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hoseoksluna · 6 days

Text

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do.

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs.

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man.

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President.

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay.

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother.

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet.

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment.

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you.

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts.

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again.

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same.

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did.

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left.

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it.

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but.

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all.

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you.

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both.

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress.

“An hour, huh?”

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it.

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress.

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?”

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth.

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.”

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers.

And you do.

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you.

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.”

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart.

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?”

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all.

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen.

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t.

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning.

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees.

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts.

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air.

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand.

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted.

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.”

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.”

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.”

“Sit.”

That half of you wins. That easily.

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical.

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.”

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.”

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now.

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream.

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.”

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that?

“For me?”

“Yes, for you. For your mother.”

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely.

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.”

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied.

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris.

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort.

For your dream.

For your children.

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children.

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you.

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.”

Our hotel.

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true.

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him.

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.”

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.”

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life.

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets.

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into.

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain.

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so.

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins.

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?”

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.”

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.”

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake.

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.”

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child.

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment.

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?”

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally.

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.”

“That’s my nice girl.”

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?”

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist.

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?”

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth.

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly.

And so you squeeze his throat.

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally.

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now.

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out.

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you.

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.”

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there.

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more.

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.”

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.”

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure.

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.”

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted.

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.”

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with.

“What plans?”

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.”

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?”

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.”

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.”

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail.

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance.

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?”

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it.

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited.

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved.

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality.

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it.

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges.

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.”

Oh, he’s a myriad of things.

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that.

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum.

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch.

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention.

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.”

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name.

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice.

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.”

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue.

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?”

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off.

Anything.

Anything for your husband.

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue.

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.”

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life.

Most strangely, it heightens the experience.

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction.

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily.

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.”

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy.

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?”

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow.

“I was your bad little wife.”

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?”

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain.

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest.

“I choked you.”

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him.

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more.

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you.

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.”

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks.

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again.

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?”

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer.

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth.

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.”

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken.

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?”

You nod. “I do, Daddy.”

A hum. “Will you do it again?”

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.”

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy.

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come.

And another thing.

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples.

That, too, will ring in your veins.

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?”

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.”

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown.

“Take this off. Now.”

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you.

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter.

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.”

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years.

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you.

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret.

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.”

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his.

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it.

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.”

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you.

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.”

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed.

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning.

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even.

And so you give him your consent.

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.”

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.”

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.”

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?”

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement.

“Ready?”

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.”

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?”

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips.

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is.

Groundedness is what you’re missing.

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying.

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head.

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you.

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses.

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you.

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again.

Another thing for him to tame.

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response.

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over.

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff.

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last.

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color.

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now.

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness.

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?”

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.”

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.”

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.”

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?”

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.”

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?”

An inhale of breath. “Paris.”

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek.

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.”

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him.

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream.

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.”

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there.

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.”

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.”

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat.

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.”

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple.

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.”

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder.

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps.

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision.

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.”

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek.

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum.

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it.

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this.

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.”

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris.

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do.

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art.

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand.

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up.

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.”

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten.

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek.

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?”

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection.

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful.

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.”

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable.

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming.

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.”

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed.

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out.

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him.

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?”

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision.

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.”

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?”

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead.

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.”

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm.

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him.

“Can’t. Gonna come.”

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.”

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him.

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.”

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe.

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can.

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak.

“I love you.”

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly.

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.”

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower.

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head.

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along.

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.”

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate.

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?”

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality.

You trust him.

Forever.

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

BACK to masterlist

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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gimmethosedaddymilkers · 5 months

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The Stronger Desires

So, starting off strong, we're doing the request for @cantchoosejust1 first, who lovingly requested a femme fatale reader.

Now, I haven't written anything like this, so hopefully you enjoy my spin on things.

Now, let's see exactly what happens with these two.

*Side note, I may have a poll later regarding a pfp change, just to see everyone's thoughts.*

Warnings: Cursing, canon like violence, sexual innuendos, perhaps even fluff, Female reader

The gif is unfortunately not mine, and Tumblr didn't wanna work with me, so it's from Pinterest.

Anywho

Arthur wished, truly, that he could explain exactly how he ended up in this spot, but honestly he'd be just as lost as whoever he was telling the story too.

The night had started off pretty good in all honesty. The gang had been celebrating, enjoying their success on the last job they'd managed to pull off, drinking, laughing, and causing problems for everyone else around them in the saloon.

The place had been lively. Hell, even Arthur had ACTUALLY been having fun.

The biggest smile on his face as he took a seat in the far corner to catch his breath from all the dancing and singing he'd been doing, which he was sure had made him look like an absolute fool.

He chuckles to himself as he quietly lights a cigarette and places it between his lips.

The Saint Denis saloon was...surprisingly more lively than what he'd expected it to be. Rich folks sure knew how to party properly.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots something, a brightly colored dress, not out of the norm for this place, but, for some reason, this one seemed...different.

He turned his head to look, and he was honestly surprised he managed to keep the cigarette in his mouth with the way it nearly fell open.

The woman wearing the dress was far prettier than the actual dress itself.

A gorgeous face, and absolutely wonderful hair as well.

The only part that didn't quite make much sense to him was the fact that you were all over a fat aristocrat. Balding with an awful mustache, but you seemed to be rather excited to stand next to him.

He couldn't quite understand it, how absolutely stunning you are, yet you're following a man like that around.

It boggled him.

The night continued, as they usually do, but now that he'd seen you, Arthur couldn't quite stop staring at you.

You were absolutely beautiful. You were...stunning, and it was damn near impossible for him to focus on much else.

It was hard not to when they man you were clinging too was a big as a house, and being followed around by at least four body guards.

What he was doing in a saloon he'd never know.

It's pretty late at night when things really start to get confusing for Arthur. It's about here that he'd be a little...confused when trying to retell the tale.

Due to the confusing nature of it all as well as all the apple pie moonshine in his system.

Things seem to be going smoothly, until all the sudden the entire saloon is screaming rather than singing.

Instinct takes over and Arthur's hand grabs the butt of his pistol before he realizes exactly what's going on.

The crowd quickly disperses, and it's then that Arthur realizes exactly what happened.

You, you're what happened.

There, on the floor is the aristocrat, though he's much less lively now that there's a bullet wound through his head.

How the hell he hadn't heard the shot he still didn't grasp.

The body guards all surround...you.

Arthur almost jumped up right then and there to defend you. He could take out all four of them in a matter of seconds, and he knew that, but right as he contemplates it he watches you pull a revolver out from under your dress.

The evening suddenly got much more interesting.

"Back off! Or I'll kill you too, that fat bastard had more money than he needed anyway, and if he'd put his hand up my skirt one more time he was gonna die in a much worse way, so be fucking GRATEFUL!"

Arthur nearly laughs out loud at the venom in your voice. It was...well it wasn't funny actually, it was more...attractive to him than anything.

For a moment you make eye contact with him, and it's a strange sensation, the way the two of you seem to talk with your eyes.

Arthur gives you a soft nod, a small smirk on his face and then he nods towards the saloon doors.

You give a nod in return and Arthur takes it as his que to leave discreetly.

It's only a moment later when you exit the saloon at a sprint, and Arthur holds his hand out for you to grab as he sits atop his horse, a black Shire.

You take his hand and he hoists you up easily, as if you weigh nothing at all.

The moment you're on his horse he takes off, the remaining guards rushing out of the saloon too.

It's only seconds after that, that the sound of the lawmen's whistles can be heard. One of the patrons must have reported the gunshot.

You hold onto Arthur for dear life, an arm around his torso and the other holding out your revolver.

"Nice to meet you mister! I take it you aren't exactly a friend of the government either?"

"No ma'am!"

Arthur laughs at the absurdity of it and keeps riding hard as the lawmen start to gather behind the two of you.

"Quick on your feet back there!"

He states, taking a turn down an alleyway that appeared to be just big enough.

"Thanks, you too, saw you reach for your gun!"

You chuckle to yourself.

"Don't exactly look the rich type. In fact, don't look like the Saint Denis type. I take it you might be in the uh...'bodyguard' business."

"If ya mean shootin' fools who deserve it, then yes, I am."

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Arthur Morgan."

"Y/N L/N."

"Nice to meet ya. Let's get the hell outta here."

Arthur did his best to do just that, out running the law as quickly as he could get his poor horse to go.

Finally after quite some time the two of you make it into the woods, just outside Saint Denis, the sound of the lawmen steadily fading.

You're nearly out of the woods, metaphorically of course, when a stump seems to have other ideas.

Arthur and you both go flying off the horse, and directly into the mud below.

It's dark as hell and Arthur has no clue exactly where he is, and you just barely do.

Both of you are covered in mud and Arthur's horse: Mayhem, is currently writhing on the ground attempting to right itself.

You sit up in the mud, scoffing and trying to wipe mud off your face as Arthur does the same.

"Christ Alive..."

Arthur groans, flicking his arm downwards, trying to get the mud off.

You do the same, looking at him with a look of disgust on your face, only for a moment, before you start laughing.

"Well, Mr. Morgan, how very kind of you to dump me in the mud like this."

"Well I didn't mean-"

You laugh and stand up, before you tear off your skirt, now soiled with mud, to reveal your pants underneath it.

"I needed to get that thing off anyway, I was about tired of it."

You reach your hand out, and Arthur takes it, a sort of sheepish grin on his face.

"Well, glad ya ain't too mad at me."

"Nah...you ain't crossed the line just yet cowboy."

Arthur laughs this time and pulls his hand away to run it over his stubble in an attempt to try and get the rest of the mud off.

"I'll be stinkin' for weeks with this stuff, even if I take a damn bath at the hotel."

He sighs and takes his hat off, wiping mud off the brim.

He looks up at you.

"So...Miss L/N...You...sure seem more than capable of takin' care of yourself...I assume you got somewhere you can hide out for a bit until the law gets off you?"

"Course I do."

You laugh and step closer. You take the hat from his hand and gently place it back on his head, pressing your hand to his chest in the process.

"All worried about me there, Mr. Morgan?"

"Worried? No. Curious? Yes."

You offer yet another chuckle and then step around him, letting your hand travel over his shoulder, gently taking it away as you step closer to his horse, and offer it an apple from your bag that had been hidden beneath your dress.

"Well Mr. Morgan...if you're so interested, I suppose you'll have to bump into me again sometime soon, won't you? After all you did save me back there...even if you threw me into the mud afterwards."

"Hey I said-"

"So defensive."

You tease and step back towards him, you flick his hat, making it tilt upwards slightly.

"Send me a letter sometime Mr. Morgan...I could use someone like you for some of my...endeavors. If you're willing that is."

"Depends...You ain't gonna make me dress up and sing the can can are you?"

"No, I wasn't but...now I might."

You laugh and look towards Saint Denis' in the distance.

"Well...Mr. Morgan, if you could do me a favor and drop me off near Rhodes...I think I'd be forever in your debt."

Before Arthur could really register it, that's exactly where he was, stopped in front of the Rhodes train station, holding something you'd given him as he watched you climb onto the train.

A heavy locket, sat in his palm, as well as a handkerchief you'd insisted on giving him, with your initials sewed into the corner of it.

You smile at him, and wave from your seat as the train pulls away, and something within Arthur tells him that it won't be the last time that he sees you.

He couldn't quite remember exactly how he'd managed to end up here. In all complete honesty, the only thing he really knew for certain was that you were....something, that was for sure. Spitfire and kick to you.

He'd see you again. he'd make sure of it.

