking questions on where he’d been.

****

Tag List: FIVE SLOTS OPEN

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @spectrum-spectre

2- @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson

3- @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv

4- @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @dam28lh

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @fullpoetrybread

7- @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

8- @skyewaytohell @swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234

9- @dotdot-wierdlife @ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself

[hoseoksluna]

RASPBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and luna)

genre: smut, angst

word count: 10.5k

summary: a step towards breaking the curse of your life—nothing could be sweeter than that, could it?

pinterest board: raspberries / taglist: join

warnings: anal sex:), blowjob, a bit of an argument?:), bathtub sex, ass eating, pussy licking, this whole chapter is a warning itself, oc and hobi are just horny, anger, crying, daddy issues, breeding kink, praise kink, spitting:), their emotions are all over the place, brief mention of suicide.

note: okay, this chapter might have salvaged this entire series. i wrote entirely through my feelings and the plot took a whole different direction. like i had something planned, but the characters do what they want. :) SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. THE CHAP WAS GETTING LONG. and i want the last (next) chapter to be juicy! please, send me your thoughts via my inboooox. i'll be waiting. do we trust jk or not? skfhskfhs. enjoy, my loves!

Perhaps, you should’ve seen it coming—the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t pick up. The rosily gold sunlight warms your fire of anger as you try and try again, the number beside his name on your screen rising and rising until another digit joins it. Something about it feels like a childish payback and you don’t really know why you like it so much. Why you like making him feel the way he made you feel when he spammed your phone after you made the worst mistake of your life by accidentally sending him the video of you professing that your intimate parts belong to Hobi. 

Perhaps, it's as simple as that—it’s childish. And you find yourself to be in a safe realm for your inner child to come out and live. Come out and take revenge. 

Another layer of warmth is pressed against your bare back, heavier, more homely. You swivel your head to bump into Hobi’s jaw, to catch the furrow of his brows as they serve as a shadow from the morning sun, along with the antique structure of his body. His trembling hands hook onto your shoulders, squeezing once before they drift down your arms. Inching closer, he wraps them around you in a suffocating hold. And it isn’t until he closes his lips down onto your temple and steals your phone, flinging it away, that you realize he did it in order to stifle the fire. 

“That’s enough,” he whispers and it graces you with the notion that it should be saved for another time, the picture of his tremor coming forth and the question of why. It kills you, slowly, the liveliness of his emotions, portrayed so gently by his hands. Why are they shaking? 

They snuffed out the fire, but the residue of the painting, colorless and bland, remains. It lines your skin—you can even see it in the streaks of the sunlight. The curves, the message. What was he punishing you for? It’s a question that now unfolds within the strange calmness descending down your body. Was he punishing you for having a man? For returning to your salvation that is in a lung burner? For going against him? Or for raising your fists—feeding him the poisonous negativity of your emotions? 

The need to reach for your phone and talk to Jungkook seizes you again and you fight against Hobi’s hold, but he says no. Sternly, seriously. Tightens his hold. Doesn’t let go. 

“Let it be,” he adds, rubbing your arm with the hand that lays across your chest. But you can’t, you can’t—

“Hobi, I can’t—”

Your sentence is silenced by the sudden kneading of his hands upon your knotted shoulders. Relief evaporates every need, every black fume of your doused fire. His hands bear strength now as his thumb focuses on the tightness of your muscles and you droop, you crumble. And what you didn’t expect—Hobi droops and crumbles with you. 

The violence of his heart against your back, it becomes yours when he pulls you into the shadows of the wavering structure of his body. Its stones ricochet off of your decaying figure, dropping onto the floor with a loud, thunderous thud. You feel the saddened line of his mouth against your cheek, into which he sinks, quietly as a mouse, his whimper. He doesn’t cry and he doesn’t yell, his infelicity, bound to yours, radiates the entire room in gloom. Clouds swim past the sun and linger, the rosy glow snuffed out—just like your fire. 

The wedding of your joy has been put off. The groom has been left at the altar, and it’s all your fault. 

Why is everything so temporary? 

Why are you unable to be stable? To stay submissive amidst the ups and downs of your life? To stay calm, unaffected? 

You’re so weary of it. Weary of yourself, weary of your life, of the curse. 

You turn around and embrace him. Feel like it’s the only right thing you can do at this very moment. Hobi welcomes you in, lets you sign and recuperate in the kingdom of his arms. Rubs your back, gathers the ends of your hair in his hands as if it were a stream of water he longed to refresh himself with. 

It’s so different, to be given love when you don’t ask for it. Something opens within you, a circle of mildness that cracks its mouth wide to consume the edges of the curse until only its axis, its middle core remains. Lightness drives your hands to embrace him tighter, only for Hobi to follow the movement—lungs in sync while your heart tries to mimic his rapid movement. 

It’s like a wordless eulogy. Goodbye to the old life, to the old pain, so the new can settle. Hobi can sense it, too. Supports it when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the crown of your head, wets his mouth, prepares himself to speak. 

But then your phone starts ringing. 

Your heart lurches forward, but you dwell in motionlessness. You don’t care anymore. Hold the serenity, the lightness in higher regard. 

“Let it ring,” Hobi whispers, tracing circles on your back, the same pattern that has opened within you. 

You nod against his clavicle. “I will.” 

His hands descend to your waist and clenches it for a while, a sensation of groundedness washing over you, cleansing you. You kiss his collarbone. Then, a message dings. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Hobi asks in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair, muffling out the sound of another Jungkook’s intrusion. The idea resembles a paradise to you and you beg for it with a singular, pretty word. 

Scooping you up in his arms, he sets you down in front of your bathtub, your nipples brushing against his chest with the descent, awakening the dried pool of your arousal deep in your core. A fresh spring of water fills it until it brims over and so you don’t waste a drop, you slam your mouth onto his, kissing him. He hums, lowly, into your mouth, not foreseeing something like this, and the sound splashes in the pool, drenching you whole, showering your orchard in the life it needs. 

Slipping your tongue inside, he lets you taste him for a mere moment, before he clasps your mouth in his hand and stares you down. “Hold it.” 

Hold what? Your incessant stream of horniness for him? 

Reaching over, he fills up the bath with warm water with one hand, its mist rising up your body, spreading little dots of anticipation on your skin, erasing the lines, the curves and the message of the painting you never saw, but envisioned. And before he can straighten, you pull him back up. He smiles down at you, kissing you, tenderly, mouths smacking within the briefness and the pool within you heats up. 

Except for the orgasm he gave you in the middle of the night, right before dawn, neither you or him got the release you needed when you were connected. Pity ripples in your water and you grasp his manhood in your hand, semi-hard. How did he get excited this quickly? You coo, but only for yourself, drifting your hand down his poor, blue balls, squeezing them, coaxing a pained sigh out of him. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, softly, flicking your gaze up into his. They must be hurting, considering the amount of arousal that swirled inside without an ounce of alleviation. 

He doesn’t respond, but that’s an answer for you. Light flows from his eyes as seriousness draws his features tight, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You kiss his chest, gripping him a little before you let go, threading your fingers through your hair, parting them into three sections and, blindly, instinctively, you plait them into a braid, securing the end with a silk, thin scrunchie. Pink, like his imaginary wings. 

“Come join me.” 

Hobi shakes his head, though. Holds you steady as you swing your leg over the lip of the bathtub, sinking into the warm, misty water. At the sight of you kneeling, he lets out another pained sigh, prolonged this time and you feel so bad for him that you don’t think twice before you take him into your mouth. 

“Pup, fuck,” he moans, grabbing the crown of your head as his knees shake. All of his emotions are expressed through the tremors, you note, and it drives you to open your mouth wider, swallowing him deeper. “Oh, yeah, that’s so good.” 

Your walls clench and you mewl around him, dragging your tongue flat on the underside of him as you draw back, swirling the muscle around the tip of him as you grip him. You use your saliva to stroke him, making him cage in his bottom lip between his teeth again. Eyes rolled back, his reddened lip springs back, and he gazes down at you, fingers trailing down until they meet your loose plait, acknowledging themselves with the newness. 

“I love your hair like this. You’re so pretty,” he comments, voice so terribly strained, and you hum, pleased to hear such a compliment. You hollow out your cheeks on his tip, sucking him, slowly, and he repeats those words you love so much, your noises of pleasure rising in pitch. “You really do love it when I say that, don’t you? God, I adore you. All of who you are.” 

You withdraw, completely, without losing your grip on him, panting. Can feel your eyes send waves of love towards him as you bore them, piercingly, into his. He groans, divulging to you that he received the message, and you could burst, you could fly—turn this water into fire as his godliness from his precum sweetens your throat once you swallow, the aftertaste of him transforming you into an unknown being of holiness. You’re not God, you’re not an angel, either. You’re something else, entirely. A figment of his creation on the cusp of awakening and living. A moving picture of stability, submission and feline softness. Something he adores. Something he’ll soon love. 

And it pleasures you, intensely. 

“Do you adore me, pup?” Hobi asks as he wraps his hand around your braid. One time, two times, three times—until your hair is pulled so tight that he inclines your chin up to him, waiting for your answer. And he doesn’t have to voice it out—the dark side of his desire, the bad things he wants to do to you. You perceive them clouding his pearlescent eyes, making them brighter. 

You wish the moon would turn its face towards you, so it could see the change that is occurring.  So it could see the way you’ll use its magnetism to blanket yourself with Hobi’s darkness. 

Now you’re able to. Now you’re prepared. 

“I adore you, Daddy,” you breathe out, stroking him faster, your chest mimicking the rhythm. “And I want to show you just how much. You said you wanted to make me forget. Let me do that for you.” 

His moan transmutes into a vulgarity, a tender shade of pink scattering along his cheeks and you could eat them. Your heart thumps, colorfully, your longing to help him forget the taste of the bane of your life growing and growing like a thick bush of raspberries. He deserves it—needs it, considering the infelicity of his that he poured over you when he held you, his lack of words shared with you. He deserves the fucking world and you’re willing to go above and beyond to give it to him. To give it to your boyfriend. Your husband. 

“How? Tell me how you’re gonna do it.” 

You draw your face to his cock, but he pulls you back by your braid, coaxing a dark mewl out of you. A drum begins to beat in your clit—the start of his song, incited by his darkness. 

“Did I not tell you to use your words?” Hobi scolds, so awfully sternly, and you flutter all over, the peaks of your nipples stiffening, the drum picking up its rhythm. Your eyes widen as that darkness of his overwhelms you and you want more of it. 

“Help me say it,” you say, your heart not letting you lie to him as the words, ‘I don’t know how to say it’ were on the tip of your tongue. 

Hobi smirks, tightening his grip on your braid. Pain shoots up your scalp and even though you hiss, you like it. He inches forward, his lips a mere centimeter away. The radiation of his pleasure hits you, drifting down to your core. You almost reach your hand down to it, so the ache disappears, but you yearn to focus on him, wholly. 

“If you want to suck on this cock and if you want me to praise you, then you’re gonna have to give me those pretty words that I know you’re capable of saying,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue at the halt of your hand around him and you resume, pressing play on the movie of his guttural moans—and you moan along with him, enjoying the sound. 

Is that a hint of his pent-up anger? You believe, wholeheartedly, that it’s somewhere hiding in him, that he’s keeping inside, adamant on not letting it out in your presence. You want to unlock that cage and beckon it out, meet it, learn its name and its desires. And you’ll do it—just so Hobi feels better. 

You can handle it. 

And to do it, you linger, intentionally, in your quietness, ceasing your movement on his cock. In fact, you withdraw altogether. Arch your spine when you sit back, your breasts bouncing a little. And he lets you, unbelief slackening his hold on your braid, mouth parted. Perhaps, he’s thinking you don’t want to go along with the foreplay, so he’s taking a step back, but what he doesn’t know is that what you’re doing is as much of a means of it as it is one of healing. 

There’s no way he isn’t angry at your ex-boyfriend for punishing you silently for whatever he thinks you did. There’s no way there isn’t the same fire in him that burned in you at the sight of him marking you with the palm of his hand. He saw the painting, you didn’t. There is simply no way he doesn’t want to explode. 

Hobi does lots of things for you. Stifling his emotions until they lash out in the form of his tremor is one of them. And you crave, with your whole being, to do the same for him. Let him feel like he let you feel. Make him come, vividly, like he made you come. 

Adore him like he adores you. 

“I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?” you purr, lifting your fingers to your breasts and swirling them around your hardened nubs. His eyes flick to them and enlarge. You spread your legs and let him see all of you, bolts of pleasure swaying your body like the water lapping at your stomach. “Withholding my words on purpose when you’re so hard, when you need me. Hm, don’t I deserve to be punished? Don’t I deserve to be punished so hard that I willingly give you my words?” 

Hobi pants and his nostrils flare, chest heaving and slightly shuddering in tandem with the drum in your clit. Sweat coats the antique structure of his body, darkening it as if rain fell upon it, staining it for a little while. You want to stain it with his ivory arousal—make a magnificent sculpture out of him to remember this important moment. 

His anger will change everything. His anger will be a step to breaking the curse—to settling the process of the bane, Jungkook’s intrusion. You may have decided to do this alone, but it was wrong of you. He should be the one to make order like the father he is while you stand behind him, clutching the material of his pants. 

You will get him there. 

“I want you to spank me.” 

He doesn’t let a second pass. Doesn’t blink. “I can’t.” 

Your heart cracks, but you will strength of the raspberries into it. “Yes, you can. You can make me red and you can show him. You can show him who’s the boss. Who owns me. Who has his handprint on me. It’s you and it’s always going to be you. You have every right to do what I know you want to do, Hoseok.” 

He raises his brows, mouth agape. Clenches his fists. “You want me to spank you and send a picture of it to him?” 

You nod, dipping your hands into water. 

“Why would I stoop to his level?” he asks, scoffing, and your throat dries, struck with shock. You didn’t anticipate this kind of answer from him and you don’t know what to say, his fatherliness and dominance enveloping you in a milky blue aura of smallness. What does he want to do, then?

Hobi steps closer. Doesn’t bend at the waist. Doesn’t crouch. Doesn’t get on his knees. He lets you look up at him in your smallness. Lets you feel his control, the manliness of his stature and energy and you gulp. Turned on and intrigued at the same time. 

“I’m not a boy, pup,” he says and you wish he would touch you, touch your pebbled nipples, soothingly, feeling yourself needing it as he reprimands you. “I don’t need to play games. I’m too old for this shit. This is what pubescent boys do when they feel threatened, when they feel jealous. If I were to play his game for you, I’d only encourage him. I wouldn’t be stopping it, I’d be kicking the ball over to him. Do you really think I want to do that?” 

You let out a breath. Your muscles tense, ready to scream out the question that has been boiling in you all this time. 

“What do you want to do?” 

He sucks in a breath, baring his teeth. There it is—there is that anger, the whole resplendent, monumental rawness of it. 

“What do I want to do?” he asks as if he couldn’t believe you’re asking him that question, as if he couldn’t believe you’re allowing him to have a part in it. It thrills you—and as it thrills you, it moves forward your transformation. 

“Yes, tell me what you want to do. Tell me how you want to settle this.” You stand your ground, inviting him in, inviting him into your life, to have a say in it, to have a fatherly hand in it; letting the sunlight make it right, make it alive, real and serious. 

“Is that what you want? For me to step in?” he whispers, that disbelief still ringing—and you pout, touched by it. 

“Yes, Hobi,” you hush out, leaning over and grabbing his hands. He lets you hold them for a second before he untwines your hold and cradles your face, kneeling by the bathtub. 

The light in his eyes is too overwhelming and you melt into it, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender. He presses his lips in a firm line, his thumbs brushing away your flyaways, and you lean into his touch, head tilted to the side. 

As he tastes the newness of the conjunction to your life and his, you ask again. “What do you want to do?” 

He sighs and takes in heavy breaths right after, seething, pressing his forehead against yours. And as you and him close your eyes simultaneously, he finally answers. “I want to break his fucking face.” 

Dots of gooseflesh chill your skin and you don’t stop yourself from humming out your pleasure of hearing that. “Yes, Hoseok.” 

You feel his gaze on you as he continues—and it might as well have been him who opened your eyes. “I want to break his hands for creating that degrading, shitty painting of you. And I want to break it. Destroy it. So it never sees the light of the day again.” 

You choke out a moan, your whole body set on fire—a different one, this time. A blue fire, milky blue like your aura of smallness. “Yes, Daddy.” 

Hobi groans, kissing you, nastily. Tongues and clashing of teeth, hunger and anger gratified as he pours it out into your mouth. Lets you taste it, swallow it. The same fire, but brighter, bigger, scorching hot, so alluring. 

You don’t have to fan the flames of his will. He’s already decided. 

“Once I’m done with you, you’re gonna send him a text,” he shares his plan with you between hard kisses; you can only whimper in your neediness in response. “You’re gonna tell him that you’re coming over to his place to talk, to look at the painting.” A sigh, a suction of lips, a moan. “Alone.” A swirl of tongues until the details of his plan spiral in the same dance in your brain. “I’ll come with you. And I’ll settle this once and for all.” 

He withdraws, letting you breathe. Your body tingles, your lips, especially, every nerve ending crying out in need, whimpering at the way he studies your form—eyes lifting and falling over your swells, curves and marks. And something about the way he ogles you like that makes you feral. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks, that urgency flashing again in the light of his eyes, and you nod—a thousand times. “Repeat it back to me.” 

The drum in your clit becomes unbearable and you can hear its song in your brain. All thoughts fade to nothingness, memories, triggers, pains. All of it evanesces, but one thing remains.

His plan.  

“I’m gonna text him that I’m coming over to his place alone to talk and you’re gonna come with me and settle this like the Daddy you are,” you stream out, panting, focusing on the sudden numbness of your lips as his kiss still engulfs them as a new memory. 

Hobi grins, pleased, and it propels you so fucking quickly to lean over and lick up the underside of his now fully hard length. Even though you can’t see it, you know the grin breaks as he deeply moans, your tongue circling his sensitive, red tip. You begin to suck it, bobbing your head up and down in a short, curt motions, and he fists your braid in one hand while the other digs into your hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as you give him what he befittingly deserves. 

“Good girl. My good fucking girl. Oh, yeah. Like that, pup. Fuck, it feels so good. Just like that,” he praises and your whole body clenches and doesn’t let up, your nectar dripping into the water. “I’m gonna fix everything and then I’m gonna make you a Mommy, arasseo?” 

You growl around him, taking after him, his words intoxicating you enough to withdraw, yearning to have him inside you. But not in the place, where he engraved his enigma, the breaking of the curse. You burn to have him stretch out the hole, where no one has ever been—the one you teased him about on your first date. 

He blinks at you, hearing your sound, and his grin grows all over again, massaging the back of your scalp as if you were a puppy. You reciprocate it, devilish with your own plan. Feral, feline, and incessantly horny for him. 

The water reaches your belly button and you turn off the tap without breaking the contact. Then, you tug his hand, inviting him into the bathtub. 

“Let’s pretend,” you say, knowing beforehand that he’ll get the message, the meaning of your vague words, and Hobi curses, pleasing you, brushing his hair out of his forehead, exposing the undercut that makes you even wetter. 

Such a beautiful Father. 

You tug him again. Create space for him in your tiny bathtub and he loosens your breath when he gets in and manhandles you—pushing you flush to his body and over his lap, his hands coming over your bum, kneading it, his slender fingers sneaking to the little hole that craves him. The sunlit water sloshes and it’s so intimate—the way it ripples around your body and his, stilling as he looks deeply into your eyes, the two of his digits circling around that virgin part of you. 

He’s going to consume the little purity you have left and there’s nothing you want more at this moment. 

“You want me here?” he murmurs, growling as he feels you open for him there when he prods it, and you drip, drip, drip onto his thighs. 

You kiss him, chastely, in his fashion, willingly giving over your purity. “And from the back.” 

He chuckles, flashing his white teeth, and you want them all over your body. The effulgence of his blush, too. 

“Lie back. I’ll get you ready for it.” 

Preparation, such an important word in your relationship. 

You do as he says, giddy, leaning against the rounded wall of the bathtub. Yelp as he raises your hips above the surface of the water and right onto his mouth, delving onto your pussy without a second spared, licking over the entirety of her, mouth open, letting you see everything. 

“Fuck,” he moans, smacking his mouth, and your legs hanging in the air begin to tremble. “I can feel you throb for me. You wanna be Mommy so bad, don’t you?” 

You can’t stop it, the scream of agreement that emits out of your mouth; that goes on once he swirls his tongue around that drumming pulse, learning its song—because as soon as he does, he sucks it, possessing it. Your orgasm crests and his hands never shake, never waver, holding you up as if in Greek celebration. 

You can feel the stone burst forth from your legs, completing, little by little, your transformation. He’s creating a sculpture out of you. Not of Virgin Mary, not of Mary Magdalene, either. A sculpture, authentic, of you. And on the cusp of your orgasm, he takes his tongue to your other, tiny hole, fucking you there with a verve as if he sensed the work of his hands that resume the godly abuse on your clit after he tells you to place your feet on the rim of the tub. 

And when you come, you’re white, smooth, magnificent and whole. 

You’re you, in the simplest of words. 

Mind spinning, swimming in the delight of groundedness, authenticity and love, all your body asks for is to be taken. You go to turn around, but Hobi stops you with a hand on your waist. 

“I want to look at you when I fill you up,” he croaks out, shades of pinks adorning him. As he is the God of everything, you think at heart he must be the God of all pink flowers with the way they blossom underneath his skin. You believe the same flowers will sprout out of your stone as soon as you’re stuffed full and feignedly bred. “I want to see the look on your face when you feel our kids inside you.”

Our kids. You close your eyes at the wave of a profound emotion sprinkling over you and you feel like crying, feel like sobbing, begging him for it, wanting your old life to be finally ended, killed, destroyed, wanting to cling to him with your whole being and newness, to his godliness, his flowers, his masculine fatherliness. You want to live in him, and the notion, the craving is so intense in you that you exhale it out with every breath, with every pleading word you give him. 

“Please, breed me. Please, please, please.” 

He sucks in that breath, eyes large and dazzling, filled with so much tenderness and adoration. Pulls you flush to his body again, raising you just a little bit as he lines himself up at your little hole. Spits on his fingers while boring that gaze into yours, so terribly up close, his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your bum as he spreads that lubrication over his tip. Does it again, rubs it over your hole. And a perverse obsession with it overpowers you, seizes you in its grasp, and you crave it. 

You gaze your lips along his, sharing a breath that is perfumed with the scent of roses. “Spit in my mouth.” 

Those eyes of his narrow in dark, dark pleasure and he nods in a promise. Driving your fingers up his undercut, you let your body follow his guidance as he sinks you down on him, stealing your mouth in a deep, long kiss that showers your figure in those familiar tingles. Discomfort parts them while you stretch around his tip, though, and he doesn’t stop kissing you, even when you mewl. In fact, he steps into that realm of the painful sensation by thumbing your clit, by toying with your tongue, and whimpering into your mouth when you convulse around him. Gets rid of anything that prevents you from accommodating him. 

Your thighs burn at the slowness of your descent, but once he’s nestled, at home, and you feel so full that you could come from it alone, Hobi breaks the kiss; and using the height difference, he spits into your waiting mouth, growling. Even his saliva is filled with powerful godliness and when you swallow and show him, the same power becomes yours. 

And he smiles. It seems as though he can see it on you and his mouth widens in a lopsided grin. You clench around him. 

“You’re such a good pup,” he praises and you do it again, coaxing a growl out of him. He still remains motionless, waiting for you to get used to him, and your love for him grows owing to that. “That was your reward.” A sigh, a grin. “Now I’m gonna fuck you hard.” 

You latch onto his neck, trembling like him. “Yes, please, Daddy.” 

It’s not just your life and his that joined. It’s your soul and his that becomes one singular face of joy when he begins to pound you. He whispers to you to keep holding onto him like that as he drives in and out of your little hole with such rapidness and hardness that you lose your own knowledge of your name. All you know is his. 

Hobi. Hoseok. Daddy.

And you whisper it, you say it, you scream it. All while the water sloshes around you; all while you stretch and tighten around him and his praises for you are strained, choked out, giving you all of his strength while remaining full of it as if he never gave you an ounce of it. 

His eyes never leave you, never stray away from your emotions, your pleasure, the twists of your features, the opening and closing of your mouth. And you look right back, your feline energy dousing him in sweat and ardor, the force that furrows his brows, that tightens his lips in a firm line and loosens it in pleasure as he bares his all. 

And suddenly, you’re up in the air and your wet back soaks your bed sheets. Hobi rummages in your Nike box under your bed and you feel yourself stretched open, a gaping hole for him. You gasp when you drift your finger along it and you already miss him there. 

Hobi chuckles at your disbelief, your most favorite toy in his hand. A pink egg—a clit sucker and a vibrator at the same time, though the vibrations never did much for you. It’s the pressure, sucking waves that kept you company in your singleness before Jungkook and after, save for the waves of the sea. 

“You never thought you could stretch like that, huh?” 

The ‘huh’ pinches you, but you shake that feeling away, understanding Hobi’s dislike when you asked him to spank you. A momentary sensation before your horniness washes it away at the soft sound of the toy coming to life. 

“Do you have lube somewhere?” Hobi asks, but you can’t speak. You point to the bedside table and he’s quick to slide it open, fishing out your raspberry and strawberry scented lube. 

What a coincidence. 