Okay, so, like I said, this is slightly different than what I write, not by much, but it is a little different, so I hope it was good, and I hope that you enjoyed it! As always, I'm always happy to rewrite something if it doesn't hit the spot just right!

#arthur morgan #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #answered asks #arthur morgan x reader

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izukuisbaby · 2 years

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⊹˚.⋆ SHOPPING HEADCANONS - JUJUTSU KAISEN

℘. flora's notes : i finished this while i was tipsy i hope it's okay-

℘. infos : u can read about ur kins too, this is not necessarily romantic (can be tho:)), female, male, gn reader friendly 💓 if u have ideas for the other jjk characters im down to make a part 2

m.list (bnha version can be found there x)| comment and reblog if u enjoyed !

⊹˚.⋆ SATORU GOJO

℘. as we all know, gojo has no filter, so expect to have to undress with the fitting room's curtain fully opened because "he can hide you with his Greek God body"

℘. brutally honest and doesn't care about your opinion "YOU LOOK LIKE A ROASTED PORK IN THIS LMAO", "I thought mustard yellow was the worst colour on you and then I saw that shit you're wearing", "are u tryna beat my grandma at the wrinkles fashion week ??? get that cardigan outta there"

℘. has to bring his God complex in everything "that looks okay on you, but it would look stunning on me", "nah that's a thing I, ME, MYSELF, would be wearing y/n, stop copying me urgh"

℘. will embarrass you in front of everyone "LOOK AT THIS HOT FINE PIECE OF HUMAN, I'LL PAY YOU TO DATE THEM, THEY'RE KINDA DESPERATE", "Y/N YOUR TEDDY BEAR UNDERWEAR IS SHOWING OOOOH SO CUTE LITTLE SLUTTY BABE" (and this is obviously not true, he just wants to embarrass u)

℘. will post your errands on social media and won't care if you look good on the picture or not as long as HE does, and expect something cringe on the text like "shopping with the ugly best friend (the pretty one is obviously me😏🤭🤪🥰🥵)", "here is a gold digger who takes my money for their clothes UwU💸💸💸💸", "they were wearing teddy bear underwear and EVERYONE saw it 🤣🤣🤣"

⊹˚.⋆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

℘. blank. face. it's a painful moment for him, he doesn't give a damn about your outfit as long as he gets to take it off

℘. feel lucky that he isn't grumbling because he really hates shopping and he hates being in public places (sir knows damn well he'd get chopped up if a white haired mf happened to be around too, gojo gives him social anxiety)

℘. but he doesn't say anything either, you just end up talking to yourself. he OCCASIONALLY sighs though which is the only animation you get from him :/

℘. he discreetly peeps through the curtain to see you nAaAaAkEd😨 and then blushes a bit CUZ YOU'RE PERFECT

℘. will let you play model in the living room if he chooses what you two will watch for movie night "mmmh", "looks good"

℘. AND THE HOTTEST THING HE DOES IS SLIGHTLY RAISE HIS BROWS WHEN HE SEES YOU WITH AN ITEM HE LIKES damn I love this man

⊹˚.⋆ YUUJI ITADORI

℘. "DAAAAMN YOU'RE LOOKING FINE", "how are you still single seriously, I'd die for you". he's a simp for you, even just as a friend. HE'S SO SUPPORTIVE PLEASE

℘. best shopping buddy literally, he'll be honest and will try his best to sound polite and not mean

℘. AND HIS PICKS ARE SO GOOD, I HEADCANON THAT YUUJI HAS PINTEREST, he's like you're own personal shopper

℘. and he's always so enthusiastic about going shopping, he's just a pleasure to have around

℘. he 100% makes fun of people tho- but you learnt to love it and now you do it with him

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gayspock · 1 year

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okay girlies trek movie marathon ahead go go go we're starting with the final frontier

so to set the mood its 10am and i have hot cocoa (fancy one i got for chrismas + marshmallows (vegan ones i got for chrismas)

goodness fucking gracious they really put the budget into this one again didnt they. i mean i know they do for the trek movies in general in comparison to the shows but fuck me this feels like a step up even from tvh

okay girlie pops lets do therapy in the desert . practice mindfulness with me really think about the sand on your feet ow hot hot hot

i wish someone would do this to me to be honest i take the piss but cant some beardy vulcan cunt come up to me and chat about starships and the whatnot

ISNT THIS SYBOK BTW. spocks first retroactively added sibling. btw i wont share how much i hate that fucking choice in so many ways and how theyve done it fucking twice n- sorry seeing red breathe deep. hesgot a good presence t-

AHRHGHGH OGUGHHFHFUAHDHHGF FUCK I FORGOT THE TREK THEME DOOO DODODOOO DOOOD OOO MY PUSSSYYYYYYYYYY SOAKEDDDDDDDDD SHES MAKING THE SAME NOISE SH oh christ i took that one too farback up back up

i sometimes think theres no way ppl read these lbs but if theres one person there hi the credits are rolling

guys the hot cocoa is making my tummy hurt btw but that might also be okay so i got this vegan kebab meat and i didnt know you meant to cook it so i ate the whole pack raw and it was already expired but its like vegan so it cant like be like meat levels of insanity right..... right like im not getting worms am i its. uhm. whatever guys hesclimbing

wheres he going .

dude

I SAW CLIPS OF KIRK CLIMBING UP THIS BIG FUCK OFF MOUNTAIN BEFORE AND I KNEW BILLY SHITSTER PUT THIS IN TO WANK HIMSELF OFF BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE A PLOT RELEVANT SCENE WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE CUNT IS JUST DOING IT FOR THE JOKES

THERES NO WAY THIS IS SO FUNNY . KIRK COME BACK DOWN FROM THERE

hi bones- OH MY GODDDDD HIS CUTE LITTLE JACKET HES SO CUTEEEEEEAND HIS LITTLE SCARFFFFF

PUT THIS CUNT RIGHT ONTO YOUR PINTEREST BOARDS LADY HES-

okay ffucking hell the way william shatner still says "spock" i forgot it was like that

"1200 points of interest in yosemite and you pick me" right i forgot they were like that

his spoots.........

that made me laugh i wont even lie the way the cunt just feel

can we get a close up on the dancer cat woman please just for uhm my own . purposes interests i dont - OH HERE WE GO- THREE TITS?

WHOS THIS GIRLBOSS

CAITLYN KATELYN KAITLYN whichever its spelled- also romulan??? i assume that there's been some cultural mingling but imagine if you met a fucking cunt from mars called Sarah.

anyway shes beautiful as hell . for what reason.

seriously the dusty desert planet in scifi they all look the same its so funny

right the prblem is syboks actor is charming as all hell. fucking divert that smoldering gaze i feel fucking weird as hell

OUGHHH SCOTTYYYYYY HII BABYYYYY CAKESOUGHGHH HI ENTERPRISE OHHHHH HIIII UHURAAAA

oh my god she looks so good she LOOKS SO GOOD ... ahh nichelle 3: ... shes got such a good onscreen presence though man HELL its a shame they didnt utilise her more earlier

okay so they decided to put them together i forgot about that im not mad i gues

sulu and chekov hi guys theyre just vibing in the woods HI GUYS SORRY IM NOT IMMUNE TO NOSTALGI AND SEEING MY FAVOURITE GUYS

GUYSSSSS CAN WE ALL BE NICIESSSSS

"ive always known i'll die alone" ALRIGHT GIRL...

this is actually so cute i wont even lie im not endeared im not (is endeared) theyre on freaking holiday together

MARSHMELLON

SPOCK THEY ARENT VEGETARIAN

except for mineeeee that i have om nom nom

afterthe ritual camp sing along we all have insane freaky gay sex onscreen for the rest of the movie. its normal. it would also be less gay than them singng row row your boat like this

im absolutely ctazy for the sfx in this movie like it feels like half of them are pretty solid but theres just random bits that look so janky this is exactly how i want my star trek i wont even lie to you

also i cant tell if this klingon part is meant to have subtitles or not

ok i found the script online + im following along iwth that LOL ... i guess it makes SENSE why the actual subtitles arent like on the video itself but its still funny

sorry to be crass but i know someone somewhere has edited this to say spock (goes off to do that)

the way it takes me 10 million years to watch a movie you have to understand theres sidequests in every movie for me to do

GOD....

THE UNIFORM JACKET WITH THE JEANS THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME. ABSOLUTE SLAG MOVES. COME ON SERVE ME CAKE CASUAL STYLE

i love it when the enterprise is busted to be honest its so good i hate functional ships i love it when theyre breaking- fuck me i wanna relisten to wolf 359

i already know the plot twist of that being his brother but its very fucking funny nonetheless that spock just sees his broth-

UI WASL

I WASLITERALLY JUSY ABOUT TO SAY THAT ITS VERY FUNNY WHEN SPOCK SEES HIS BROTHER AND IS DEAD SILENT LIKE "THATS SO ME AND MY BROTHER WE DONT NEED TO TALK LIKE THAT"

AND THEN MY BROTHER DEAD SILENT PUSHES A BIRTHDAY CARD UNDER MY DOOR. THROIWING UP. COSMIC TIMING THANKS BUD

by the way ive actually heard a lot of bad things about this movie and im absolutely agreed that this is corny as fuck but frankly when it comes to tos movies... im actually on board if its corny, even if the story might suck in the end. i mean granted- im hardly into the meat-meat of the movie yet. i dont doubt people slate it for NOTHING, and i presume i'll understand the problems better the more i watch (after all i am already kind of irritated with syboks existence even if i do quite like the actors vibe) but its like... hm how do i put this...

im not actually ever against, like, "nostalgia bait" stuff , i guess, and having fun with things if its kinda a) self aware enough and b) well earned. does that make sense? if it isnt taking itself too seriously and bigging itself up in a dramatic way, AND there's a solid foundation to actually have fun with then im okay with a movie that kind of only spins on the funnier, more casual moments and is somewhat self-indulgent in terms of how it panders to fans with, like, showing them all having fun camping .

the issue for me is when its either, as i said, unearned or trying to take itself too seriously... or maybe, like, when it does veer too close to flanderisation or even just spinning the wheels on the characters. its why i think a lot of chibnall doctor who doesnt realyl work when its trying tobe "fun" or "goof off with the fam" like... you guys never really did the legwork to establish these characters well enough to have that, you know?

and im not saying tos has marvellous character work- we can be honest, and say that outside of the triumvirate theyre all over the place- but i do think theyre solid enough to crry and im well okay with that yeah?

and anyway thats all to say. ive known too many pretentious types disavow all sorts of media that does kind of act a bit self-indulgent or does something fun/stupid and i dont know man i do agree in many ways but also, like, entertainment is sometimes meant to be entertaining and its hardly the worst ever if a star trek movie just fucks about a bit instead of doing some epic space opera every single time, nor does it ruin the entire franchise or work that came before it. its why i really fucking rate the voyage home- because it lets itself take the time, take the breather after the other three movies. like i understand if it does purposefully undermine something else but like... i dont know i feel like some people ironically have such a shallow mindset sometimes where theyre likt, fucking hell, its the death of all media because they were silly 1 time and did something a bit funny/had fun (esp if it isnt just to their tasts)

(adnd yeah its also like... i dont know you know osme ppl who seem to have 0 media awareness in terms of like.. yeah man you can wax pretentious gobshite all you want but also its star trek man and thats not to belittle the franchise in any way but also manage expectations of what youre going to be consuming AND also realise that its not BAD that not everything is, like, you know some high calibre art and that actually that diversity in art is kinda better for your media diet tbh like they all serve a diff purpose like- you know so unrelated its also like im sorry it reminds me of all the discourse around knives out and the such and people not taking that movie into context and whatever the fuck or ALSO how im watching bsg lright now and i know im tempering my expectations interms of what that will deliver, what it will do and even further than that the actual politics)

( BC THAT ALSOOO is a whole other thing im so off topic here where its like im obbiously not talking about genuinely harmful media here but ive seen some ppl online kind of assume that media has to cater to their exact political alignment or else it isnt good and its like i absolutely agree you can analyse/dissect that and with bsg i do sort of like look at it and think well are we being serious with what we're doing here but also like eh shrug its kinda weird when you go in with the intention that apiece of art has to come to your exact own personal conclusions about the world by the end of it do you know what i mean . like i dont even mean tht in terms of like.. trying to defend things, but i mean that in terms of your own personal growth and open mindedness and appreciation for others' worldvew... anyways im so off topic im so so off topic this is literally the final fontirer 1989 here)

anyway im like

IM THE WORST IM RAMBLING LIKE THIS WHEN IVE BATRELY WATCHED THE MOVIE BC LOL #ANNOYING WHEN THIS ISNT EVEN RELATEDDDDDD

my point is i feel like what ive seen so faris kinda fun and the dialogue though corny and whatnot has made me smile enough that i feel like if this is gonna be sustained throughout im not gonna be mad if the overall plot does suck which idk is contrary to what i thought before i started bc ive heard such bad things about this one

which hey i guess theres other stuff behind that too because going back to that self-indulgent part.... it is obvious billy shits is, as i said, having a long self pleasure session . i also know theres other problems there tbh too-yeah...

ANYWAYS

can someone edit in them kicking their legs and giggling 👆

OK I SAID ALL I SAID ABOVE BUT THE UHURA SCENE WAS THAT ONE NECESSAY GUYSSSSSSS

also my god i eed to stop pausing ive been watching for almost 2 hours and im 40 minutes in thats so fucking funny

sybok: "ok but dude i didnt want anyone to dieeeee i was joking"DUDE PLEASE

the catgirl is feral i repeat the catgirl is feral

oh so it turns out the hostages are rather cheeky

WHY DID THEY HAVE TO CHANGE THEM OUT OF THEIR GOOD OUTFITS UGHHH BOOOOOO LOSERS BOOOO at least sybok is slaying does he have long hair? i do like that; i do appreciate that

"which will take...?" "exactly 15.5 seconds" "AN ETERNITY, DURING WHICH-"

I GET WHAT THEY MEAN BUT LOL

can i also say i think i said this when watching bsg but i love how many scifi ships have a lets fuck off really fast mode. its so fuckinh funny.

YHE GIRLS ARE FIGHTTIGNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG

"PICK IT UP" I LIKE HOW HE HAD TO BE TOLD.

AND SYBOK IS LIKE BE SERIOUS I KNOW YOU ARENT GOING TO D- SHOOT HIM? KIRK. BE SERIOUS . HE WONT DO THAT

KIRK YOU BEST NOT BE GOING INTO A STROP LEAVE SPOCK ALONE WILL E VERYONE LEAVE SPOCK THE FUCK ALONE

can i also say . sarek is a right fucking whore. how many wives did he have . like after amanda how many human women did he go through exactly

okay so round about this point i got distracted for another half fucking hour guys its so ufnny how long it takes me to watxh movies

THE WAY THEY JUST KNOCKED SCOTTY OUT. COME ON GUYS HELP

jim being tired climbing up when he literally beasted that mountain come on behave

THE SPOOTS ARE MAKING ME GIGGLE SO BADLY sorry.

the way they all got on together.... please... i will say BOTH times ive expected spock to straight up bridal carry kirk somehow

also i will say god . throwback to pk wars; im still laughing at how farscape presented the eidelons as, like, the answer to peace when its literally brainwashing just like this and its totally unacknowledged. anyways

WHY ARE WE GIVING BONES DADDY ISSUES

THIS IS SO FUNNY ACTUALLY

IM UNDERSTANDING MORE WHY THIS MOVIE IS DRAGGED BUT I CANT EVEN HATE IT ITS FUNNY TO ME BONES WE'RE GIVING YOU THERAPY TONIGHT

its so funny with bones they just give some random horrors to him whenever the fuck you know and then its never brought up again god love god bless

sarek can be so....

sarek can be so funny im sorry i know this isnt the time im watching him reject infant spock but do you remember in tng when he and picard were... well... they were well acquainted pen pals werent they if you understand me . its like hes a whore . hes a terrible father. hes like the worst. but hes kinda funny sometimes.

OKAY SPOCK SLAYED THAT GET HIS ASS

BONES LOYAL TO THE BESTIES

igotdistractedgaian guys btw this is so bd its like 1pm i started this at 10am but do you know what i need some new shoesso i needed to go find some and research do you know what i mean

i focus now i focus

THE GANG MEETS GOD. WHY NOT.

i always find it outrageously funny whenever they meet god or go to eden in sci fi . beyond hysterical. why not guys hes just been chilling somewhere why not babes .

KIRK BEING LIKE EXCUSE ME ☝️🤨...?

SORRY THATS SO FUNNY . HEY GOD. EXCUSIES. SCUSIES. [GETS HIS TITS BLASTED OFF]

thats funny as fuck

AGAIN IM SEEING MORE AND MORE WHY THIS IS CLOWNED ON THIS IS RANDOM AS ALL HELL BUT ITS FUNNY AND SO INCOHERENT AND THE PACING IS ALL OVER . GOD BLESS THIS MESS

"but captain we're firing directly on your position" can you have a little fucking fun for once chekov light it up bitch

HE SAID OOIEEE YEOWCH

woah he said damn... he said damnnnn

are you about to say sorryyyyyyyyyy

THATS SO FUNNY

THE KLINGON GUY JSUST SAID SOWWWWYYYY I WONT DO IT AGAIN BWAA..... THATSSO FUCKING FUNNY

GOD

YOU WERE NEVER ALONE... DUMBASSS.

PLEASE CAPTAIN. NOT IN FRONT OF THE KLINGONS FUCKING HELL. GAY ASS

"i lost a brother once. i was lucky i got him bakc" you guys remember when kirk actually lost his brother like hsi real life brother who died

OUGHGHH OH MY GOD THEIR OUTFITS BY THE CAMPFIRE YESSSSSSSSS

CANT WE GET JUST A MOVIE OF THEM CAMPING SORRY THIS WAS THE HIGHLIGHT OF THE MOVIE LIKE THE REST OF IT WAS DEAD BUT I RATE IT FOR ROW ROW YOUR BOAT

HELP...

OKAY THATS OVER

SALUTATIONS I NEED TO TAKE ABREATHER BUT THEN WE'RE ONTO UNCANNY COUNTY

#Egg.txt #undescribed image #star trek liveblog #this is so funny bc last year i didnt get to continue the marathon + my autistic ass said #''you can only continue it on THIS day'' so i seriously have been waiting like #2 years to finish the trek movies isnt that funny as fuck

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cherrykindness · 3 years

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wild tweets |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: as newlyweds, you and harry read thirsty comments for buzzfeed.

warning: it's thirsty tweets, so below there is adult humor 😳

"It's a bright, sunny morning in Los Angeles, and there's nothing I want more than to be on BuzzFeed and read wild tweets alongside my husband."

"Thirsty tweets, babe." Harry corrected, laughing out loud with the producers behind the cameras.

"Thirsty Tweets." You said quickly, putting your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. "I'm terrible at that, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"Let's take a break for one to two minutes. You've given us a great introduction, Y/N."

You shook your head, smiling shyly before turning to Harry, who was already watching you with that easy smile at the corner of his lips. You liked how his hand remained firmly on yours, making those circular movements with the thumb that always served as a natural medice for your anxiety.

"You look so fucking beautiful."

The pleated dress with flounce sleeves fit you like a glove. You had made peace with the various shades of white since the wedding and knew that Harry liked to see you in that color too.

"Thank you, you're not too bad either, Styles."

You intimately suspected that Harry would always seem far beyond that "not bad" that came out as a euphemism from your mouth. He wore nothing but a pair of bell-bottom pants in a strong shade of blue and a soft vest printed with fluffy little sheep on a striped American collared shirt - in your opinion, no one could look better in farm animal clothing than Harry Styles and Princess Diana with her red "Black Sheep" sweater in the 1980s. In contrast, you knew your husband well enough to know that he was arrogant and knew exactly how hot he looked - you also made your thoughts clear enough when you kept him backstage beyond ten minutes in a rather heated kissing session.

"Are you anxious?" you asked curiously, remaining with downcast eyes fixed on the strokes that remained assiduous on your warm skin. "To read about how the whole internet dreams of fucking my wife?! Of course." Harry joked, leaning over to leave a small one on your cheek. "We agree on that, don't we? Although I'm a little nervous, I'm really interested to know all the crazy things they say about you. Everyone knows you're mine at the end of the day, that's enough."

At the end of the break, you and Harry made a silent agreement that you should be the first to pick up one of the scattered papers in the red pot. There were quite a significant amount of tweets, and as much as you were used to reading rather sordid things about your husband on the Internet, the excitement was there as if you were wading into uncharted territory.

"I would be a good girl all year round if Santa guaranteed me a threesome with Harry and Y/N Styles on Christmas Eve." You laughed, Harry staring at the camera with an expression close to the meme of the surprised Pikachu. "You guys are incredibly nasty, I love it."

"If that was the first one, I'm really worried about the next ones." Harry commented with a little corner smile, picking the next tweet out of the bucket. "I have an entire folder on Pinterest dedicated to Harry Styles' hands, and let me tell you why: those hands are art, and art needs to be recognized."

"What- Guys, you promised you wouldn't post my anonymous tweets here." You quipped with false reproach, laughing at your own stupid joke while everyone else in the studio did the same. "But I can't blame her, honestly." Shaking your shoulders, you opened another piece of paper. "Harry Styles finally confessed that he wrote Watermelon Sugar for Y/N!!!! Are you guys imagining the same thing as me?!!!!!! 🥵🍆💦"

"Exhausted emoji, eggplant emoji, and water emoji?" Harry frowned, staring at the tweet you held up. "I imagine you're in need of a vacation somewhere refreshing and you're craving a fruit that everyone eats like it's really a vegetable."

"That reminded me of that story-" You laughed, hiding your face on the table as Harry continued to offer a poker face to the camera, struggling not to keep up with you laughter. "I'm sorry, lovie, I have to share this with the rest of the world." You stated, wiping a few tears from the corner of your eyes. "Harry always wears those fancy suits to concerts, right?! Right! Turns out he looks really hot in some, like his ass molds perfectly into those tight pants and everything. I was home that night because I wasn't feeling well enough to face the big crowds, but I was still following everything on twitter. It was a concert in London, not so far from where we lived at the time, so it was obvious that he would come home after it was over. I follow some portals that do really fast updates of pictures, videos, etc; everything that happened at Harry's concert was on my timeline in a matter of seconds. When one of these profiles uploaded a picture of him with his back to the camera in a heavily accentuated black and white suit, I quickly sent him the image along with a peach emoji and then wrote "looks good tonight". He didn't reply to me until a few hours later, of course, but I obviously didn't expect a "ready for a Fifth Avenue peach salad for dinner?" and numerous cutlery emojis."

Harry rolled his eyes comically, indulging in laughter as did everyone else who occupied the backstage area.

"I'm against the eroticization of emojis." He said between uncompensated breaths, shaking his head negatively. "Let's go to the next ones, please, I'm already feeling exposed enough here."

"I like your old-fashioned spirit, baby." You assured him with a smile, laying on the sturdy shoulder hidden under the fluffy fabric.