And you laugh when he squirts it on you from a distance, its coldness refreshing like a lick of ice cream to your heated body. And Hobi laughs along, smearing it all over you, especially over your still gaping, red hole, fingering you there with two fingers, fleetingly, just to tease you, just to pull those sounds out of you that get his head back in the game. 

Then he’s inside, back home. You can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi can’t swallow down his noises, growling and humming as loud as his body asks, ramming into you until all you can hear is his pleasure and the music of skin slapping on skin. 

And when you least expect it, he places the pulsing toy on your swollen clit. 

Your muscles strain, tense and taut, your throat dead silent as you can’t speak, can’t compose any sort of song of the delight that paralyzes your body. You scratch your nails down his back in effort to declare to him the beauty of his artwork and Hobi whimpers, pounding you into the mattress while keeping the toy steady, your breasts bouncing up and down, gleaming in the sunlight, pebbled, aroused, begging for his tongue when he looks down at them, his blush deepening. 

“Look at me,” he commands, stopping, so you can focus, and you begin to inhale quick, staccato breaths as your orgasm nears, the pressure in your tummy coiling and coiling, threatening to rip. You open your eyes, just in time to catch his endeared coo—because he can see how close you are. His lungs mimic the same rhythm, abdominal muscles prominent and defined as he, again, gives you his all. “There, baby?” he asks, speaking of the placement of the toy, and you’re only able to nod. “Ready to become a Mommy? Daddy is right there with you, pup. You squeeze around me so well, you’re doing such a good job. We’re gonna come together, yeah? You want to come with Daddy?” Another nod—because you’re trying your hardest to stall your orgasm as he jackhammers your little hole. You thank him in your heart, like the God he is, that he’s keeping the toy steady because if he were to move it… you’d come on the spot. “Say ‘yes, Daddy’ or I’m not letting you come.” 

You hiccup, shuddering so awfully pitifully while your cat-like aura of power strengthens, giving you all that you need to say it. And your eyes narrow in that sultriness, mouth pouts and you dig your claws deeper into his back, making him fuck your ass harder in payback that feels more than fucking delicious. 

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck, fuck. Give it to me, please. Make me a Mommy, please, fuck. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—”

And it’s a litany without end as Hobi moves the toy side to side and sweeps you off your feet, bringing you over the threshold of your shared home with you as his bride in his arms. You come, violently, its electric sparks shocking Hobi and he pumps you full of his cum, never stopping his hard motions, even as he twitches, growls—praising you, groaning the two words you like—and shudders just like you. He fucks you through your feigned impregnation, throwing the toy away when you squeak in overstimulation in the middle of your delirium, and he kisses you as if he hadn’t done so in a thousand years, sucking your lips so hard that they must bruise, his mound hitting your clit and stimulating it further. The warmth, the wetness—tears line your eyes and the same ones wet his eyelashes as he presses his elbows on either side of your head, panting against you, his nose brushing yours. He stares down at you, a look full of shadowed, yet pure love, the realization that you’ve done it, at last, but differently, bathing his face in light that blinds you—and blinds your tears, drying them as you smile up at him, running your fingers through his hair, through his undercut. 

“I got a big load for you, pup,” he croaks out, fucking you, slowly. “I can’t fucking stop coming. You feel so good. I’m weak for you, fuck.” 

You sob, finding your voice, made tender by his cock. “Give it to me, Hobi. I want it all. All your kids.” 

He moans and proves it to you how weak he is by emanating such a pathetic sound that forces you, most saccharinely, to clench around him all over again, milking him out of every drop you stirred but never drank. 

And for it, Hobi marks you in the middle of your breasts. A big, red hickey, redolent of your raspberries. You hold him to your chest, like the Mommy he made you into, as he sucks onto your skin, nibbling, licking, the noises akin to blowing those raspberries while he makes sure the bruise lingers for as long as possible. Then, he travels to the peak of your left nipple, trailing his tongue flat over the curve on his way up, and you’re wet, bespeckled with his children that trickle out of you as another wave of sopping arousal comes over you, because he begins to make love to that stiffened pebble. You cry out, tug his ruined hair, try to tell him you can’t anymore and Hobi hears you, takes care of you. 

Drags his teeth along your nub. Flicks his eyes up to you as he sucks. “Milkie, please, Mommy.” 

You burst into a roaring laughter, your shoulders shaking, arousal erased, and Hobi chuckles, lifting himself onto his hands and kissing your forehead. He moves you to your side of the bed, your skin dry and scented by him, soothed by his natural scent and the residue of his patchouli fragrance. And you revel in it, as he leaves you for a moment to fetch some wet wipes, with which he, mirthlessly, cleans you off his stickiness. His aversion to it makes an indentation in his face as his brows curl downward, features solemn and terribly serious. 

Such an abrupt, speedy change of energy. Laughter dies out and fades into nothingness that spreads across your private atmosphere shared with him. Your mouth emulates the form of his dourness, cheerlessness blotching your now clean skin with invisible, downcast glitter that scarcely shines in the sunlight—and even that lessens, a cloud expanding over it, dimming it. 

You touch his face and he looks up. 

“Just a little more time and it’ll be here,” you say, seeping that hope, that promise into his pores by swiping your thumb along his warm cheek. “And then my belly will be big and full. And you’ll be Daddy Hobi.” 

He smiles, sadly, eyes glistening, and he kisses your nose, folding into your chest. You caress him, his hair, his back—discover plump, thick marks of your fingernails and you lighten your touch, barely grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers. When he resurfaces, another, different dents embellish his face—the fresh memory of the way he’s accepted hope on your bosom and you kiss him, sealing it. Kiss that downturned smile. That red nose, those brisk cheeks. And his eyelids, wetted by his eyelashes. 

“How do you like your coffee in the morning?” Hobi asks, turning over a new leaf, moving past. 

You brush his hair back, enjoying the silky feel of his strands slipping through your fingers. “With you.” 

He blushes, profusely, and you’re struck by the impression that he’s falling for you. There’s no fight this time, no war, only housewarming, submission and stability. You grip his hair, thank him with the silent gesture that also expresses how much it means to you because you, too, have fallen for him. With your heart, with your soul—with your entire being that has undergone so many transformations. 

Now you’re climbing a mountain with him and on its peak, your children, your home, your future await you. You’re almost there. You’ve become who you were meant to become and Hobi has received the promise of his deepest longing. 

One more thing, one more lift of the knee and you’re there, hand in hand with him—your husband, your God. 

He kisses you one last time, tells you to rest while he makes you coffee and breakfast. Hands you your phone. Helps you think of a short message that you immediately, without a thought spared, send. And while you lightly slumber, you dream of the promise, of the hope. Dream of your swollen belly, the ethereal picture revealing you looking at yourself in a floor-length mirror as Hobi stands behind you, assuaging you of the weight of your child by holding it with both of his hands, his imaginary wings, fully rosy, carrying half of it, folded over his knuckles, your fingers sunk between his and the feathers, silky, soft like his hair. It melts into another scene, in which you both hold the child, hip to hip, gazing at the mountain you climbed together once upon a time and the child, bearing a heavenly, delectable concoction of your and his features, cannot pull away their eyes from the peak. Their hair blows in the wind, rippling like their Father’s wings, and you and Hobi break their hypnotion by kissing each of their cheek. 

Hobi wakes you up with the same kiss—as if he was kissing you and not his child. And something about it heals you, gravely. 

You tell him about it over coffee and breakfast and he weeps. And while you weep with him, your tears fall for another, secret reason. For the period that you slept, Hobi baked vanilla pastries with raspberries and you would tell him about it, too, but you’d sit at the table all day. He has a curse to break and you don’t wish to prolong the time, not when you sense that it’s burdening him. 

Because his shirt is blood-splattered, he takes you to his house. And what you’ve never expected to happen—you meet his roommate. 

A munchkin cat with the littlest legs you’ve ever seen. Black and white coat blankets her chunky body and you sink onto your knees, extending your fingers to her tiny pink snout, just like her Daddy’s, and you die as the fur baby sniffs you and doesn’t run away in fear. It keeps smelling you in curiosity and you think it’s due to the fact she can recognize Hobi’s scent all over you. You’re so absorbed by the furry animal that you don’t even care to look around the vastness of its home and, like your child, you get broken out of the spell when Hobi chuckles. 

“Pet her. She likes you,” he says and you hear the familiar clanging of keys being set on the table, the leather of his wallet sliding along the wood and the thud of his phone as he empties out his pockets. 

Giddiness seizes you. 

You stroke down the baby’s fur on its head, cooing at its softness, at the way the wisps whirl in the air the more you pet it. And you squeal when she leans in into your touch as Hobi did not that long ago. Now you know who he gets it from. 

You take it into your arms, scratching its neck. It purrs and your heart springs, eager to embrace it. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you ask, enthralled by it, nuzzling your face into her fur. 

Hobi pets your head and you feel as small as the baby. You look up at him, knowing you radiate, visibly, the energy. He smiles down at you, shines down his love and joy clutches you so hard that you can’t breathe. 

“A girl,” he says, his smile widening, and before you can ask about her name, he already tells you. “Her name is Luna.” 

Luna. She’s your new best friend, your little baby, and you begin to entertain the idea of bringing her along to your misfit visit to your ex-boyfriend’s apartment because you can’t let go of her. Not when she purrs most homely, most happily. Not when she likes you so much that she’s not afraid of you. 

You haven’t grown up with animals, so when the opportunity comes and you get into contact with them, it’s difficult for you to unattach yourself from them.

Luna is yours now. 

Hobi pivots on his feet and you’re quick to scurry onto yours, following him into his bedroom. As you carry her, you take a moment to look around his living room. The color beige lines every detail of its spaciousness. From the walls, to the pigmentation of the stones that decorate the side, where a huge flatscreen hangs up, to the smooth floors that glow in the light. Beige, whites and grays, with the tiniest hints of browns, greens and yellows. Small plants and bigger palms sit in the corners, by the windows, and they give the room those colors—as well as his collection, which comes as the biggest surprise of all, of his modern art. You can see a rainbow of Bearbricks everywhere you look, especially in the brown kingdom of his bedroom. 

Those pretty one-eyed fuckers stare at you there. Along with their KAWS brothers. And they’re colossal. 

Hobi’s back faces you as he rummages in his closet. You kiss Luna on her empty head before you set her on the bed, walking over to Hobi amidst the dimmed light. His curtains are pulled in tight and you think about how he must’ve been getting ready for bed when he called you last night, only to sleep in your light-filled bed. You wrap your arms around him, too hasty with your need to give him your affection—you smear your foundation on his blue shirt, staining it further. And you kiss his back, planting a red lipstick mark right in the middle. It’s going in the laundry bin, anyway. 

Hobi reaches his hands back, fingers tapping along the open back of your white top, drumming there and you smile, finding it cute. 

“You really like those figurines,” you murmur, propping your chin on his spine, drumming your fingers on his abdomen in similar fashion. 

He laughs, softly, as if embarrassed, and you dig your claws, faintly, into his skin. No embarrassment for him—you’re not letting that in within him. 

“Don’t you fear they watch you while you sleep?” 

Now he laughs through his nose, swiveling his head halfway. “They’re my dream catchers.” 

You hum, endearingly, in high pitch, liking the sound of that. Wonder if he knows that he’s such a poet. “Everything you say is so poetic.” 

He massages your waist, deepening your hum. “Something tells me that’s your doing.” You punctuate the sound with a vulgar word and he squeezes the place he holds. No laughter, only alluring, affectionate seriousness. You sigh, blissfully. “I actually have a book of poetry here.” 

Your brows rise. “What?” 

Hobi clasps your hand, dragging you to his small library that is organized with his dream catchers. He pulls out a thick book with a white cover and hands it to you. 

Birthday letters by Ted Hughes. The husband of Sylvia Plath, the reason behind her suicide. The female poet who loved E. E. Cummings, the female poet, whom you loved, too, in your lonely girlhood. Who always inspired your longing to die as the curse over your life went on. 

It’s surreal to be holding a link to her when you’re standing at the end of the chapter of this curse. 

You didn’t die. 

You didn’t die. 

“I stole it from my school library,” Hobi explains with that lopsided smile of his, so fond, so full of old memories that you’re learning at this moment. Time stands still and you strain your ears, wanting to hear every syllable of it. “Everytime I would go hide there, mess around or just study, I’d always see this book. It would always be right in front of me. I thought, and I still do, that it has some kind of meaning. That it somehow needs to be in my life. So I took it. And it’s been here for more than a decade. I’ve never even read it.” 

You pout, touched by the symbolism, by the fact he never opened it. “Never?” 

Hobi shakes his head, shortly. “Never.” 

You look down at it, caress its cover. “Maybe it’s a dream catcher, too.” 

His mouth ends curl. “Open it. Read me something.” 

His fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and you sense the magnetism of the symbolism attached to the book closing over you. You watch the work of his hands as you slip your digit into the middle of the book. Page one hundred and forty two. Portraits, the title of the unknown poem. But you don’t read it until he bares his chest and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

You stand between his outstretched legs. He rubs the back of your knees, waiting.

You skim your eyes over the page and break, prematurely. 

Licking your lips, you begin. 

“What happened to Howard’s portrait of you? / I wanted that painting.” 

You lose a breath, your throat constricting, and you gaze down at Hobi to see him lost in a thought that you can’t discern. 

Can he perceive the link? Does he realize who Howard is as you bring that poem into reality with your recitation? 

You continue, biting your lip, momentarily.

“Spirits helped Howard, ‘Sometimes / When I’m panting, I hear a voice, a / woman’s, / calling Howard, Howard — faint, / far-off, / fading.” 

Your phone dings in the front pocket of your ivory mini skirt—Howard has texted you back. The book droops out of your grasp as you fish out the device, your screen enveloping the room in a small twirl of brightness. 

Jungkook: my door is always open for you 

You pocket it back, the light snuffed out. The book quivers and you steady it with your other hand. “Jungkook texted me back.” 

Hobi is deathly still, in an uncanny way. “What did he say?” 

You lick your lips, but it’s not enough moisture. “That his door is always open for me.” 

He props an elbow on his knee, his teeth nibbling on a fleck of skin upon his thumb. “Keep reading.” 

Your breath shakes. You risk the question swathing your heart, needing to know whether you’re on the same page before you can go on. “Can you see the correlation?” 

He blinks, rapidly, as if awoken. “To what? You mean to the painting of you that I’m about to break?” 

You nod, relieved that he sees it, but the heaviness loiters. Slightly, you fear the next lines. “Jungkook is Howard.” 

His eyes stray, his being crestfallen, his mouth biting into his cuticle. He doesn’t say anything and you’re not sure if you should read on, but he taps the back of your knee that he still holds, propelling you to do so. 

In fact, he tugs on it, guiding you to sit on his thigh—like you did in your favorite reading armchair when you cleaned his wound. You flutter a kiss on the healing bruise that has the colors of his home and with a wet thumb, Hobi angles the book so he can read along with you, staining the page with his humanity, imprinting his presence, the gravity of the moment into it. 

It took a decade for the time to be right. Enough for him to read this. 

With you. 

You push away the panic regarding him not reacting to your affection, figuring the importance of this moment is held in higher regard. Clearing your throat, you continue. 

“He got carried away / When he started feeding his colors / into your image,” you stop, the words affecting your vocal cords with emotions. Hobi is the only one who knows what colors Jungkook used in the painting. How can a random page in a random book describe the flavor of the bane of the curse upon your life? How is it possible? You take a moment to regain your composure, willing smoothness into your voice. Hobi rubs your thigh with his hand, thumb tracing patterns, a help in need. “He glowed / At his crucible, on its tripod. / How many sessions? / Yaddo fall. Woodstoves. Rain, / Rain, rain in the conifers.” The rain that fell upon Hobi when you exited the museum after you talked to Jungkook. The rain that brought you closer to him as he shrouded you and himself in your trenchcoat. The memory is sweet, another help in need. 

“Tribal / conflict / Of crows and their echoes. You deepened. / Molten, luminous, looking at us / From that window of Howard’s vision of you.” 

Your scream in the middle of the night after that morning at the museum; the physical violence that followed after. The painting that was created in the same hours. 

“Yourself lifted out of yourself / in a flaming of oils, your lips exact.” 

The flaming of your reddened bum within Jungkook’s made-up world of the painting; the punishment that you broke out of his clutches and became your own person. 

You suddenly understand it, the painting. 

You feel sick. 

The poem is a maze, but Hobi looks as though he has the sixth sense that enables him to navigate through it. You’re burdened by your emotions, dragging your feet as you follow him, looking at him. He burns his sight into the scattered words, not breathing, not blinking, his thumb stuck in his mouth. He’s connecting the dots, the wheels turning in his brain. 

Luna crawls onto the other side of his lap, the third help in need. 

You take a deep breath. 

“Suddenly — ‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ / out of the gloomy neglected chamber behind you / Somebody had emerged, hunched, gloating at you, / Just behind your shoulder — a cowled / Humanoid of raggy shadows. Who?” 

The squeaks of breaks behind you, Jungkook stepping out of his car and joining the demon of shame looming at you, waiting for you to end your phone call with Hobi. 

“Howard was surprised. He smiled at it. / “If I see it there, I paint it. I like it / When things like that happen. He just came.’ / Came from where? Mystery smudge extra, / Stalking the glaze wetness / Of your new-fired idol brilliance. / I saw it with horrible premonition. / You were alone there, pregnant, and unprotected.” 

You snap the book shut, the lump in your throat so enormous in size that it alone begs you not to read on. Your chin quivers, but no tears come out, mind barren as the words alone, pregnant and unprotected echo within there. On an ungodly, immoral loop. 

Hobi takes the book from you and flings it into a corner of his room, hitting a lonesome gray figurine that topples over. Your eyes witness the movement, but you don’t grasp it. Numbness seizes you, the paralyzation of bizarreness that causes bile to push through the lump in your throat. 

You gag. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

Hobi is quick on his feet, but you don’t make it. The vomit spills through the cup of your palm over your mouth, staining your white top. Hobi carries you to his toilet, stained just the same. Holds your hair as you retch your guts out—the letters of the poem, the realization of its meaning, the symbolism, the raspberry pastries. Presses his lips against the nape of your neck, holding you together. 

Wipes your chin with toilet paper. Puts his plastic cup with cold water to your mouth to wash it clean with. 

Rips the three pages of the poem out of the spine of the book in taciturn fury, its ending never to be known.  

You watch him do it, with the same speechlessness, and you’re not sorry for the prosaic lawlessness—it strengthens you and it relieves you. Watch the tremor of his hands, after, as he constringes the poisonous papers in his fists. The book abandoned back in the corner with the figurine, vanquished. 

He paces the room, fleetingly, stopping in front of you. Gets on both of his knees. Grips your hands, with the crumpled papers. Kisses them. Over and over. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers onto them. The noise of the papers is like the shaking of leaves and you want to leave. You want this wretched thing settled. The smell of your puke hits your nostrils and it’s what prevents you from folding into him in the way he did this morning. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. It’s fate,” you reassure, tearing the papers from his hold and throwing them away from his sight. Yours, too. It’s not his fault that the curse sneaked into something intimate he desired to share with you. But your heart aches that it did it before he knew you all those years ago, planted in its mind false beauty, only to cause ruination. You need it gone. “Help me take this off. Let’s go.” 

He sighs and the sadness of the sound deepens your ache, though all you can do is accept it and fight. The will is enough—if the conscious will is there, things will change, things will move forward and all will settle into place. 

Tomorrow will look different. 

Hobi dressed you in his clothing. A white linen shirt, to match your skirt. One would say it’s oversized, the way the fabric puffs and slides off your shoulder, not an item of masculine affection. You left your bra hanging by its strap on the handle of his closet. Left the buttons undone. Left the bruise between your breasts unconcealed, proudly, for every eye to see. He tied it in the middle, a tiny sliver of your midriff exposing tanned skin, because the hem would only bunch up the waistband of your skirt as it reached way down below. It could’ve been a dress alone, meant for loungewear, but you weren’t going to do much lounging. 

Hobi dressed you for war. 

He himself matched you. A white polo, beige pants, a vivid green beanie to hide the sweat coating his tousled hair. A king, ready to march. 

The king is dead, long live the king. 

You know the ending. You trust Hobi, you believe in him. So did Luna when he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet. She meowed so much encouragement that it curled a smile on yours and Hobi’s face. You nuzzled her, considering saying goodbye to her harder than facing Jungkook, the dead king, but her purring made it better. It was a promise that she would be here with another set of fluff balls of encouragement once you come back from the war. 

You thought the ride to Jungkook’s apartment would be silent, but no. Hobi put on his The Weeknd playlist, the dark, ambient songs from The Trilogy album saturating the shifting atmosphere. Placed his hand on your thigh while he drove. Things seemed normal as they did before shit hit the fan. Your body submitted to that impression and so you pretended it was so. Relived, quietly, in your mind the way you rubbed your clothed pussy on that very seat, steering him into insanity, which he controlled so well. 

A coping mechanism, that lustfulness. As you know it. But oddly, it didn’t turn you on. No, it composed you—tranquilized your emotions, so they wouldn’t be burdensome in the battle. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hobi asked, knowing he was five minutes away from Jungkook’s apartment. He didn’t live far away from him. 

Bizarreness.

He probably noticed your lack of visible reaction to your favorite singer. 

“I’m having flashbacks.” 

A beat of pause. “About?”

“About the way I drove you insane when I stuck my hand in my panties.” 

He hummed, softly, the noise barely audible. “You got so wet just from me praising you.” 

You sighed, delighted. “I did.” 

“I’ll never forget the fact that I ate you out first before I kissed you.” 

You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “It comforts me,” you admitted, baring your private soul. “Sex. Lust. It’s not always dirty to me and it doesn’t always make me horny. It makes me feel safe.” 

He thought about your words, thumb searching for yours, waggling. You closed your palm over the back of his hand on the shift stick, hooking your thumb over his. 

“How did that painting make you feel?” 

You didn’t feel much. Just one singular emotion. “Furious.” 

“Why?” 

“It makes me angry that he thinks he still has a right to control my life. That he took what I consider to be safe and made it unsafe.”

He ruined the act of spanking for Hobi, which ultimately ruined it for you. It scarred him enough that he wasn’t able to do it to you when you asked him. And for that, you’ll never be able to forgive Jungkook.  

Hobi clenched his jaw. “When we get inside, I want you to think twice before you look at that painting. You’ve gone through a lot these past twenty-four hours. Put your well-being first, okay?” 

Your veins pump warmth into your heavy heart due to his care and you kiss his knuckles, leaning your cheek into them. “Okay.” 

“Good. I’ll break it anyways.”

The deal rings in the hallway as you walk towards his door, Hobi two steps behind you, obfuscating his presence. You rack your knuckles on the wood, your stomach rolling, your blood curdling into bits of frozen cranberries, and your lungs lack air. You don’t know if you can do this, if you can be posturing stoicness when the threat is right in front of you. You wish Luna were here with you, her fluffy wisps a reminder of her encouragement. You can’t even find her on the material of your skirt, for she’s as much clothed in white as you. 

The door opens, revealing a distressed, wrinkly Jungkook with the stars in his eyes tear-stained. The lines of his sleep shoot across his bare chest, down to his abdomen that he sucks in at the sight of you. And you don’t hate him for the way his eyes skip to the bruise in the middle of your breasts—because it were your eyes first that skimmed that low on him first. 

Shame stops your blood flow, which restores your forgotten memory of how further aroused your body became when you saw his excited manhood in the picture he sent you. It floods back at full speed, in tandem with the bile in your throat. 

“I didn’t expect you to come over so soon,” he says, confusion rasping his tone, and his wide eyes narrow once they whisk to a taller head behind you. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge his presence, despite the fact you expected that much from him. A rude remark, the closing of doors. Anything but him opening the door wider and turning around, wordlessly inviting you in. 

And Hobi. 

The bile lowers. You exchange a worried look with him, but he runs a hand down the length of your hair upon your back. 

Bloodthirst flashes in his eyes. 

And you’re no longer sure if his plan is the right one to unravel. 

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four

[froyaoya]

home┊prologue┊002

001: iced lemon loaves & self deprecating humor

© froyaoya all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platform.

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cw: language, mentions “maul” “die” & sexual jokes

“do you not have any friends?” a tousled head of dirty blond stands before you, his toned arms crossed over his chest. it’s only been five minutes; he’s already cutting five years off of your lifespan.

there’s a heartbreaker kind of look in his eyes that warns you to avoid him. you ignore it. “that’s an odd question to ask a stranger.” he’s not your type anyway; it doesn’t matter how much he pesters you.

“we don’t have to be strangers.” he stretches his hand out. “I’m miya atsumu, and my friend thinks you’re hot.” friendly (suspicious), you shake it.

“you or your friend?”

as he opens his mouth to reply, the door chimes cut him off. three people walk in. one is trailing behind the two—defeated, like he’s failed a mission. you look at the one that talked to you, and then to him. twins, you note. this one’s got better hair.

there’s a reserved figure that walks ahead of them with an air of authority around him. the captain? you wonder, noticing the sport uniforms. he bows at you politely. you like this one.

“don’t listen to him.” the third person speaks up, and your mouth goes agape. he’s gorgeous. “sorry on his behalf.” he’s perfect.

“do you all play soccer or something?” you wince at their reactions.

“volleyball, actually.” — twin #1.

“oh! my bad!!!” you pale. god. “that’s cool. cool cool cool. cool.”