Harry chuckled low, leaving a little kiss on the top of your head before selecting the next paper. The fans would die when that video aired, everyone was sure. You two easily forgot the cameras when you were side by side, and the public display of affection had never been a problem.

"My life mission is to look at someone the way Harry looks at Y/N and be reciprocated the way Y/N looks at Harry, then I could die happy." Harry read. "That was very good and healthy, thank you!" He smiled. "But don't settle for death in that case, please. Just make sure to keep that person around forever."

"Awn, we got so sweet now." You made a pout. "Thank you for sending us something so cute! I really hope you find the right person soon." Sending a kiss to the camera, you moved on to the next tweet. "I wouldn't want to get a golden ticket to visit Willy Wonka's factory, I would like to get a golden ticket to actively participate in Y/N and Harry Styles' Honeymoon.

"That was creative, so I will disregard the fact that you removed my last name from my wife's name." Harry joked.

"I will always be an Y/L/N." You flashed the tongue. "We had a great Honeymoon, but I know you guys already know all about it because there are pictures all over the internet of outings that I don't even remember existed."

"Even though we chose a rather reserved city, many paparazzi still managed to photograph some of our nights there." Harry agreed. "There was one particular day when we opted to have dinner at a restaurant near the beach. Y/N had found it even before the trip, it was pretty laid back and we could spend the evening at karaoke. I don't really remember what happened, but we woke up the next day with a terrible hangover, still wearing the clothes from the dinner and with several headlines saying that I was cheating on my wife in the middle of our Honeymoon with a blue-haired italian girl."

"That wig made me sexy, man." You blinked, laughing as you remembered the situation. "It's a shame the paparazzi only got low quality images, but I swear I looked really amazing that night. Italy, I miss you."

"We're coming to the end and I haven't had to ask production for a glass of water yet, thank you to whoever selected these tweets." Harry raised his thumb to the camera, smiling before turning his gaze back to the small paper he had chosen. "Y/N could literally punch me in the face and I would just bow down and thank them for it." He laughed. "She has heavy hands, so I would rethink that choice."

"It takes strong hands to be a superheroine." You blinked gracefully, referring to your works as a Marvel actress. "I move around a lot during the night, so I'll take this lovely opportunity to say that twitter can dismiss all the malicious theories about Harry always show up with a new bruise all over his body."

"Please stop making indecent assumptions while Y/N is aggressive with me at night only unconsciously, her father has access to social media."

You laughed, clearing your throat before reading the next obscenity aloud.

"I would sell all my possessions to have Y/N sitting on my lap for ten seconds."

"Oh my God." Harry laughed out loud, throwing his head back. "I should have said that in our wedding vows."

You shook your head, laughing low as you set the tweet aside.

"That was pretty funny and cheeky, I approve."

"Okay, looks like we finally got to the last one." Harry announced, waving the paper in the air dramatically before opening it. "Harry could literally crush me with those boots while fuc- I need that glass of water." He said dumbfounded, hiding his face between his hands after throwing the tweet over his shoulder. You laughed out loud next to the organizers, and meanwhile Harry leaned his head on your bust, staring at you still with wide eyes. "Please promise that we will be careful with our future children on the internet."

#harry styles imagine #imagine1d #imagine harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry imagine

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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navegandoaciegas · 3 years

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Maneater Writing Challenge

(gif not mine, found of Pinterest)

Hello everyone! I hope you’re doing great!!

In honor of the upcoming Hot Girls Summer, and of me hitting 2.6k followers here on Tumblr, I wanted to host a smut writing challenge with the topic of “Maneaters”, aka fem doms.

FemDom is a large term that includes many different kind of dominant women. It originates in the BDSM community and it indicates activities and relationships where the female partner is in charge. There’s different type of femdoms, for example the gentle kind that combines sexual dominance with nurturing elements (example: mommy kink), or the more widely known dominatrix kind that enjoys dominating in a cruel, strict way.

Fem!Dom readers x Sub!Male character is a pretty rare trope in the Marvel fandom, but I hope that by hosting this challenge I will inspire more people to write this type of content.

Let’s go over the boring rules before we can get to the fun stuff:

You can write for any characters played by Sebastian Stan (ex. Bucky Barnes, Lee Bodecker...) or Chris Evans (Steve Rogers, Andy Barber). Any other Marvel character, like Sam Wilson, is also fine.

The story must be a reader insert (character x reader). So no OC’s and no character x character. Poly and multiple characters x reader is fine to me.

The closing date is September 9th, my birthday! No pressure if you can’t get it done by then.

You must be 18+ to participate.

No word limit, but please use ‘read more’ if your story is longer than 250 characters.

Due to the nature of the challenge, all stories must include smut. You can make it nsfw of any kind, as any genre is welcome: fluff, angst, dark (dub-con, non-con), hurt/comfort.

Any AU, trope and kink is welcome except: scat, snuff, gore, underage, bestiality.

Send me an ask or a dm with the prompts you’ve chosen. Choose at least one. You can pick as many as you want from all categories. No limits of # people per prompt.

I’m going to reblog and comment each story I get, and I will eventually create a masterlist with all the submissions I get.

If you have any doubts, please don’t hesitate to contact me.

I picked over 50 prompts in total, so I hope you’ll find at least one that will inspire your creativity.

The prompts are listed below the cut.

Lyrics (You can use the whole song or the lyrics I selected as inspo):

Maneater by Nelly Furtado: I wanna see you all on your knees, knees, you either wanna be with me or be me. Maneater, make you work hard, make you spend hard, make you want all of her love.

Bubblegum Bitch by Marina and the Diamonds: Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored, I'm the girl you'd die for. I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out, 'cause that's what young love is all about. So pull me closer and kiss me hard, I'm gonna pop your bubblegum heart.

How to be a Heartbreaker by Marina and the Diamonds: Rule number one, is that you gotta have fun, but baby when you're done, you gotta be the first to run. Rule number two, just don't get attached to somebody you could lose.

CryBaby by Megan Thee Stallion: Uh, his friends and his dad hate me (yeah), I broke his lil' heart, he a crybaby

Heart of Glass by Blondie: Once I had a love and it was divine, soon found out I was losing my mind. It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind. Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind.

Daisy by Ashnikko: Make your man call me daddy, he talk too much, he's too chatty.

Get on your knees by Nicki Minaj: You gotta beg for it, beg for it, I wanna see you lookin' up. Baby I'ma need you to beg, beg beg for it. Get on your knees, get on your knees, get on your knees.

Poker Face by Lady Gaga: Russian roulette is not the same without a gun. And baby, when it's love, if it's not rough, it isn't fun.

Prompts

Mommy kink

Dacryphila

Gagged and Bound

Anal Plugs

Chastity belts

Humiliation

Degradation

Omorashi

Body Worship

Loss of Virginity (Virgin Character)

Innocence Kink

Corruption Kink

Men wearing panties and stockings

Faceriding

Cuckolding

Revenge/Makeup sex

House Husband kink

Mistress kink

Pegging

Lactation/Breastfeeding kink

Breeding kink

“How quick can you make me cum?”

“I’m not touching you unless you beg me to.”

“Bad boys don’t get to cum.”

“Take it.”

“Please, mommy.”

“You look so pretty on your knees.”

“I like men better when they shut the fuck up.”

“Did that hurt? (...) Good, because it was meant to.”

“Keep making those noises for me, baby.”

“You’re not coming unless I say so.”

“You’re in so much trouble, baby boy.”

“Should've thought about it before you decided to piss me off.”

“Jealousy looks great on you.”

“I’ll be so good to you.”

“I’m yours, all yours.”

“Please, gimme more.”

“So fucking tight.”

“You’re such a pathetic little slut.”

“Look at you, drooling all over yourself.”

Situations (You don’t have to use these, but I thought I could give you some extra inspiration):

Jealous reader shows character who he belongs to;

Reader pegs the ‘_’ (insert whatever annoying behavior you want) out of the character;

Reader cucks disobedient character;

Character surprises the reader with a maid costume;

Reader makes character wear a sex toy (anal plug, vibrating panties, chastity belt) in a public setting;

Seemingly innocent and sweet reader surprises character with a kinky side;

Seemingly kinky and experienced character reveals a soft, innocent interior;

Reader gets revenge on her cheating partner;

Reader verbally humiliates the character;

Character accidentally call the reader “mommy” in the middle of sex;

Yandere!Reader is obsessed with character;

Yandere!Reader thinks that the character is cheating on her with another woman.

Tagging some writers who may be interested. Please don’t feel pressured to join.

@buckycuddlebuddy @msmarvelwrites @sweeterthanthis @whateveriwant @imanuglywombat @nsfwsebbie @jtargaryen18 @jobean12-blog @world-of-aus @river-soul @buckyownsmylife @burnthematches @sherrybaby14 @sinner-as-saint @kleohoneyao3 @literate-lamb @candy-and-writing @cap-n-stuff @docharleythegeekqueen @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @honeyloverogers @honeygingergemini @fafulous @foxgloveprincess @giorno-plays-piano @gotnofucks @gogolucky13 @cherienymphe @mcudarklibrary @emilykjh @overr-written @teamcap4bucky @threeminutesoflife @iraot @sebbysbaby @propertyofpoeandbucky @hailmary-yramliah @cryptidcasanova @asadmarveltrashbag @angrythingstarlight

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #stucky x reader #writing challenge

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deepseavibez · 3 years

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Drowning Too Deep_3 || KNJ || JHS

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Drowning Too Deep [Namjoon x Hoseok x Reader]

Part 1 || Part 2 || 2.1 || 2.2 || Part 3

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Genre - Explicit Smut; established!Boyfriend(s) au; Poly oneshot; Punishment;

Summary - Alone at home, nothing but thoughts, pent up emotions, roaming fingers and a wild imagination... that is... until your boyfriends catch you in the act.

Warning - 21+!Only; Poly; Aftercare; Angst(Some);

Word Count - 4.2k

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🎶- Never Not - Lauv

Right. That was all it was. It felt right. Slowly, you registered the voice - two voices, words of good, have you, with you.

A hand cradled your head, a secure hold.. The musk of Namjoon engulfed your senses, his chin resting at the top of your head, his arm reaching around you, closing you in with the body at your back. Flexing your hand you found your fingers inter linked with slender ones, rings laced in between - Hobi held strong.

You blinked slowly out of your haze and found yourself face to face with the smooth expanse of Namjoon’s chest, your nose in line with his sternum, on instinct you placed your cheek further against it, burrowing yourself against him.

An earthy giggle came from above you, the elation in his voice evident as he took in your actions.

Smiling against him you felt the ghosting of lips against your neck. Squeezing lightly at the fingers between yours you acknowledged your boyfriends, their comfort, their love, their presence.

You could stay here forever.

You felt fingers threading through your hair, careful fingers, a contrast to the demand they had mere minutes ago. Eyes fluttering shut you basked in the aftermath of your lovemaking. If you could bury yourself in their skin, you would. The need to be as close as possible visceral and insistent.

They usually did this, let you be as clingy as possible after sex. There was something about the moment, the afterglow, the headiness, being that close, feeling that loved -- it was incomparable.

‘You okay?’ Namjoon’s question felt far away, but you nodded in response. You felt like you were in a cocoon of warmth. Shifting your legs, you winced visibly at the tenderness in your body and couldn’t help the groan of discomfort that left you. Deciding it wasn’t worth it to move, you slackened further into their hold.

After a minute of stillness, shuffling at your back had you stirring again. Blinking away the bliss of the moment, you felt your hair being ruffled lightly, the hand leaving your head. You heard Hobi say something about running the bath as you opened your eyes again and made to sit up.