“cool with you if we get something to eat?” god’s favorite teases, all the others staring at you both. your ears turn a deeper shade of red each second.

“..huh?” you blank.

“oh. RIGHT. um, what can I get you?” you want to crawl in a hole and die, but hiding behind the counter will do for now.

you hear crickets as atsumu opens his mouth. “your number?”

“for suna here.” he adds as he gestures.

he clearly can handle himself, “ignore him. I’m not in the market for any relationships. nor am I interested.”

miya glares at him. “that’s mean, man. she looks disappointed.”

“I’m not.” you correct. “even if I was, it’s not like I’d have a chance.” your lips move faster than your brain.

“talk about self deprecating humor.” gray-haired twin #2 smiles at you, considerate. that lets your shoulders relax a bit.

“this is all really awkward,” suna says, “but we could really use some cupcakes or something.”

the captain steps up, and you maybe unintentionally notice that suna’s the tallest. “can we please get those cookies that were on twitter? if it’s not a problem.” he’s formal.

“sure. how many?”

“four.” the twins echo.

“make that three.” — s

you look up at him, confused. “you don’t want anything?”

“those look good.”

you follow his line of sight, and grin. iced lemon loaves.

“yeah. good pick.”

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author’s note: i made tsumu the punchline / punching bag in this au but oh well 😭 it had to be someone 😭 i also hate writing the embarassed / nervous character SO MUCH i cringe while i write.. i really don’t like this episode but idk what about my writing irks me here and IDK WHAT TO CHANGEEE i need 2 learn how to write dialogue better cause im DYINGGGGHHH OVER HERE

@phoenix-eclipses @thechaosoflonging @yuminako @nbcvs @tenjikusstuff4 @intergalacticrory @sonicsolos @yenonnoff @wyrcan @cnnmairoll @causenessus @reads-stuff-quietly @giocriedpower @applepi25 @gra-eae @lilchubbyyy @thvvluvr @toges-cough-syrup

[mal3vol3nt]

I think ZKs really exaggerated Zuko and Katara’s relationship, and this is coming from a guy who actually really likes Zuko and Katara’s relationship, just not a ship (it’s not as toxic as some say, by the end of the show at least).

Isaw this one post about how Zuko and Katara have the most intimate relationship of The Gaang. How he’s the only one who supports her, understands her and validates her anger. Whereas Zuko is the only one Katara doesn’t have to look after, the only one she can depend on emotionally, the only one who she’s sees as an equal and matches her maturity.

I question this, because when did we see this in the show? Besides like 3 instances. ZKs act like Katara was never supported by Aang (or the others). I’m sure that everything they say Zuko does for Katara, Aang does for her and more. Everything Katara supposedly has in Zuko, she already has in Aang. I could list all of this, but this is already running long as it is.

What do you think?

This the full post: https://www.tumblr.com/theotterpenguin/738115696097116160/thinking-about-how-katara-is-the-only-person-zuko?source=share

not only are they exaggerating the depth of katara and zuko’s relationship, but they’re underplaying the depth of her relationship with literally everyone else. like they undermine how much all her friends mean to her by saying the guy she was on good terms with for like 4 episodes immediately became her closest companion and confidant

the only time we see zuko offer her support of any kind is during the southern raiders episode where he’s encouraging her to go kill the guy who murdered her mother. and he’s not doing it because he genuinely wants to be a supportive figure for her, but because he thinks this is what’ll get her to finally forgive him and stop treating him so coldly. and then the episode ends with him admitting that he was wrong in terms of what she needed—not violent revenge but the chance to let her anger out without compromising her morals in blind rage. other than that, we don’t see him act as a shoulder for her to lean on, and the one instance we do see him act that way, he’s bad at it and ends up realizing there are ways other than violence to move on from internalized anger

and sure you can argue that zuko still gave her the chance to confront yon rha even if she chose not to kill him like he encouraged her to, and that inandof itself is an act of emotional support, but the reality is he did that to get on her good side rather than to be a genuine friend. had she already been friendly to him, would he have ever brought up that he knows who killed kya? would he have even asked sokka about the day their mom died to get that information? in the show he only does this because he can’t fathom why katara is still mad at him when everyone else has already forgiven him. he wanted to speed up her process of forgiving him, so had she already forgiven him and they were friends, i doubt the whole “i can help you avenge your mother” convo would have ever happened because it wouldn’t have served him to do so. and in my opinion, any support that has ulterior motives and an end goal isn’t genuine support

but compare this to aang and sokka. we see these two go out of their way for her countless times throughout the three books, which makes sense considering the three of them are the ogs and went through everything together (incoming really long list lmao)

aang offers to take katara to the northern water tribe so she can learn waterbending under a master after knowing her for only a few hours at most. he also does this after she expresses her upset at being the only southern waterbender left. “katara! we’re going to find you a master!”

aang gives himself over to zuko and his fire nation crew to save katara and sokka’s village

aang completes all of bumi’s challenges to save katara and sokka

aang credits katara for haru’s sudden bravery in saving that old man. “wow you must have really inspired him”

aang and sokka willingly (and eagerly) participate in her plan to get arrested for earthbending

sokka comes up with the plan to get coal to the earthbenders so they can find motivation again, something that katara is very passionate about, thus showing his support in her goal

aang and sokka help fight the fire nation guards that are keeping the earthbenders prisoner, aiding in katara’s goal of helping them help themselves

aang weaves katara a brand new necklace after she had her mother’s stolen. this makes her smile

aang is quick to reassure katara when she begins to show signs of self-doubt at aang’s natural waterbending talent. “well you had to learn all on your own. i’m lucky enough to have a great teacher”

aang refers to katara as a waterbender, something that clearly means so much to her after she spent the whole episode insecure of her abilities

sokka steals the waterbending scroll for katara and aang to learn from

aang travels alone in search of medicine for katara and sokka, all while an entire nation is hunting him down with the intent to torture him to the brink of death, thus risking his life for their safety

sokka tackles aang after hearing katara’s cries of pain when he accidentally burns her. despite knowing and caring for aang, sokka can’t stand the thought of someone hurting katara even if unintentionally, especially with fire

aang explicitly states he will never firebend again after accidentally hurting her. he too can’t stand the thought of her in pain and hates that he was the one who hurt her (this is also him taking ownership of his mistake and punishing himself—for those of you who think he is never held accountable for his mistakes)

aang refuses to learn under pakku when he rejects katara and only lets up when katara tells him he needs to take this chance to learn waterbending

sokka is the one to suggest that aang teach katara everything pakku is teaching him, and aang loves this idea

aang cheers for her when she fights pakku. “go katara!”

the general is only able to trigger aang into the avatar state after he is made to believe that katara was buried alive, showcasing once again how much he cares about her safety

aang pushes katara out of the way of falling rocks when the aftermath of appa getting burned causes the tunnel to cave in

aang refers to katara as ‘sifu’ after she made an offhand comment about him never calling her that. this makes her smile

aang turns away from cosmic power immediately after he sees a vision of katara in danger

aang lets her go so he can unlock all his chakras and save katara from impending doom against azula, zuko, and the dai li

aang eagerly participates in katara’s plan to perform ecoterrorism and calls her a hero

aang also eagerly participates in helping her scare off the fire nation general as the painted lady. sokka participates as well because “i would never turn my back on you”

sokka has a talk with toph after she blows up at katara for her motherly-attitude (and while i definitely have issues with this episode i still think it’s important that sokka sought out this conversation to sorta defend his sister and help toph see where katara is coming from)

aang and sokka hug and comfort her when she breaks down crying after becoming a bloodbender

after knowing her for so long (his whole life in sokka’s case—he’s her fucking brother) and witnessing the kind of reaction she had to bloodbending, aang and sokka both tried talking her down from killing a man. this is a 14-year-old girl in pain. the same 14-year-old girl who put her life and freedom at risk to save earthbenders from their metal prison and sobbed when she was forced to bloodbend to save her best friend from dying again and delayed their group’s traveling to relieve a fire nation village from fire nation pollution and control, was now demanding to kill a man in cold blood. aang and sokka were supporting her full on during this episode because they knew, more than fucking anyone, that killing yon rha would only hurt her once she came down from her blind rage. and to add even more proof of their unwavering trust in her to always do the right thing not just for others but for herself, aang allowed her to take appa to confront the man. appa, aang’s lifelong companion and animal guide, his only living reminder of his culture and pacifistic people, and who aang had suffered a painful separation from. aang trusted her with appa to go on this mission. because he trusts and supports her

———

now onto the claim that zuko is more mature than everyone else and therefore matches her in maturity. i just bust out laughing LMAO

for starters, let’s not act like katara is the epitome of maturity. yea, she’s the mom friend, but she’s still a kid and acts like one. yall just refuse to acknowledge the moments where she makes mistakes as her acting her age and being human. instead yall hold these mistakes over her more aggressively than the other characters or yall pretend they don’t exist in favor of idealizing her so she fits into your “she’s so mature and is a mother figure to everyone” role (her telling sokka “then you didn’t love her like i did”, blowing up at aang for picking up waterbending so quickly, antagonizing toph out of pettiness by making fun of her blindness—“too bad you can’t see them toph!”, etc.)

zuko is a whole other story lol. that boy wouldn’t know maturity if it hit him in the face, and when you compare his behavior to other characters in the gaang it becomes all the more obvious (incoming another—shorter—list)

aang when presented with his mistake in “bato of the water tribe” -> he accepts the consequences—katara and sokka leaving him—and admits he was wrong. he doesn’t blame anyone else nor does he beg for forgiveness or try convincing katara and sokka to stay. he accepts he was wrong and lets himself sit with the consequences of his actions. from then on, we never see aang selfishly hide information from his friends again

katara when presented with her mistake in “the waterbending scroll” after yelling at aang -> she apologizes immediately and punishes herself by handing the scroll over to him, claiming she wants nothing to do with it. she recognizes the mistake and quickly accepts a self-punishment to regulate her own behavior

sokka when presented with the issues of his sexism -> he gets on his knees in front of suki and respectfully asks that she train him, using the word ‘honor’ to communicate his sincerity. he admits his faults to her at the end of the episode and his behavior is different from then on. he reflects on a part of himself, deems that he needs to change, and then makes those changes without having to be forced into doing so or guided repeatedly into making the right choices along the way. he arrives there by himself after being presented with evidence that proves his original way of thinking wrong

now compare that with zuko’s journey of unlearning his prejudiced ways

when he is shown extreme kindness by song and her mother, he repays them by stealing from them

after having been on a good-streak while living in the earth kingdom, zuko sides with azula the moment his integrity is put to the test in front of the avatar, betraying his uncle in favor of “his honor”

when iroh stops talking to him, zuko screams at him and places blame on iroh for this change in their relationship

when mai is seen talking to another guy, zuko storms over and throws that guy across a room. she, understandably, breaks up with him

when katara gives him the cold shoulder, zuko demands “what’s your problem?!”, asking how it can be that she still hates him but everyone else has forgiven him, as if he hasn’t given her—and everyone else—plenty of reason to be distrustful of him for lifetimes to come

when aang is goofing off instead of training, zuko—instead of communicating—attacks him with blasts of fire, forcing aang to retaliate

the only reason why zuko is given this extreme maturity label is because his worldview was challenged and changed. whereas the other characters in the gaang already had correct worldviews and didn’t have to go through a series-long redemption arc to become good people. they were already good people, so their mistakes and shortcomings are held to higher standards than zuko’s because his are viewed as stepping stones to a pending redemption. never mind all the times in which he backtracked and hurt more people. those times were all “necessary” for his redemption to happen and be well-done. yall can excuse all of zuko’s flawed behavior by saying “but he was redeemed! that wasn’t really his true self!” and all that bullshit, so everything he does that’s good post-redemption gives yall this delusion that he was always this good person who is capable of making mature decisions (never mind the fact that he is still incredibly immature post-redemption and still has a long way to go in terms of unlearning his prejudices by the time the show ends)

in conclusion, yall have a weird obsession with isolating katara from all her relationships with the other characters in favor of making her zuko’s one and only, and yall have deluded yourselves into thinking either one of them are incredibly mature

that’s all i gotta say ✌️

[wroteclassicaly]

Girl. Gator. Plus size girl. Blurb. Go!

Lol. I just love the way you utilize details and I need this mans hands on me in the worst way rn. Lol. MAYBE somewhere where we could get caught😈

Oooooh, you’re speaking right to my soul 😭

~*~

Warnings: Language, smut, Gator acts like his jerky, bitchy, temper tantrum throwing, misogynistic, toxic self. Body positive, plus size reader with large breasts, hidden hookups, spit, some titty play, vaginal fingering, jealous and possessive Gator, slightly mean reader, degrading kink, praise kink mention, filthy talk, mean Gator, dominant reader/dominant Gator, public smut, getting caught, and NSFW.

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus Size Female Reader

Wordcount: 2,043

A/N: Really love working on exploring Gator with a bigger girlie, because in the Midwest, his options would’ve been a lot of big women. Sooooo, yeah. ;) Note that this is not some fluffy Gator. Man is gonna be mean and nasty as hell, so be warned (he’s cornered with his feelings and he doesn’t like that shit)!

~*~

He really cannot fucking believe this. You actually have the nerve to show up where you know that he will be, dressed like this, acting as if you didn’t want him to call you the second that you got back into town (Because WHEN the fuck did you get back? And why didn’t you call him?). A calloused trigger finger massaged off leftover condensation, nothing but mere drops of amber liquid left over in his glass. He feels like a snarling, raging beast, a fucking embarrassment.

And you simply tuck your handbag into your armpit, situating the end of a very tight black dress, one that slices into a cutoff at your cleavage, the swells of your goods leaving little to the imagination. Stupid bitch. Those are his tits. Besides, since when do you care about what you wear out when you rarely come to bars or club joints around town, anyways…? Your makeup is dark, like wafts of smoke, shimmering on your lid, lips lined a deep blood red, something else you never do around him, either.

Okay, so he’s not good enough to try all of your tricks on?

He’s got that familiar clench starting in his toes, licking his muscles with electricity, pushing on his ribcage, digging painfully into his internal organs to do something. You wave at a couple of local girls, but you don’t join them at a table, no. You head directly to some punk faced fuck in tight jeans and cowboy boots, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. Gator’s eyes widen so hard that the muscles protest in stroking stings, his fist clenching over his thigh, knuckles white, taunt flesh wrapped shakily around his glass. He lets it go before it shatters.

A date. A fucking, motherfucking date.

You couldn’t call him, didn’t text him (embarrassing how much he refreshed your thread, honestly), but you bitch about secrecy. And this is what he gets for staying sober from the pussy he could be getting? Nah, he’s not gonna be shown up by some slut that should be grateful he gives her attention at all, and definitely not with this fucking pencil dick of a man, whose joke you’re pathetically giggling at. Abandoning his glass, Gator is walking his way on a sticky bar floor, passing your backside to slam his hands on your table and let out a hysterical chuckle.

“Well, bust my balls. What’s so funny over here, huh?”

Gator takes a mental backflip for points as your eyes widen and you look like you’ve dove into the pools of humiliation. Your date, for lack of better word - he’s trying to figure out what’s going on, but Gator doesn’t let him get in a word. Crowding in front of his space, he’s in your airspace now, reaching down to find your date’s drink, lips wrapping at the bottle’s end as he sips and lets out a snort. “Lightweight.”

“Gator…” You warn, reaching out to attempt to grab his wrist. He shrugs you off, shaking his head as he eyes your ensemble, those fucking tits pressed together and spilling over your cleavage’s hem.

“Look at you, honey. All dressed up, not answering your phone. How long you been back for?”

“I’m busy, back the fuck off —“ He’s suddenly very close to you now, nose nearly brushing, actually letting his personal rules slip, your own emotions becoming discombobulated.

You don’t back away, breathing escalating as his hot breath fans along your painted mouth. He’d like to shut that up, keep you full. And you, you cannot keep your eyes off of his tight black shirt, arms bare and tan from the Midwest summer sun — freckles and moles on display. He’s wearing dark jeans, his normal boots, and thigh holster for show. Fuck, he smells good. He knows it too, as he watches your eyes dart across his wet lips.

He simply smirks, reaches down for your drink this time, and brings it to his lips. Straight whiskey. You were here for a purpose, and it’s up to him to redirect it. You watch in wondrous fascination when he drinks down your remaining liquor in a straight shot, his tongue making a show to lick the rim along the glass, before he lets it settle back onto the cheap bar table coaster. He’s taking that air about, every single inch of him away from you before you can blink, one hand rubbing behind his neck, pulling on his chain that’s tucked beneath his collar, knowing the action specifically drives you crazy, the other hand retrieving his vape.

He blows smoke directly above his head, looking between you and Mr. Clueless Cowboy, laughing lightly. He’s pissing you off. “Hope you folks intend to call a car tonight. I’d hate to have to arrest anyone for driving under the influence.”

And he’s gone. Leaving you practically smoking, aching, hurt, and severely pissed. You grab your purse and excuse yourself to the restroom to get your bearings. You should’ve known, however, the second that the door closes behind you — Gator would be too. He doesn’t approach too fast, doesn’t scare you or grab you, he has his own lines not to cross, to respect.

You’re clenching the sink by the time he’s nearly behind you. You’re tired, pent up, but you still manage to speak. “Don’t. I’m getting sick of you and your games.”

“Is that why you didn’t answer me? Think that’s polite —“

You spin around and level your palms to his chest, shoving him back, hard. “You know, I’m the one that should be embarrassed. Your fucking dad, you being his lackey. I should be the one to be afraid to be seen with you, but I’m not.”

Gator perks at the mention of Roy, of his debt towards him just by being born under his namesake. He feels cornered, losing control. “Watch your mouth. I’m not afraid of anything —“

As if you are ignoring his words, you continue. “I want a real man, not some pussy who is afraid to be seen in public with me. You’re a fucking coward, Tillman. You don’t deserve one single inch of me, and I’ve got plenty to go around, baby.”

Now, Gator can lie and say he is further pissed, that he intends to leave and forget you. But your words, how you stand up to him — his cock kicks, slacks becoming less loose. You’ve got the power and you’re more than ready to use it. Leaving your purse in the sink behind you, you stand a few inches from his airspace, your perfume soaking into his senses, making his jaw unhinged with sinful babble. “I bet you’re fuckin’ wet right now.”

You shrug, crossing your arms to purposely accentuate your chest. “Just because I like looking at you, doesn’t mean that I like listening to your mouth run. Pompous, annoying, disgustingly pathetic. And I can’t stand you.”

His brows press together, his pupils blown so far to hell that he’s seething when the words leave his clenched teeth. “One more word, bitch…”

You lick your mouth and smile lowly, tongue practically caressing the words as they drop off. “Fuck. You.”

What happens next is a dizzying array of blurs. The open pipes and exposed beams - clad ceiling passes in your vision as you meet Gator into a chest crushing embrace, pulling when he pushes, the both of you falling onto a stall with your mouths locked. You’re already working your hands into his belt, a grip hard to maintain with how worked up he is. Gator knows just what to do with you, his own hands immediately ripping the fabric of your dress down to expose your perfect breasts. His mouth waters, his hands paused.

He gives you a look, but you’ve already got his hands closing around your tits, encouraging him to squeeze. His knees knock you into the toilet, his mouth smeared with red kisses. His jaw clenches, nose wrinkles, his eyes glazed over as he lets them roam you, palming you, sampling you. You’re his. He needs more, though, his body rampaged, starved for more you.

You can read those thoughts immediately, the same want, a silent communication. “Put your mouth on me.”

He doesn’t waste a second, head tilting, letting you tug it into shambled strands, his lips close over your bud, tongue lapping around your areola, only to give you what you after you start to beg him for teasing. He isn’t phased that you aren’t jerking him, all that he wants right now is get you off, be with you, be around you. He tries to ignore what that realization means, and luckily, you’re rucking your own dress around your waist, his orbs catching a slinky thong as you work it down your curved hips. He briefly stops what he’s doing, groaning in appreciation as your glistening curls are put on display and your beautiful stomach, with stretch marks that his tongue has traced not enough times yet. He’ll have to fix that.

You’re a little quieter after you’re so naked in front of you, despite having been before. He notices this and abandons his focus on your chest to grab you around the waist. His voice is hoarse, exploding into a molten rasp, coated in the warmth of tension, a vulnerability leaving as he pinches your chin to raise your gaze. “You’re too beautiful for him. Too beautiful for me.”

Your reluctance to accept any compliments, especially his, that is automatically clear when you make your statement. “You could’ve gotten plenty pussy with me gone, Gator.”

He’s never felt more like a piece of shit than in this moment, watching as you truly believe that. He inhales sharply, throat tied to it, escaping words evaporating off his tongue’s tip, shared with you. “I missed you,” It’s actually a freeing statement, one that he feels braver saying, continuing. “And I didn’t screw around on you, y’ know.”

You’re looking at him as if you’re made of glass, irises darting back and forth. He can’t decipher his anticipations, but you save him. “I missed you too. But I had to draw a line, Gator…”

“I know.” He’s resolved to it.

He’s ready to back off, praying it’s not too late. You grasp his wrist, lifting it directly beneath your mouth, and he’s sure he blurts a little in his boxers the moment that your spit settles into his palm. He’s cursing, panting, rocking onto his heels as you lead him between your legs, spreading them, separating two of his fingers, taking them into your warm cunt. His hand tightens on your overflowing waist, fingers instinctively beginning to fuck you, enjoying the devious squelch that echoes. You become more handsy as the minutes pass, eagerly seeking out his chain from his collar to hold onto, rocking against his wrist, bouncing yourself on his fingers — taking what you want.

Gator assists by leaning to lick your nipple into his mouth, letting you hold tightly to his hair, suffocated by your moans and the scent of you. Neither of you hear your date enter the bathroom, not until he’s by the stall and speaking. He doesn’t get the hint, maybe he’ll go away? You don’t want to stop and reject the idea of Gator taking his hand away, leaving his hair, and holding onto his wrist tighter. You give zero fucks if he can hear what you’re doing in here, but he probably thinks Gator makes fun of you —

Your insecurities are tangled into a trap the second that Gator kicks the door open with his boot to give your date an eyeful. Publicly. His eyes widen, posture stiffening, you gasping. Gator adds in a third finger and your legs wobble, making you toss your head back and fuck yourself harder, inner thighs a soaking mess, forgetting everything but the pleasure that you deserve. Your ears are ringing static, a creamy wetness all that can be heard beneath your pleading breaths, uncaring what’s going to happen after, needing to get there NOW.

Gator makes his claim, a lazy little smirk quirking in the corners of his stained mouth. “Be safe on the road, bud.”

[judesmoonbeauty]

Black Wedding: The True Vow For A Jet-Black Bride - Harrison Gray

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. What I obtain is what will be translated. If other blogs have translated the stories before I do, I will notate their blogs. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

On a day before the wedding -

(I think I prefer this dress.)

We were at a boutique having a custom-fitting done.

While white dresses are popular, I chose a jet-black wedding dress.

(The black wedding dress means that no one else can stain it, but you.)

I remember wearing a dress of the same color for a mission once upon a time.

(At the time, I never thought I’d have a wedding.)

The delicately embroidered dress captivated my eyes as I spun around in front of the mirror.

(Beautiful….I wonder how Harry will react.)

From the time we started dating until today, there has not been a day that I have not thought about him.

(I’m sure Harry will tell me it looks good on me, but I think he’ll lie again.)

(But now, I know his true feelings.)

We went through a lot before I was able to see through his lies.

(He thought he shouldn’t be happy, but he’s changed and swore to be with me forever…..)

(What should I do……I’m going to cry even though the ceremony hasn’t even started yet.)

I felt a burning behind my eyes and looked up trying hide them-

Harrison: Kate, you finished changing?

I heard his voice through the curtains.

Kate: Yes, I’m done.

When I looked through the gap in the curtains, I saw him looking different than usual…..

Harrison: Why are you just sticking your neck out?

Kate: It’s a little embarrassing……Harry, you look great.

As I admired his unfamiliar appearance, the realization of our marriage was growing rapidly.

(To have such a wonderful man to be my husband……)

Harrison: …..I’m just as embarrassed. Let me see you in your dress.

Kate: Oh, right! Here…..

I try to open the curtain, but it’s blocked by his hand.

Kate: Harry?

Harrison: Uh….wait. I’ll turn around.

Kate: What?

Harrison: I just need to be prepared.

He turns his back on me and takes a deep breath.

Harrison: …….Okay.

As soon as he turned around, I opened the curtains and stood in front of him.

Kate: …..Harry?

Harry was unusually frozen.

He didn’t respond or even blink when I waved in his face.

Kate: ……Perhaps it doesn’t suit me?

(It didn’t suit me so much that it left him speechless…….?)

Becoming anxious, I pulled at his sleeve, and the moment I did, he suddenly hid his face.

Harrison: Sorry, I made you uneasy. That’s not it.

Kate: Then why are you hiding your face?

I tried to peek, but he turned his face away…..

Harrison: Don’t look at me.

Kate: Huh?

Harrison: …..Because I feel like I’m going to cry.

The slightest glimpse of his eyes were shining,

Harrison: It just hit me that we’re really getting married…….I can’t wait to be with you.

Harrison: I’m so happy……

As his voice trailed off, he crouched down on the spot.

The sound of sniffling echoed through the room, and seeing him for the first time, made me want to cry as well,

I crouched down and faced him.

Kate: We’re getting married, Harry.

Harrison: …..Yeah.

Kate: We’ll be together from now on.