Craning your head toward his retreating figure, you swallowed the whine that threatened to leave your chest, his distance already having you feel cold and bereft.

It was illogical, he was just a few feet away, but you needed him next to you, here, touching and holding you, near you.

Namjoon clearing his throat caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. You turned to face him and found him sitting up, trying to hold your hand, which you now realized was fisted in the blanket under you. He smirked as you loosened the scrunched material from your hand and placed your palm on his waiting one. Bringing it up to his mouth, he placed a kiss on the inside of your wrist, eyes never leaving yours. Unable to help yourself, emotions threatening to take you under, you flung yourself into his open arms and buried your head against his neck.

'Hey, we're here, we're both here, we promise. We promised to always catch you. You’ll feel better after a hot bath.’ His voice was soft and reassuring, body warmth overwhelming, both exactly what you needed, arms strongly anchored against you, holding you as tightly as you held him. To feel so much, to be okay with being pushed, to trust blindly as you did, it was impossible to recover from it.

'I don't think I can live without both of you.' The confession came from deep within you.

His chest rumbled as he hummed against you, the sound coursing through your body. 'It's a good thing you won't have to.'

Words between you and Joon were never minced, which was something you would be grateful for. The letters forming the words that took up the space between your lips were never easy going conversation, but it consisted of truth and fact and every bit the promises you would both die to uphold.

The option to use a safe word during your lovemaking was a mere formality, you had no need to use it, despite their effort to openly communicate and make sure you knew you could.

Because the ties were never that tight. They were easily maneuverable. In the moment it would feel like exactly what you needed, control being taken away from you. But in a serious setting, if logic prevailed, you were the one with the most right, the most power to stop, the most control. But it was leverage you had no need to use.

The control they had of your body, and your heart and their access to it in their keeping, the addiction you had to keeping them happy was too good of a high, and the after was always worth it; if you loosened your ties, if you took that away from them it would upset the exchange of power.

And they never let you down, not once.

'I'm okay, I'll be okay.' You said more to yourself than to him, as your grip loosened.

He didn’t budge. 'I know. I need to feel you close to me too.'

Footsteps broke you out of your bubble as you listened to Hoseok get closer. 'Water.' Only after he said it did you realize how dry your throat was, you were parched.

Pulling away you held out your hand for the bottle. The water livened your senses up a bit, like fresh air, you could think a bit clearly, and it gave you a second to assess Hobi, you noticed him closely from the top of the bottle. His jaw was set, deep in thought, he was lost to the world for the moment.

Handing the bottle to Joon when you were done, you grabbed a hold of your other boyfriend and pulled him down beside you.

Moving to the edge of the bed, not without difficulty, you threw your legs over as your hand found his hair. He wouldn't meet your eye, so you pushed in your own way. Turning toward him, you curled your other arm around his front, it took a moment, but his arm wrapped around your waist, unconsciously bringing you closer.

He would adapt around you, he would always adapt around you.

The skin contact calming, you nosed at his shoulder. 'Hobi.' His name, a question, a pretty word, a cadence,as you implored your lover to open up. He was your Hobi, you needed to know what was bothering him, even if you couldn't fix it, no one in this relationship had to handle things alone

'Were we too rough?' You paused your petting at his serious tone.

Cocking your head to the side you took a deep breath before replying. 'Do you trust me?'

You would have expected a protest at the question, but he didn't, he knew better, he simply nodded in answer.

'And did I, at any time, use it?' You didn’t wait for him to answer. 'No, I didn't, and even if I had, it would have been something to talk about. We would have gotten through it.'

Looking over at Joon, you motioned for him to step in.

Almost immediately, he moved to close in on Hobi's other side, contributing to the third degree. 'So, why are you self-deprecating?'

Hobi turned to you before answering. 'You've never been… so far gone… after.'

You couldn’t deny that. It took a minute, it was different, but there weren’t any manuals for this type of thing. ‘But I'm okay now, see, maybe a bit clingy, or alot, but besides being absolutely weird at walking tomorrow, I love making love with you both,’ You didn’t want to say it, not when you were all so vulnerable, but his thoughts needed to be shut down. ‘Don't turn it into something we have to second guess.'

'Your demons have a place here Hobi, just not when they try to get between any of us.' You smiled over Hobi’s shoulder gratefully. Joon always had the right words.

'I just don't think I could forgive myself for hurting either of you intentionally.' He looked at our bare feet, unable to meet our eyes.

'It's a lot of responsibility to be the one with the reins in the relationship, but y/n and I trust you. I mean, if we hurt you, at any time, would you want us eating up inside because of it.'

‘Would you not let yourselves get eaten alive inside because of it.’ He glanced between us, but the question was rhetorical, we all knew the answer.

‘I think the point is,’ you intervened, ‘that we'd forgive each other, eventually, there's a lot of understanding here, of course we may love each other more than we should, but we give it our all.'

Placing his chin on Hobi, Namjoon rubbed his boyfriend's back and followed your lead, in reinforcement. ‘And during sex, we have safe words for a reason, outside the bedroom we have the word no, and we have trust enough to voice ourselves in any situation.’

‘My sweet, endearing man,’ you ran your fingers through his hair and hugged yourself to him. ‘This isn't your burden to share alone, we’re all in this relationship.’

‘We're fluent in Hoseok, especially when your brain is forming words you refuse to speak aloud.’ Joon’s palm gripped Hobi’s thigh, squeezing it lightly in reassurance. 'Respect our trust in you, and remember that you trust us to speak, even if it's for you.’

He didn’t answer, just resigned for the moment as he turned over to you and kissed your shoulder, eyes far away in contemplation. It was okay, he needed time. Things like this would take more time, more communication.

‘I think it might be time for that bath now,’ Joon whispered.

-----

🎶- Paris In The Rain - Lauv

Standing on the balcony rail, you stared out at the city below you. It was your favourite spot about this apartment, the bright lights, the noise, it made you feel alive, like you were a part of something bigger

‘What's down there?’

‘Everything.’

You looked up at Hobi as leaned on the rails next to you. He was shirtless, in plain black shorts, a coffee cup in hand. Questions like these weren’t his type, but he surprised you still.

As for the coffee, it was one of the first habits they had all synced up, coffee could wake all of you up, or help put you to sleep now.

‘It's distracting sometimes, all the noise. Wouldn't it be nice to get a change of scenery, peaceful, like a quaint cottage or a mountain range and hills, lush greenery.’

You made a face at Joon’s observation as you took the cup he offered to you. After sex coffee was always a good idea. Extra sugar, extra cream, something of a cherry on the top type of thing. It's good for vacation, but not for life.

‘The plus side is that our careers are here, our livelihoods, you guys know how to navigate yourselves through this city. And I've been having fun trying.’

‘Do you think you'd ever regret moving here? You were pretty scared, at first.’ Joon pulled you against him as he voiced the question, one arm around you, he pulled the shirt further down across you, his shirt as it flailed a bit in the breeze. You rolled your eyes internally, smiling into your mug, but the small action warmed you.

‘I was scared.’ You answered after taking a sip. ‘I still have some trouble. But, I just have to remember you two, remember that I will be coming home to my favorite people, I can't turn away from either of you, not after seeing inside your lives and your hearts, and how much I want to be a part of it.’

In fact, you remember the day you chose to be a part of it.

----------

🎶 - Blinded - Emmit Fenn

‘I'm gonna miss this view.’ Leaning against the window of the boys bedroom in the dorm, you looked out, over at the buildings, the birds, the lives taking place miles around.

‘What do you mean?’ You turned toward the sound of Hoseok’s voice. He was in his and Joon’s shared walk-in closet, putting away his clothes from the day before.

You limited your emotions behind your answer. The fears and anxiety of what was inevitable plaguing you since things had come so far. ‘I have closing contract negotiations next week - my time in Seoul ends in December. They have a flight booked for me the day before Christmas.’

‘Wait, you're leaving.’ Joon stood, from where he sat at the edge of the bed.

‘Don't look at me like that Joonie, we knew about this.’ He was the more logical of the two, if he didn’t see reason, this would be harder, for both of them. ‘I have family in America, friends, a different life.’ You tried your best to be reasonable, remaining calm and comforting. Some things in life were unavoidable. You decided you would be strong here, be rational, there was plenty of time to break down, to fall apart when you got...home.

Shaking your head away from your thoughts, you positioned a fake smile, ready to drive through this conversation, as fast as possible.

‘Can you really walk away y/n.’ You looked up at Hobi as he stepped into view. You expected this, the tight voice, the stoney face, Hobi was driven by emotion, he would take longer to adjust.

You turned away from them, you never could lie well, especially not to them, these men that held your heart. ‘It’s not complicated, Hobi. You both asked to see where it goes, and, well I have to go home.’ You tried not putting much weight behind the ‘have to’ but you would be lying if you hadn’t already searched for a reason to pull time, to extend things, to stay.

‘Move in with us.’

You whirled and stared at them incredulously. Joon for the statement, Hobi for not even remotely looking to amend it.

‘What, Joon, I don't live in Seoul, I-,’

Hobi crept toward you. His features stood out, jaw clenching as he grit out, ‘Tell me you don’t love me.’

He tugged your hand as soon as he was close enough and pulled you forcefully into him. You didn't answer him or look at him, you couldn't, the little resolve you had...no. You knew you had to leave. This wasn't your world. This wasn't your life. They didn't belong to you. You squeezed your eyes to trample down the surge of pain at your latter thought

‘Y/n.’ He caught your chin and made you meet his eyes. ‘Tell me. Tell me you don't love me.’

You felt hands at your waist, ‘Tell us, and we'll walk away from this conversation, right now.’

Trapped, you were trapped. These two beautiful males, they didn’t understand. You bit the inside of your cheek, you didn't have the luxury of crying, you didn't have the right to accept this. This was your life for crying out loud.

‘I-,’

‘And don't lie.’

Your fingers dug into Hobis' bicep at his tone.

‘I don't belong here.’

‘That's not what we asked you to say,’ Joon’s voice was shaky, his usually rich baritone, clouded with an unnameable emotion.

It didn’t need a name, for a long time now, you made it okay to not have a name.

‘Well where would this go, if I stay? What are you going to do? Announce to the world you have a girlfriend that you both share.’ Your voice rose with each word, your argument gaining momentum.

‘How do we do this? How do we go about life?’ You struggled in their hold, needing distance to do this, their hands on you vice-like, unshakeable at your outburst.

‘I can have sex, and I can love and I can let go, but if I stay, I want the whole damn deal. Can you give me that? Can you introduce me to your parents? Can you tell the boys? Can you explain it to your management? Can you give me kids? Can you tell the world about us?’ Your voice broke, ‘’Because I deserve to be number one in someone's life. And to be shown off and, and I can compromise so much, the distance and the tours and the time I have to spend missing you, but I cannot be just by the way. No one should be put through that. No one should be asked that, unless you want to throw money at them and call it a night.’

‘Y/n!’ You flinched visibly at the reprimand, not sure who it came from, as the blood rushed in your ears.

You swallowed harshly and used the little bit of anger you had left, if they could hate you, it would be easier for them. 'What?! It hurts! Of course it hurts. Yes, for fucks sake, I am in love with both of you. I want the long haul. I want forever. But I cannot ask that of you. I can’t ask for you both to only be mine.’

‘Why ask when you will be given freely. When have Hobi and I ever made you believe that you weren’t entitled to any of that.’

‘Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. This isn’t just a phase, this is going to bed and waking up together. This is arguing and making decisions together. This is respecting each other's financial and career choices. This is every day, every moment, it's everything.’

‘Y/n. Hobi is my life partner. He is my soul-mate. I have loved him and I can survive because I know I'll always have him. But I can't live without you. I can't breathe unless I know I have access to you.’

‘We.’ Hobi amended.

‘We can't live without you.’ You could feel Joon’s soft smile at your back, alleviating the tense atmosphere slightly, as he followed his boyfriend’s unspoken order.

‘Baby, look at me, talk to us. Come on, make this work, make us work - we can.’ Hobi’s hands around you were demanding, as he coaxed, holding onto you tightly, as if you might disappear at any moment.

‘I can't. I, if I look at you, I can't be strong, I can't hold off, I won't be able to look away.’

‘Because you know we care. Because you know we want to be yours. Everything else is everything else.’

‘Joon, you’re making this hard.’

‘No, y/n, you are.’

‘You will remember me, that I was here, that we made the best memories,’

‘We can make more.’

‘Hobi, please be reasonable.’

‘’We know it’s a lot, but this, this isn't just for now, this is, for however long you will have us, this is for as long as you love us and we love you, fingers crossed it’s for a really really long time.’ Hobi’s lips found your forehead, as if he couldn’t help himself.

‘Do you think you will regret it someday.’ Even your whisper was forlorn.

‘You?’ He huffed, the sudden movement jerking all of you against each other momentarily. ‘I can't think straight when you're not near me, it's even worse when you're in the same room.’

‘I think a part of me woke up when I met you, and then wanted to stay awake when I realized I didn't want you to leave, that was months ago.’ Joon could make anything sound poetic, you thought.

‘A violent part of me wanted to lock you in a tower and keep you there, for us, all to ourselves. 'There was absolution in Hobi’s voice. 'You're a bit insane, in a good way, and courageous and you see the world differently and you watch spongebob of all things,’

‘Not to mention you drink coffee at night,’ Joon chimed in, ‘We want it all.’

‘I won’t stop. Work. Travels. Experiences. I have wants, needs, a lot to learn and do and I have some of the worst days’

‘All of it, we want all of it.’ Joon hugged your back as his chest rumbled against you at his declaration.

You were a goner, all because you didn't have to be on guard with them. There was always some sort of control involved in existing. From emotions to urges and choices. Sexuality even.

But here they were, asking you to be yourself, pummelling those walls down with sheer will and determination, demanding you be as y/n as possible, even if it made life a little more difficult.

‘Me?’ You looked up at Hobi, willingly meeting his eyes, letting him see how deeply embedded they were within you, searching for hesitation, for any sort of reluctance. ‘Me.’ You repeated to them both, a statement, a chance to back out, before anything else was said.

‘You.’ Joon replied with confidence.

‘You.’ Hobi said, solidifying it.

‘Us?’ You assessed the word as it fell from your lips, a stick against a stone, a spark being allowed to ignite.

‘Us.’ Firm fingers at your waist, as the whisper of a sound came a hairsbreadth from your ear.

You closed your eyes, sending a prayer to the sky, that this was a good choice, that what you wanted couldn't be so bad, that you wouldn’t wake up one day to two males that realized they were too good for you, because they were, you knew that.

You wrapped your hands around Hobi’s back, bringing Joon with you at your back.

You felt the tension ease out of both men, letting out breaths they didn't know they held.

‘Here.’ Hobi’s voice was authoritative, unrelenting.

‘Here.’

----------

🎶 - Paris In The Rain - Lauv

A kiss at your neck broke you out of the memory, the soft spot, known and well used by the man you currently rested against. ‘Where did you go?’

Leaning into his hold, you looked out toward the city, ‘Here. Us.’ You reached out and pulled Hobi into you and Joon, a soft smile gracing your face as you answered. ‘Forever.’

‘I guess, it just makes sense, something about it, just is, I just, love who I am here.’ You meant it. You felt a puzzle piece slot into place when you let yourself be talked into a life with them.

‘We get it. Anywhere with you just feels right.’ Hobi pecked your cheek and ran his fingers through yours.

‘Hobi can be under any moon, any set of stars, anywhere, as long as it's with y/n and Joon.’

You smiled at the third person statement. You considered before asking your next question, holding tighter to Namjoon’s arms around you. ‘Do you think, you’ll ever stop loving me.’

Hobi dropped his head in a giggle, very used to this question.

‘Maybe when the lights go out in the city.’ Joon's sincere answer was so like him; he was always patient. ‘When the music stops playing from the numerous ads across the buildings-.’

‘And when hell freezes over.’ Hobi added as he smiled at you.

His contagious smile formed a mirror on your face. Right then you remembered you would never get tired of moments like these, post sex or no sex, you would never get enough of them. You had yet to regret leaving your old life for a new one. You hadn't stopped falling in love with them daily.

Stars above you, the black night sky engulfing your forms like a blanket, it was a pause to the endless possibilities surrounding your lives together. You weren't sure if it would always be like this, but right now, Namjoon’s heartbeat at your back, Hoseok next to you, nothing else in the world mattered.

‘I am going to have a serious issue with you touching yourself when we aren’t here though.’ A nip at your ear reaffirmed the statement. You just took another sip of your coffee.

‘Y/n.’ Hobi chastised. Oh no, you were about to be double-teamed.

You kept the mug at your lips, making your eyes wide over the mug. You pointed to it, busy drinking coffee, not talking about this.

‘Y/n.’ They exclaimed consecutively, pulling out of Joon’s hold and you rushed into the lounge, but not before one of them grabbed a hold of your shirt. You squealed in surprise.

Thinking fast, placing the mug on the nearest surface, you pulled the shirt over your head and ran, buck naked away from them.

‘You are so done when we get a hold of you!’ Joon shouted.

‘You’ll have to get a hold of me first.’

Laughter could be heard from your apartment, laughter and squeals of a girl that laid it all on the line, for a new life, for two smart, talented men that she had found halfway across the world; laughter that carried out the balcony to the city below, laughter of a relationship finding its way in Seoul.

Part 1 || Part 2 || 2.1 || 2.2 || Part 3

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

Gimme Shelter - 2

Ready for chapter 2? Here it is. This whole fic, but especially this part, was inspired by this article/interview. Men's Journal Article In particular by Henry's statements about his time at boarding school.

In this chapter we learn about Henry's and Kat's past. I hope you enjoy it. If so, please leave me a comment, like or replog. 💜

Previous part -> Nashi's Masterlist

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Kat Spencer)

Words: ~3.4k

Summary: Henry has to deal with a personal crisis and he finds shelter with his old rugby mate Sam and his sister Kat. She used to be Henry’s best friend a very long time ago. Will they be able to become friends again or maybe even more? Chapter 2: Kat remembers the day Henry hurt her very much and they have the unavoidable conversation about it.

Warnings: RPF, mention of bullying, angst, humiliation

No beta! All mistakes are mine. English is not my mother tongue so expect bad grammar and wrong spelling.

Disclaimer: I don’t know the real Henry Cavill, this is pure fiction and nothing more

Credits: Pics for the moodboard from Pinterest. Faceclaims: Kat = Jennifer Connelly

Taglist (please let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @sweetlybigdragonn @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @rn7rocks

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

"And I say I'll never hurt her

But she knows it isn't true

'Cause although I never told her

I think she knows 'bout me and you."

From "When Susannah Cries", written by Amund Bjorklund/Espen Lind

****

Kat found herself confronted with Henry all alone after a week of avoiding him. Of course they had met when they had dinner together in the evenings but she had stayed out of Sam's and Henry's conversations most of the time and during the day she stayed in her office, busy with work. Sometimes she secretly watched him, peeking out of her window, when he played with Kal in the garden or when he was doing workouts or stretching when he came back from one of his runs, but she avoided meeting him.

She knew it was idiotic but she just couldn't forget their past. She felt childish and silly and of course it was unavoidable to talk about it at some point but she wasn't ready yet. On this Friday morning she was sitting in the kitchen having breakfast when he came back from his morning run unusually late.

"Morning, Kat." He flashed her a bright smile before he started to make a protein shake and an egg sandwich. He looked fantastic even when he was sweaty and worn out.

"Good morning." She avoided his gaze and concentrated on her porridge.

"Mind if I join you?" Henry pointed at the chair opposite of her.

"No. Please, sit." Kat gave him an awkward smile. It still felt so strange to have him around, it made her uncomfortable and tense.

"I already said this to Sam, the house is beautiful. I mean it always was, I remember it very well but what you made of it is great. Modern and traditional at the same time, perfect mixture."

"Thank you." She didn't know what else to say but Henry didn't seem to mind her taciturn reply, he kept on smiling and talking.

"I was pretty surprised when I heard that you moved here. I mean, you were always a big city girl, you hated Stowe, and then...St. Ives...not only for holidays but for good…"

"Yeah. At some point I was getting sick of the big city lights, of all the hectic and the noise and all the crowded places." Kat explained shrugging. "And when our parents thought about selling the house after their divorce, Sam and I decided to buy and renovate it. He was looking for a place to open a practise anyway and the old vet in town was giving up his, so it was the perfect opportunity for him and I can work from anywhere so we moved here."

"Right, Sam mentioned you're an editor."

"Yes. I have a little editing office and work as a freelancer for different publishing houses."

"That's great, Kat. You've always been good with words."

She smiled and this time it was more relaxed. "And you've always been a good entertainer."

Henry chuckled. "Most of the time you found my little performances annoying. I remember that very well."

Kat laughed. "You're right. When you tried your stand up comedy on me. That was a pain in the ass. But you were great on stage. You were a natural."

"We were a great team, all of our drama group."

"That's true but you were outstanding in Grease. Everyone said that. I remember our parents were gushing over your performance all night after the premiere." She laughed again and rolled her eyes.

"That must have sucked. Didn't your mother want to make you join the drama group too?" "Yes. And she hated that I preferred to write for the school newspaper. She thought I was wasting my creative potential."

"She was wrong. Your articles always were the most progressive, interesting and polarizing ones."

"Yeah, maybe. But she was right when she said you were extraordinarily talented. You're a great actor."

"Thanks, Kitty."

Her smile froze. Kitty. He was the only one who'd ever called her that. And he stopped doing it 22 years ago.

"I'm sorry, Kat. I don't know where that came from." He said with a remorseful frown.

"Just don't call me that ever again."

"Of course not. Unless you ask me to." He gave her a sheepish smile.

She shook her head, visibly annoyed. "Not gonna happen."

"Kat. Please, I'm really sorry and I know I lost every right to call you that a very long time ago but maybe we can start over again. Talk about what happened. I never got the chance to explain…"

"Don't even start, okay? I don't wanna hear it." She interrupted him mid-sentence and started to stir her coffee so angrily that she spilled half of it on the table.

Henry began to chew on his bottom lip. "It's just that my therapist told me to follow through my past, to take a close look at the mistakes I've made...to learn from them."

"My, my...too bad my therapist told me the exact opposite. Let the past die. Kill it if you have to. That's what he said."

Kat shrugged apologetically.

"That's not something a therapist would say, Kat. This is from Star Wars The Last Jedi. Ben Solo said this to Rey."

He knew the quote. Still a nerd, Kat thought. Still that damn cute dork.

"Never underestimate the wisdom of a Star Wars character."

"Ok, I get it. You don't wanna talk about it." Henry raised his hands in surrender.

"You catch on quick, don't you?" Kat said sarcastically.

Henry shook his head, rolling his eyes with an annoyed snort.

"Alright, let's keep it under the cloak of silence."

"Yup."

"Fine."

Kat crossed her arms and stared out of the window. Henry was fuming with anger. Why wouldn't she let him explain? Make a fresh start? They were 16 back then, stupid teenagers, why wasn't it possible to talk about this damn night now, 22 bloody years later? He bolted down his sandwich and his shake and left the room without another word.