Harrison: Yes……..

He took my hand while trembling.

Harrison: ……I never thought this day would come until I met you.

Harrison: It makes me anxious when I’m this happy.

A single drop slides down his cheek and falls onto the back of my hand as he mutters.

That makes me feel so happy and loved.

Kate: …..I also, never thought this day would come until I met you.

Kate: For the first time, I felt like wanted to be happy with someone.

A drop falls from my eye as I can no longer bear it.

Kate: I love you, Harry. Love you.

Laughing through his tears, he hugged me with all his strength.

Harrison: I love you too.

Kate: I love you more.

Harrison: Nah, I’m on my side for this one.

When I shake my shoulder in uncontrollable laughter, I can hear the same laughter in my ears.

Harrison: ……The dress. It looks great on you. I don’t want anyone else to see it.

Kate: Heh……thank you.

Harrison: I’ll be sure to escort you on the day of the ceremony.

Harrison: Just for now…….let me savor this happiness.

Sunlight pours down to bless us as we are filled with joy and love.

We will surely share a lot of happiness in the future.

[Black Wedding Master List] Tag list: @theimaginativelyreticent

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

i would love to see some headcanons on how the sleep token boys would take someone’s virginity 🫠🫠 🩷

Hmm…. let’s put our thinking hats on… I got so carried away. And what for?😂 once again sedate me. I can’t be left without supervision when it comes to them.

Vessel

He oozes intimacy. And would make a big deal out of it. Would definitely get offended if you didn’t share this with him. It’s not the tacky oh my god let me get you a banner that says I just popped your cherry good sort of thing. But he would want to know what you’re comfortable with and what makes you unsure. You are in control of the pace of your intimate life.

You want to make out on the couch while grinding on him? Go for it. He lets you do whatever you want. Start to feel unsure once Vess hooks his finger over your thong. That’s okay too. He would stop. He reads you like a book so hiding your emotions would be impossible. As much as he enjoys sex it’s not the center of his world and he is willing to wait.

Oh, he would love exploring sex with you. If you’re comfortable enough to invite him to bed while you try different toys and things. He is there and he is having a blast just from watching your back arch as you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. Foreplay was invented by this man I am sure of it. So the moment you let him take care of you. He is like a man starved eating you out almost daily. We all know the size of his hands. So do I need to tell you that even getting used the size of his fingers would be a challenge. “Do you think you can take one more, hm? Should we try two tonight”. Any insecurity you might have he’s shutting down before it can even fully form.

Hand on the heart, I don’t think you would be able to take him all during your first time. But he’s there to praise you all through it, “Look how good you’re doing. Stretching around me like a good girl that you are”, “Almost hallway baby, can you take more mmm? Of course you can. Relax your muscles for me, baby”, it’s blinding pleasure for him too. So trying not to cum after only a couple of minutes is a challenge he would be forced to face.

Kissing your tears away while the initial burning is the strongest. Eyes on you the whole time. Well, besides occasional peaking between you two to see how he disappears between your folds. It’s nothing insane or hardcore. It is the purest form of lovemaking. You have plenty of time to explore rough sex after that. Plus all he wants is to show you love. Worship you. Please you. Get YOU to cum, 'cause he knows how rare it is during the first time especially.

II

He would find out right after you two had sex. I don’t know why that’s what popped into my head first but I low-key see him coming back from tour. You two haven’t seen each other for so long and since the relationship is still fresh the longing is insanely high. And even if he tries to play it down, he’s desperate to have you in his arms.

So it’s the heat of the moment. You’re pulling him into you the moment he steps through your apartment door. Crashing your lips against his. Then it’s a whole mess of hands roaming around each other’s bodies. Pulling his shirt over his head. And then it’s a whole mess of “I missed you so fucking much, babes”, and “Let me fucking see you”, as his eyes soak in your lacy bra before he’s leaning in to kiss your breasts. Nibbling at your skin as he goes.

Your face is in the crook of II’s neck when you finally sink onto his length. So he doesn’t get to see your scrunched-up face and the way you bite your lip as you stretch around him. Man is in a bliss of his own. “So tight, fuck me, so good”, and “Give me a moment or I will bust in two thrusts, shit”. Little does he know that you need that moment too. To get used to the unfamiliar feeling. The aching fulness of him.

Then his hands are on your hips as he guides your hips down. And once you give up the control of your thrusts to him fully, the movements are far from gentle and slow. “so fucking good baby, taking me so good”, and at this point you’re just holding onto his shoulder, nails digging into his tattooed back as II brings you both over the edge. He cums inside and stays buried deep for a while, just holding you wrapped up in his arms as you both slowly catch your breath.

Only when he slowly guides you to lay down and pulls himself out off you does he halt. The slight tinge of red, making alarm bells ring in his head. “Was I too rough?”, his eyebrows are knitted together as he reaches for the tissues to clean you up first. Assisting the possible damage. You slowly shook your head, “It was my first time”. His movements halt as he lifts his head to meet your eyes, “Please tell me that you’re fucking joking?”, “I didn’t want you to be weirded out so… It’s not a big deal for me”, you reach out to him but he just shakes his head.

“I just fucked you on the sofa, not even in a bed. I didn’t even stop before I… Baby…”, he lets out a frustrated growl as he leans over you cupping your cheek, “I would have never done it like that if I knew, you should have said something”. You feel your eyes sting slightly, “Are you mad at me?” I kiss your lips slowly, “I’m mad at myself for not noticing and for not asking, for not double checking”.

So he would plan the next time. It’s no longer your first time. But he would take his time. Slowly getting your body ready for him. Making sure you cum at least twice before he would slowly thrust into you. Watching your face the whole time.

III

He would get feral over something like this. To be the first? The first man to fuck you? That alone might make him get harder than he had ever been. He doesn’t do slow and gentle so holding back would be hard for him. But a no is still a no and he would not break your boundaries. Similar to Vessy I think he would be more than down to enjoy oral sex before you genuinely feel ready.

And it wouldn’t be anything fancy. Maybe a movie marathon and you are lying on his chest. It’s completely silent just the movie playing in the background when you mutter, “I feel like I want to have sex with you”, you would feel him stiffen beneath you before he pushes his head to the side so he can see your face, “You want me to finger you or eat you out, bubs?” You’re pushing away from him, slowly sitting up, “No, like to have sex sex”.

Iii swallows slowly, “Don’t mess with me babes, 'cause I’m rocking some serious blue balls and I don’t know if…”, but you’re cutting him off with a kiss. Guiding his hand beneath your shirt. And he doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands are massaging your breast, pinching your nipples in record time.

He’s catching your wrist when you move to palm him through his sweatpants. “Love the feeling of that but I will embarrass myself if you keep it up”. It’s a sea of foreplay that comes next because he’s also sporting a whole weapon down there too. And he’s so cocky about it, “Let me get you nice and wet baby, it’ll make it easier for you to take me whole”.

The initial thrusts are slow and patient, he’s reaching out to hold your hand, intertwining both of your fingers together. He wants to feel you holding onto him. It’s his way of anchoring you through the pain and discomfort. One more way for him to know if he can move or not, besides your words. He’s not wasting his time while he lets you take a moment to settle with the feeling of him. He’s kissing you breathlessly, hands going between rubbing your clit to palming your thighs.

It’s nowhere near slow after that but that’s once again agreed on mutual parts. And towards the very end, he’s turning you both around, letting you be on top. “It’s your first time, take it, baby, get your first release”. And he’s completely lost at the sight of you, bouncing on his dick, lip between your teeth. Helping you chase the high, moving you up and down once your vision blanks with pleasure.

IV

I feel like IV would share III's pride of being the first man for you. Lord forgive me but I genuinely see him fucking just the inside of your underwear. Rubbing between your folds. And it’s simply because he can’t help himself and you’re there on his bed looking like a vision in that red thong. How could he not? So it’s an “I won’t thrust into you, just let me rub against you”, “Been so fucking hard, baby, help me out”.

And you mess around like that so much because you two aren’t even in a relationship. It’s complicated with IVy. He’s shit with his words but his actions tells a completely different story. And it would be during one of the nights when he’s sneaking into your room. Grinding against you as he kisses you stupid. And you’re tumbling into bed.

“Just the tip, I promise”, he’s grunting against your ear. But you can tell that he’s way past that. While he’s pretty reserved with touching, his hands are all over you tonight. So it’s you who takes the lead here. Wrapping your legs around him. Nails sinking into his ass right as he positions himself against your entrance. The growl that escalates his lips as he slides in is primal.

“Playing with fire”, iv growls, reaching to kiss your neck, “How do you expect me to pull out now, hm?”, “I don’t”, you mutter. He halts, pulling away to look at you. “No, Y/N, don’t give it away just like that. I’m not worth it”. But you just crash your lips against his, trying to pour out all the emotions through it. “Guess you’ll just have to wine and dine me from now on”, iv chuckle at your words. “You sure, baby?”, he’s looking at you, “Use your words, baby, need to hear you say it”.

He’s kissing you through the first couple of thrusts. Lust-filled eyes watch your eyes roll back as the pleasure finally takes over. He’s hitching your thighs further open for him. His thrusts are lethal and strong. First time or not he’s claiming you as his. The same way you open yourself up to him, he’s opening himself up to you. No more careless messing around. He’s willing to try and commit. To give serious relationships a go.

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.14

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Ch. Notes: Angst, action, gun violence, character death

Summary: Things quickly escalate as Fisk tries to end the struggle for power once abd for all.

An: ... So it's been a minute. Sorry about that and frankly idk when the next update will be, hopefully sooner. However, whatever you thinks going to happen here, I don't think you'll see this coming.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wilson Fisk didn’t often smile. He was a sad and angry man that did his best to keep a neutral scowl on his face. What was there to smile about when he had lost everything. His wife, his daughter, his freedom, all irreplaceable. Being in prison while his wife and daughter were being buried is an ache that will never truly get over.

The void inside of him can only be filled by power and control. He will have the city and he will claim it for all that he has lost. He knew that to be a irrefutable fact.

Now, his smile was something straight out of a nightmare. It sat lopsided on his round face. It was there and it was horrifying. His smile only widens as he heard hushed voice over his phone.

When the line goes dead, he claps his hands together. He leans back in his desk chair. The smile doesn’t leave his features.

“Sleeping beauty has opened his eyes.”

Plans change at a wits notice, and things pivot, but goals could still be accomplished. Fisk wants Dragos gone and like a shark surrounding an injured surfer he smells blood in the water. It is time for him to strike.

Bowling was the activity that you came up with. Something in a place full of people, something that you enjoyed much in your youth, something that Pietro was unequivocally skilled at.

“Another strike ladies are you even trying?” Pietro gloats after looking at the scoreboard.

You might’ve been putting in a decent amount of effort, Wanda as well, but the two of you could tell Natasha was handing the man the win.

“Natasha, maybe take him down a peg,” you whisper in her ear.

“I thought we were supposed to be cheering him up, lisichka,” she taunts you with a smile.

“He can be happy without his ego being stroked,” Wanda puffs out in annoyance.

Natasha laughs at their bitterness, but nonetheless when it was her turn she quickly bowled a strike.

“Let’s go Natty,” you clap for her and Wanda let’s out a whistle.

“Is this where I realize you've been laying me win all night,” Pietro pouts.

Nat plops her hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid so."

You all share a laugh and for moment everything feels normal. You could almost forget your ties and affiliations and feel like normal people. The moments were becoming more present in your life to the domestic nature of your relationship with Wanda and Natasha.

By now you should’ve known that sitting in any of those feelings did you no good.

When your phone rings you answer it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Y/n you will get through this. Do not let this be the end of what we’ve worked for, you don’t- you don’t need me malysh.”

“Papa? You’re awake, what are you you-”

“Y/N! Listen please, just take care of our family. I called you because, I trust you.”

As he speaks on the phone you gather Wanda, Pietro, and Natasha urgently. You have to go, it’s urgent. They can tell you’re shaken and when you put the phone on speaker they understand.

“Papa I don’t understand,” your voice trembles as you speak.

“Tell Flora, that my love with her doesn’t end with my last breath. Tell my Pietro that he’s the heart of all of this. Tell Wanda that all I want from her is for her to be happy.”

Natasha is the one that ushers you all into the car as you begin to shut down slightly.

“You can’t do this to us again papa,” your voice cracks in the end.

“It’s out of my hands,” you can hear fear in his voice and it terrifies you.

You hear a dark chuckle in the background of the call, “He’s right you know, it’s not in his hands.”

The smile in Fisk’s voice is present and it scares you, but you bluff the man.

“Haven’t you already made this play before, and it didn't work out for you did it?”

“Only because you interfered, and I got you back pretty significantly for that didn't I, sweetheart?”

Your jaw clenches, “Fisk , take a moment to think, really think what you're about to do. We are already enemies, in competition for control of the city, but that’s just business. Every move you’ve made recently has been personal. Going to war over turf it’s respectable, but if we go to war over family, there’s only one way this ends.”