****

Kat went upstairs after this unpleasant encounter and plopped down on her bed with a desperate sigh. She remembered that damn night so fucking well. Still. After all these years. It was burnt into her memory as the biggest humiliation of her life. The day her heart broke in a way, no man had ever been able to repair it. Superficially maybe but not to the core. That stupid summer dance. Kat closed her eyes and suddenly she was sixteen again.

I really don't know why I'm already wearing that silly dress three hours before I have to go, I didn't want to have it at all. At least not before Henry suggested going to the dance with me. As friends of course but nevertheless. It will be the two of us together. You and me, Kitty. Two lonely hearts. That's what Henry said to me. That was four weeks ago and ever since that day it's all I can think about. I look at my reflection in the mirror and I like what I see. The dress is cute, it's light blue and quite romantic with all the frills and the puffed sleeves and I feel like an Edwardian lady from one of the novels Henry and I love so much. I feel pretty and I want to be pretty for him. I want to look like a girl tonight, not like a tomboy. I even bought a headband with little flowers. I'd really love to hear Amy's opinion on my dress. She's my roommate and friend but she's at the hospital because she had an appendix operation.

The ringing of the phone in our room startles me. I take the call. It's Henry and he sounds awful. He says he has a very bad migraine and that he cannot go to the dance with me. He apologizes several times but of course it's not his fault. I know he has these attacks from time to time and I know he can't leave his bed when he does. He needs to sleep in complete silence and darkness and tomorrow he will be fine again. He tells me he wants me to go alone, to have fun tonight but of course I'm not going anywhere without him and he knows it. It's a shame, that's true but where's the point in going to a dance alone without my only friends, without Amy, without Henry.

I take off my dress and put on jeans and a hoodie. I look out of the window, the weather is wonderful and I decide to take a walk to distract myself from the disappointment.

Of course I run right into my big brother Samuel. He asks me what I'm doing in the park. Why I'm not getting ready for the big party and for my date. He just can't stop making fun of me. He knows it's not a date, that Henry and I are just friends but he loves to tease me. He says I'm in love with Henry and of course he's right, I am in love with him, deeply, I'm in love for the first time in my life but I keep on denying it. Sam must never know that he's right because he would use it against me, that's for sure. When I tell him about Henry and the migraine he says I can't skip the dance, that I really need some fun and that I'm going to like it. He convinces me to go with him. His date has dumped him because he cheated on her. He's a notorious heartbreaker but deep inside he is a nice guy and -all in all- a pretty good big brother. I hesitate but then I think of the beautiful dress that's waiting for me in my room and so I finally agree.

I go to Henry's room to tell him I'm going with Sam and to explain why. I don't want him to be upset that I go without him. I knock but there's no answer. I guess he sleeps and I don't want to wake him up and so I leave.

Sam picks me up at nine. The dance starts at eight but he wants a big entrance. It's all about attention and drama, Kat, he says and I guess he's right.

When we arrive at the party Sam soon disappears with Molly Smith, one of his many exes and I stand alone beside the cold buffet. That's when I see him. At first I don't believe my eyes but it's really him. It's Henry. He's standing there with all the popular kids, chatting and laughing and holding hands with Poppy Edwards, the most beautiful girl of our school. No sign of a bad migraine. I feel like I'm going to pass out. I can't look away, I want to but I just can't turn my eyes away from him. When he notices me his face falls. He stares at me and so does everyone who's standing there with him. My first impulse is to turn around and run away but I don't. My pride is stronger than the stinging pain in my heart. He obviously doesn't want me to be here. To see him with his new friends and his date or girlfriend or whatever this is. I jut my chin defiantly and stand my ground. I watch in horror how Poppy takes Henry by the hand and drags him in my direction. Their friends follow them.

She greets me with a smile that's sweet as sugar but the words that come out of her mouth are like poison. "Katherine, what a pretty dress. Where did you get it?" Before I'm able to stammer an answer she keeps going. "Did you find it in the prop room of the drama group? You look like Eliza Doolittle." She gives me a fake smile and her stupid friends start to giggle. I know my face is flaming red with anger, embarrassment and humiliation but Poppy's not done with me yet. She turns to Henry. "I bet she wants you to be her Professor Higgins. Everybody knows she has a crush on you. Maybe she wants to kiss you. Do you want to kiss this dressed up tomboy, Henry? Or do you want to kiss me?" Now every single one of them bursts out laughing and it feels like a punch in the guts. I'm on the brink of tears. I look at Henry, searching for help, but there's no reaction. He doesn't speak up against them, does nothing to defend and protect me, he doesn't even look at me. He doesn't do anything, he just stands there staring holes in the ground, avoiding my gaze. I can't stand this anymore. Him. Her. All of them. I turn around and leave fully aware of the fact that this moment marks the end of our friendship.

When Kat woke up from that ghastly memory she felt just as terrible as 22 years ago. Humiliated and ashamed and angry. Very angry. She got up with a jolt, ran up the stairs to the second floor and headed right to Henry's rooms. She didn't knock, just stormed in, finding him standing there in only a pair of briefs. His curls were wet and he smelled heavenly. She stopped in her tracks and Henry stared at her. "Kat. What the fuck. Ever heard of privacy? Ever heard of knocking?"

She didn't answer, she just stood there unsure what to do or say. Henry put on a shirt and sweatpants and turned to her again. "Can I help you?"

"Explain." Kat said. "Explain to me what happened at the dance."

"Now?"

"Yes. Now. Is that a problem?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not at all. Wanna sit?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Come on, Kat. This may take a while."

With a sigh she sat down on the sofa while Henry plopped down in the arm chair beside the window.

"So?" Kat looked at him expectantly.

"Well, first of all I wanna say I was a stupid wank back then. I lied to you and I let you down. I know this now, I knew it then, but when Poppy asked me to go to the dance with her…"

"When?"

"What?"

"When did she ask you?"

"A week before the ball."

Kat nodded. "Okay. Go on."

"Right. When Poppy asked me I just couldn't say no. I mean she was the most popular girl in our school and she wanted to go with a nobody like me. With fat Cavill, the lemon. Her attention just felt so good. The thought that she might be interested in me...it was too tempting to not give it a try. I just couldn't refuse her. I faked that migraine because I thought it was the easiest way to keep you away from the dance. I was sure you'd never go without me but I was wrong. I considered telling you the truth, I really did because I hated lying to you, Kat, but I finally decided to keep it a secret because I was sure you would try to talk me out of it. I knew you hated Poppy..."

"Yes, I did. She was a bitch. A manipulative, arrogant bitch and a bully."

"Like Aaron Taylor you mean?" Henry snapped at her with an angry glance. After all these years he was still jealous of the guy. "Aaron was arrogant, yes, but he was never manipulating anyone. He was more honest and true to himself than every single one of you and your friends. And for sure he was no bully. I wouldn't have been with him if he'd bullied anyone. He was a good guy."

"Poppy wasn't that bad either. The real Poppy I mean. Not the queen bee she pretended to be."

Kat turned her eyes towards the ceiling and shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, sure. She was an angel…You know, that was the hardest part. To process that you of all people were with a girl like her. She and her friends made fun of us and our love for literature so many times." Her voice got tense and she took a deep breath to calm down. Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before he continued to speak.

"Anyway. I never wanted to hurt you, Kat. I hope you know that. I didn't expect you to show up and I know the way I treated you was awful. I didn't defend you, I hurt your feelings, I betrayed you and behaved like an asshole. I know this is almost inexcusable but I want you to know that I'm really sorry. I was back then but I didn't dare to tell you. And I still am. I'm sorry and ashamed of my behaviour. I can only apologize and hope for forgiveness." He avoided her gaze, staring at his hands.

A long silent pause followed his statement but after a while Kat inhaled deeply and after clearing her throat she started to talk. "Thank you, Henry. This really means a lot to me. I mean, hearing you admit all that. And the betrayal, that's what hurt the most. I want you to know that it was never about the fact that you didn't return my feelings for you. I mean, of course I was jealous of Poppy, but…"

Now Henry was the one to cut in.

"Wait. Your feelings for me?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"Come on, don't act stupid. You must have known how I felt about you. I was pretty obvious and Poppy told everyone at the dance that I had a crush on you." Kat knew she was blushing but it was embarrassing to say that out loud.

"Kat, I swear I had no idea. I thought Poppy was just joking. I never considered you'd see me this way." He looked her right in the eyes before he continued. "You told me that you don't see me as a boy. That I was -and that's a quote I will never be able to forget- 'just like a girl that has a teeny wiener' to you."

"Oh god, Henry. I was 13 when I said that and I was a brat with a loose tongue. I did see you as a boy when we got older. Of course I did…" Kat gave him an awkward smile.

"So you really had a crush on me? Why didn't you say anything?"

"To be honest it was a little more than a crush. I was in love with you. And when you said you'd go to the dance with me I thought that maybe there we would dance and get close and maybe share a special moment and a kiss or...I don't know. I just had these silly romantic fantasies…" Kat swallowed hard and shrugged.

"You hoped that we'd become a couple that night."

She nodded.

"I never knew this, Kat." Henry felt awful. If he'd only known, he would never have said yes to Poppy if he'd had the slightest notion that Kat was in love with him.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore, does it. That was 22 years ago. I'm not that girl anymore and you most definitely aren't that boy."

Kat got up and clapped her hands.

"I guess it's a good thing we've talked this through. Your therapist is going to like it." She gave him a sarcastic smile and Henry got up too. He came closer but Kat took a step back and so he didn't move any further.

"Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I already have, Henry. I know you didn't do it on purpose or to hurt me. We were so young and now as an adult I somehow unterstand why you acted that way...but that's not the point. The problem is to forget and to trust you again."

He nodded slowly. "I understand that, Kat. Just give me a second chance, okay?"

She took a deep breath. "I'll try to. But I need time. Time to get used to you, to the whole situation."

"Sure." And then he pulled her into a hug that felt right and wrong at the same time and left her dizzy and with a racing heart. "I won't let you down again, Kat." Oh how she wished she could believe his whispered words.

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

tbc

#rpf #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x ofc #friends to lovers #slow burn #henry cavill slow burn #henry cavill friends to lovers #friends to lovers fic #slow burn fic

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silentmajesticfox · 3 years

Text

Falling In Love With Chrollo Lucilfer

(Rose is someone from Chrollo's past, specifically Meteor City. In this story, Rose and Chrollo, along with the troupe, rekindle their relationship. Well, try to. Rose is in an arranged marriage to protect and support her little sister. This story is set a little bit before the York New Ark, and during the beginning of it. and will go throughout the ark as well.

the picture on here I found is from PINTEREST AND IS NOT MINE. whoever drew it is spectacular and amazing. I'm obsessed..

**TW !**(Trigger Warning!) please do not read if you do not agree or are triggered by - domestic abuse (this will be from the arranged marriage) - depression/suicidal thoughts -substance abuse. Now I will not go into full detail especially for the domestic abuse, it's just to go into the story for beginning chapters. possibly flashbacks . So please, again, don't read if this will trigger you. Also, this will probably be pretty violent through some chapters. thank you for reading and your time.)

Moral Of The Story

Rose never thought she'd be in this situation, unhappy and rather disappointed with her life decisions. She was sure at first, that she had calculated this and this plan was fool proof, however, she was very wrong. She might have been in love, or what she thought was love - however it had escalated to a burning hatred and a bitter after taste. A blind love turned cold due to her own inability to see this would be the result.