“This is why I enjoy you so much kid, you have such an intelligent mind. Even under pressure you string together the right words. However, you’ve got it all wrong. There’s always only been one way this is going to end,” you hear the sound of the gun clicking.

“We will leave the city, just don't shoot him,” Pietro finds his voice.

You, Wanda, and Natasha look at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I didn't know we had guests on the phone with us, what a surprise. Keep talking little Maximoff, I like what you're offering.”

Pietro begins spewing nonsense, “We will disappear from New York and never come back. We will cut all ties with city and anything in it. It will be yours for the taking. Please, just don’t shoot him.”

“Anyone else want to beg for his life?”

Wanda’s mouth opens and closes a few times as her eyes water. You take the initiative instead.

“Wilson, you lost your family. You’re wife and daughter were taken from you. Good people caught in the crossfire of your criminal actions. Who helped you get back on your feet after you got out of jail ? Who kept a corner of New York for you? Who gave you a jump start on your way back to this lifestyle? Who was there for you? The history between the two of you isn’t as convoluted as you’re making it out to be.”

Kingpin takes a pause, “That’s in the past.”

“It’s only history because you are making it that way. We have made a good relationship between our business until recently,” you keep him on the phone.

Natasha’s only about 5 minutes from the hospital, you just need to stall a bit longer.

“I’m not a beggar or a dog, Y/Ln. I don’t take scraps,” he says in a menacing tone.

You pause when he says your last name. It’s not something you hear regularly, you don’t ever use it. How’d he know about it?

“Quiet now Y/Ln, surprised I know that name? That’s not the only thing I know about you sweetheart. I know something that the Maximoff’s have been hiding from you, something that might sway your loyalty."

You look at Wanda and Pietro who were already on edge, but worse than that, they avoid your gaze.

“This is my family, my loyalty won’t ever change,” you speak strongly.

He chuckles, “Not even when I tell you they killed your mother.”

“What?”

You’re in front of the hospital now, but you don’t move to exit the car. It feels like something has pierced through your heart.

“They killed your mother. Ever wonder, why she didn’t come after you, why she didn’t bombard or harass you after you left? She was dead within a week. Your father was debriefed, and relocated shortly after your graduation. These people sweetheart, before your family, they’re the mob.”

You want to say something to combat him, to say it doesn’t matter, but you couldn’t say that earnestly.

You push your feelings aside for a second, “We’ve both lost a lot, Fisk. Things that we can’t get back. Things that fuel us to want more than what the world has offered us.”

“We’re alike in that way sweetheart, robbed of a happy ending. Forced to create our own,” he’s trying to flip you but you aren't buying it.

“Losing another parental figure in my life isn't a happy ending for me,” you grit your teeth.

Natasha pulls you out of the car and starts giving hand signal directions.

“I sympathize with you, Y/n. You’re not one of them, you never were. I’ll tell you what, the Maximoff’s leave, but you stay and work for me. That’s my offer.”

“We aren't leaving without Y/n,” Wanda finds her words for the first time in the conversation.

“It’s either that or I put a bullet in his head. You’ve got 15 minutes to think it over, when I call back you better have an answer,” he hangs up.

“Y/n,” Pietro starts, but you don't look at him.

“We’ve got 15 minutes to save Dragos, that's what I'm focused on,” you dismiss his attempt at an explanation.

Natasha begins laying out a plan, “ We don’t know who in this building reports to Fisk, so we have to be careful if we go in. Dragos is supposed to have security at his door, I don't the guards there would be ours if Fisk is in the room.”

“We need a deliberate distraction,” you open the car door and reach into your bag.

You bring out your laptop and hook your phone to it. You knew what room Dragos was in with Fisk’s call you should be able to ping how many devices were around him.

“3 guards, outside the rooms. These are the phone numbers, names, home addresses, close family,” you memorize the information.

You see a group walking into the hospital and figure its your best chance to blend in, “We’ve got to go now.”

Wanda and Natasha hold frustration about the way you’re moving, but they follow you nonetheless.

“We don’t have a plan for this,” Wanda argues.

“Blend in get to the floor they’re on and then I’ll handle the guards. Once they’re dealt with Natasha will go in and disarm Fisk,” you say straying from the group you walked in with to another group heading for the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator you speak to Natasha, “Send people to these addresses make sure they get pictures, the quickest means please.”

When you step off the elevator you spot the guards. You send them individual text messages, with their names addresses and a threat to their loved ones by name.

You see 2 of 3 panic while the other one believes it’s a bluff. Natasha sends the pictures of their homes to you, and you forward them to the guards.

You see them pale instantly, the look at each other and bicker lightly. Wanda wants to go forward and strike, but you shake your head. You wait as one of the guards takes off running from the room. The other follows not even a second after. The third looks at his phone and then in the direction the others had ran before doing the same as they did.

“Natasha, we’ll be on the other side of the door one steady knock when he’s disarmed so we can get in,” you instruct her.

She doesn’t hesitate to nod at your orders. Before she goes Wanda squeezes her hand in a pleading manner, but Natasha reassures her with a soft look.

You wait with baited breath when Natasha enters the room. For a moment it’s silent, no struggle can be heard, but then there’s a gunshot.

Wanda’s the first one rushing to the room door, with Pietro and yourself directly behind her. Her hands on the handle as she’s attempts to yank the door open. You move her out of the way, and open the door first.

Instead of a cool metal, you feel a searing hot metal burning your chest.

“Why don’t you all file in, so we can talk,” Kingpin rests the gun on your chest and you shuffle into the room, eyes shooting across the room where Natasha grips her bloody arm.

Wanda and Pietro shuffle in, the red head immediately going to her wife’s side.

“Isn’t this a lovely little family affair?”

“Wilson, take the gun off of her. Your problem is with me, my family, they’ve done nothing wrong,” Dragos tries to reason with the man.

He digs the butt of the recently fired gun further into your chest and you grit your teeth, but refuse to break eye contact with the bald man.

“She is your strongest solider Dragos, she can take it. Y/n’s not even your blood, she’s your orphan project and you’ve raised her better than your incompetent children. She’s quick witted, brilliant, useful. I want her on my side,” Fisk eyes you with a shark like grin on his face.

“You’re out numbered,” Pietro reminds the man as he stands tall in room.

Fisk scoffs, “ Bed ridden patient, shot Russian, and girl with her gun to her chest. You and your sister aren’t enough to stop me, you could barely even run the business when I took your father out. None of the Maximoff’s have been running anything as of late. It’s all been Y/n, even before Wanda came back. She’s been the brains of this whole operation for a while now.”

“If you feel that way, then why would you go after Dragos first and not me?”

Fisk chuckles, “This information isn't something I've always known. I only had this epiphany a small time before I had an example made out of you.”

“I’ll never work for you,” you stand your ground.

“Then I’ll drop you where you stand and then I'll kill everyone in this room and own this cit-”

The gun was in your hand before he finished the sentence. You place it under his chin before cocking it back.

“Do it, kill me then sweetheart. This wouldn’t be your first time killing someone who just wanted to help you right? Poor little Lucas, didn’t even get the chance to grow up.”

You pull the trigger and instantly your face is covered in the mans blood. No one in the room saw it coming. You were usually better at not acting irrationally, but this time you had met your limit.

The gun drops from your hand and you rush out of the hospital without a single clue to where you were going.

“Go, someone go after her,” Dragos yells at his children and soon Wanda is on her feet.

“I will take care of it go,” Natasha reassures her.

Wanda’s eyes linger on her wife’s injured arms, “Wanda now.”

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

[spenceragnewfics]

Can you do a fic where you're a crew/cast member and have been in a relationship with Spencer for a few years and he finally proposes? I'm thinking something cute where he proposes on set where the two of you first met after everyone has gone home for the day. Love your work btw!

I love this one so much!

I THINK I WANNA MARRY YOU | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

TW: None

Word Count: 1.1k

Description: When the four newest Smosh cast members are curious as to how Y/N and Spencer met. The story time turns into another heartwarming story.

People always say that you will know when you find the one. The person you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life. It’d be like a cool wind or just a relaxed feeling when you meet them.

That’s what Y/N thought back in 2016 when she was dating Kevin. He was a nice guy. He had a good job and was pretty attractive, but he was a major cheater. You see, Y/N found him multiple times with multiple different women after promising time and time again not to do it again.

During this time, she started working at a new company called Smosh as a cast member. Her job was to be funny but it was really hard with everything going on in her life at the time. Thankfully, she made many friends with Courtney, Shayne, Keith, and Olivia when she first started but one person stood out in particular. She remembers the day like it was yesterday.

“Court, I’m telling you. I don’t need someone right now. I’m enjoying being single.” She says, she had been at the company only a couple of weeks but was already very close to the blonde. “Please, Y/N/N! You know I can help. I know that Kevin was a bad experience but you can’t let that hang you up.” She looks at Courtney with a bored expression before her eyes move behind her to the editing area, someone catching her attention.

He has curly hair that is styled back with dark stubble that matches his hair color. His skin is light with some olive undertones. He’s focused on the video in front of him but Y/N’s breath is caught in her throat. “Hey, hey, girly, are you okay?” Courtney asks, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Yeah, yeah, just…Court…who is that.” She nods her head towards the man as her friend turns to look, “Oh, that’s Spencer. He’s one of our editors. You haven’t met him yet?” They ask, shocked that she still hasn’t met him. “Well he’s going to be helping with the shoot today, you two can be introduced then,” Courtney says, smirking to themself with a thought.

Later when Y/N, Courtney, Damien, and Keith are getting miced up, Spencer walks in with his head focused on something. “Spencer! Hey, can you come over here?” Shayne asks, in on the plan Courtney thought up. He walks over, his laptop under his arm with raised brows “What’s up, Shayne?” 

“Have you met Y/N yet? Our newest cast member?” Spencer looks over to see her chatting with Courtney, Damien, and Keith. Laughing at something Keith said and is taken aback. “N-No, I haven’t.” He stutters out. Shayne wraps an arm around Spencer’s shoulder, walking him over to the group.

“Y/N.” Shayne says and she turns, a big smile on her face that makes Spencer melt just looking at her. “What’s up?” She asks, looking at Shayne before her eyes widen when she sees Spencer. “I wanted to introduce you to Spencer. He’s one of our best editors here.” He pushes the man closer to her.

The two both look nervous, making their friends smile. It’s adorable. “N-Nice to meet you.” Spencer stutters out again, putting his hand out. She shakes it with a shy smile, “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/N.”

“And that was how we met all those years ago. When you babies were still just babies.” Y/N says, cuddled into Spencer’s side as she talks to Chanse, Trevor, Angela, and Arasha about how the two met. “So you two have been sickeningly cute since you met? That’s not fair!” Chanse whines, making the couple laugh.

“Eh, I guess. We did have our rough patches though. We made it through, that’s all that matters.” Spencer says, kissing the top of Y/N’s head and she smiles. “Okay, okay, you two are making me sick. I’m going to get lunch. Who wants to join me?” Arasha asks, getting off the floor that the four were sitting on around the couple like it was story time.

“Me.” Trevor and Chanse say, following Arasha. “Wait, I wanna ask more questions!” Angela says while Chanse drags her with him. Y/N waves goodbye to the four, a loving smile on her face.

As the years have passed she has become a welcoming figure in the cast along with Courtney. She’s moved to be mostly on Games with Spencer and the two had become known as the parents of the gaming channel.

“Can you believe it’s been almost ten years? Where has time gone?” She asks, playing with his fingers and enjoying the two of them being alone for once. “I know, it seems to be just passing by. Feels like we just started dating not too long ago.” He says, smiling at her.

She gets off the couch and looks around, “It’s still crazy that Courtney got Shayne in on a plan for us to get together and now they’re married.” She says, giggling at the memory. “And the fact that we met, officially, on a set like this.” He says, getting off the couch and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Yeah, time is weird.” She says, leaning her head onto his shoulder.

“You know, I never really thought about marriage. At least, not until I met you.” He said, making her look at him confused. “You know I’ve dated a few people but I never really saw anything long-term with them. You’re different though, I knew the moment I saw you that I wanted something and I wanted it long-term.” He cups her face before moving to one knee.

“Spence, are you really?” She asks, covering her mouth. “I have loved you for years. I never want to stop loving you. You have been here for me through thick and thin. I cannot think of anyone more I want to spend my life with than you. Y/N L/N, will you marry me.” He asks, pulling out a small velvet box with a beautiful ring inside it.

“Spencer, oh my god.” She says, getting on her knees to be eye level with him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She says grabbing his face and kissing him.

When the two pull away, he slides the ring on her finger as she looks at him lovingly. “Should we go tell everyone?” He asks, “In a minute. I just want to be here with you for now.” She says before kissing him again.