Sitting there applying too much make-up to cover up her black eye and a few other bruises, she would not let her get that down. She had to stay strong for her sister, Daisy. Daisy is the reason Rose is still thriving and okay through all of this. Everything she does is for her little sister. She would die for her. Literally and emotionally/mentally. She finished applying the foundation, to move on and do her eyeshadow, eyeliner, and a very thick coat of mascara, her eyes shining a ice blue. She was wearing a simple, tight fit dress, in the color of burgundy. Her long, curly, dark burgundy hair matched the attire. With black heels. Looking at all of the jewelry her 'husband' had gotten her, maybe to buy her love back or his way of saying "sorry, not sorry." Rose huffed staring at them, not wanting this anymore, on the verge of a mental breakdown, memories for each gift being a constant reminder of why it was gifted.

Daisy soon walked in, her blonde hair and matching blue eyes light up, running to Rose, hugging her tightly from behind. Rose being able to handle pain well, just smiled and whipped her head around.

"You look beautiful Daisy." She stated, lookking at her little sisters beautiful pink ball gown dress. Only at the age of 13, it is an intense nostalgic reminder for Rose to see how big her baby sister was getting, saying she was the one whole raised her.

"Thank you!! You look beautiful too, sissy!" Daisy said, she was always so happy, and maybe some of that happiness is what Rose needed in the moment. "Are you ready to go to the ball, tomorrow's your birthday you know!"

"Yes, and let's head down there now. Only you and me will celebrate." Rose said, getting up from her vanity. "I will meet you downstairs, okay?"

"Okay, you better not take forever or I'll be mad at you." Her sister said, glaring at her sister, a laugh fallowing after before running out like a full speed train. Rose wished she could be young, hoping her sister would forget her birthday, yet she felt her mood lighten up knowing someone remembered.

Rose opened her drawer, opening a certain empty face powder jar. Grabbing The hidden key, she opened her one drawer with her bourbon. She had a bad habit formed, to think- or to forget all the bad things. She pulled out the bottle, opening it, and drinking it as if it were water. After a few more chugs, she put away and always made sure to lock it and hide her key. Walking out of the room, and closing the door. She then went downstairs into the lobby, then outside to a cold York New night.

Walking up to the limousine- she opened the door to sit by her sister, her husband sitting across from them.

"Why aren't you dressed up more? And no Jewelry?" Fred asked. (Guessing a name) Rose looked up at him, trying to think of a nice way to keep conversation. It was always those type of questions or degrading comments, not a compliment or 'how was your day?'.

"Mm... Not really feeling like wearing jewelry.. and as a matter of fact I can wear what I want." She stated back seriously. If there was a way to press his buttons, this was one of them. However, as she stared coldly back at his glare, she wasn't scared. She already knew whatever she said would bite her back in the ass.

It was late last night, Daisy had went to sleep and Rose was putting on her blue night gown. Fred walked in, boozed up and he had a violent glint in his eyes. One that unsettles her the second he walked in the room. "Rose, why wouldn't you spend any time with me and my friends tonight?.." he asked. She might have been a little drunk herself, but she knew she would have to stand her ground. Rose snorted almost, shaking her head before replying. "Because I have no need to hang out with people like you, I already told you I was done with everything that has to do with you, when your friends try so hard to be my friends.. I know they are fraud of their true intentions.." she started, so calmly that it got under Fred's skin. He walked up to her, grabbing her wrist and trying to pull her closer to him. "No that's not it, Tell me the truth." Fred said raising his voice. She could smell the alcohol coming from his break. She wouldn't flinch, but retaliate by attempting to shove him. "This.. This right here is why! Fred! I told you I was done, give me back my Nen! I don't love you anymore, why don't you ask yourself and the other girls you were hooking up with nights before! That's why I hat-" and before she could exclaim her feelings, she got struck in the face. An echo through the halls, and it to be honest it had gone from slaps to a full fisted punch. "Maybe it's because you're terrible, you only want me for my money, and those women are more than you'll ever be, Rose! Beautiful, unlike you." He screamed, at this point she was trying to hit him back as he was man handling her. This continued for about 30 minutes, and in the end, he had won. She was exhausted and bruised, he soon left the room, to do whatever. Rose knew he had other women, but being told by someone who once loved her and she loved a great deal, she started to fall down the wall, sobbing and releasing all of the pent up pain and feelings from the past months. Hoping one day, she would retrieve her Nen from him.. in the morning he had came to apologise and give her a diamond necklace.

Rose was spacing off, thinking of what had occurred. He can't say she didn't try, and her feelings and anger was running wild. If she had her Nen, this would be a different story. However, when they got married, she let him take her crystal ball. In which all her Nen was in. It was placed in a vault in his penthouse suite. She had tried many times to retrieve it, but only would get knocked out and brought to her room. One of the reasons she sleeps in her sisters room now. Daisy tugged on Roses dress, to bring her out of her thought. She looked over at her sister, a fake smile creeping on her lips and she hugged her. Fred had also been in thought, but let the conversation drop. He had plans for her later, however.

When they arrived, it was a big, fancy building. Alike many others in York New. Daisy was the first to get out, grabbing Roses hand and almost running to the doors, leaving Fred in the dust. "Slow down, Daisy, I can't run ask fast as you." Rose told her sister, however it was a lie. She could run faster. But with her bruises and aching body, Daisy has the advantage. Rose had always hidden these things from her. However, Daisy was smarter than what she led on at times. Almost witty enough to match her big sister sometimes. She already knew what had been happening. She slowed down for a sister, before giving her and her big sisters ticket to the security man at the front door.

"Okay your clear, come in." He stated in monotone before Fred had walked up behind them to do the same. Also being granted entry, all three of them walked in. It was quite a sight, beautiful one would say. Even though her sister was dragging her to the dance floor, Rose again had thought about what Fred said. "Beautiful, unlike you." Rang in her mind. Clouding it. Seems like she did not drink enough. By the time she returned to present time, she started dancing with her sister, in which laughs and giggles were heard from them. Fred walked up to his friends and the girls in which he had replaced Rose for. She looked over a little bit, quickly looking away as he had kissed them.

"Daisy, I'm going to get a drink, would you like to keep dancing, or come with me?" Rose asked. Daisy shook her head no and flowed away twirling. Rose smiled, at how pure and genuine her little sister can be at times, even when things were rough in Meteor City. A thought that hadn't crossed her mind in a long time. Meteor City. She missed it at times, however, there were people she missed more, wondering how they were doing..

Rose walked up to the bar, sat down, and waiting for the bartender to get done talking to a man and giving him a glass of red wine. She looked over, a realization hit when she looked at the man sitting over a few stools from her. He looked all to familiar, his black hair had grown since she last saw him, a nicely fitted tuxedo and a bandage around his forehead. Those green earrings matched his demeanor. He felt someone staring at him, he looked over to stare at her. She was sure, now, with those beautiful grey eyes starting into her soul.

"Chrollo, it's been quite a while, you aged well.." She said, getting up and sitting next to him. Chrollo was observing her for a minute before saying anything, taking in her image, also being able to see through the make up. He took a sip of his wine, and shifted over giving her a smile.

"Ah, Rose. Time has been very kind to you as well." Chrollo said in a low yet polite voice, she felt chills go up and down her spine. The bartender looked at her waiting for her to say what she wanted.

"I'll take a bourbon, please." Rose slightly acknowledged the bartender as he shook his head and went to get her drink.

Chrollo was thinking to himself, how beautiful she already was when he last saw her, but now she was even more, a treasure. "So, you're a bourbon girl now?" He asked, eyeing her, taking another sip. Chrollo had already assumed what she was going through, remembering how she use to cope with things in Meteor City. He glanced at her hand seeing a wedding ring on her ring finger. He glanced back up to her face, those ocean eyes he remembered so well.

"Oh... Uh.. yeah I suppose I am. So how long has it been, a whole eight years? What have you been up to since the last time we spoke." Rose replied, giving him a smile before drinking all of her drink in one go, pushing it at the bartender nodding her head to signal she wanted more. "Sir, could you please give me the bottle, I'll pay in full, you know who's tab to put it on." She told him, as she was a regular here. She glanced over at Fred, her heart shattering a little bit more, as he danced with the one women of his she disliked the most in the most provocative way, as though there was really nothing left to shatter in her heart. Returning her look at Chrollo, his eyes were fixated on Fred now, and she saw the eyes in which she loved, truly turn dark and mischievous. As if Fred could feel the darkness staring at him, his eyes went to Chrollo's, then his wife. A rise of jealousy and anger rose, but he looked away and would address this later on, also since he was entertained very much so with the woman before him.

"So... I'm guessing that's your husband, Rose?" Chrollo asked, looking back at her. "He's a fool." Chrollo stated right after, almost done with his wine and the bartender pouring more. Rose looked at Chrollo, knowing he is one of the smartest people on earth In her eyes, realizing he had everything figured out within a few minutes. She never knew why, but she was always rather emotional when it came to talking about problems with Chrollo. Maybe it was a deep connection, or just the way he made her feel. A tear rolled down as she looked away for a moment, wiping it away. Checking in on her sister when she did so, she was having a blast dancing with a boy her age.

"Yeah, uh... I guess you could say things weren't supposed to end like this... Enough about me. I've missed you, you know I did ask you a question Chrollo." Rose replied, her voice quivering a bit but was worse as she tried to cover it up. But Chrollo was just watching her, he could tell she was quite nervous and broken, drinking her third heavily filled cup. He hadn't seen her quite like this. If Chrollo could feel anything close to caring, it would be for her. And of course his troupe. And to him, it only felt like maybe a year or two since he saw her. So much had happened since then.

"Mm... You are changing the subject. However, I won't mind answering if you tell me the answers to my questions." Chrollo slithering his words, just staring at her. She knew that was his thing. She simply nodded staring back at him, before downing another drink. "Perfect. Well, I've been with you know who, we've been quite busy. And as for the time apart, I never actually realized it had been that long.." he stated truthfully. But soon stated something that would shock her. "I do, however, know your birthday is tomorrow, isn't it? Did you ever get the letters I sent you?" Maybe this is why Chrollo always had a place in her heart. She did receive them all, but was only ever able to send him one for his birthday. Except, she was unable to this year due to her and Fred's issues, she couldn't leave the mansion for a week almost, she was beaten every time, however Fred caught notice of her and Chrollo's letters, becoming more and more furious each year. She cried for quite a while that she could not write her friend a happy birthday letter.

"You are correct, as always. I'm surprised you remember. You always did have a sharp mind." Rose said in a tipsy voice, a smile tugging on her plump lips. "Don't think I've forgotten yours either.. I'm sorry I couldn't write back a couple weeks ago, but.. happy belated birthday Chrollo." She said, opening up the slightest, giving him a hug with one arm and setting down her dead on his shoulder. Chrollo knew he could get information he didn't need, but wanted to know... And as for Rose, tipsy and all, usually she knew Chrollo came with a motive, and If he didn't, he would soon find one. She could tell something peaked his interest. But was unclear on what.

"Well, I'm assuming he wouldn't let you write me back, it's not your fault. I knew you would have, you do every year.. thank you." Chrollo smiled, as she recoiled back to her original position In her seat. "So, Rose, be a dear, and please tell me what's been going on?.."

A/N thank you so much for reading. Hopefully it's not to terrible, but I am going to keep writing since Chrollo is daddy and I love him. Lol. Hope you liked it and like I said in the description, please be advised there is substance abuse and domestic abuse. Don't worry, I have something planned and Fred will get was he deserves. Thank you so much for reading! Also I took this from my wattpad, so honestly the typos will be fixed. Eventually!

#chrollo x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #fanfiction #the spiders #yorknew arc

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