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simpingland · 3 days

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Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

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Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

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luveline · 2 days

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I was just rereading your marauders sex shop blurb. I love how the boys have just adopted reader into their group, and how open they are with their affection for her. You do such a wonderful job of writing intimacy that rides the line between platonic and romantic. And I love the readers inter monologue of wondering if that intimacy means something more romantic like she wishes. It’s wonderful! I was also wondering if there’s a blurb on how the boys met reader for the first time?

thank you so much, that’s so nice of you <3 there wasn’t one but I hope this is okay!! —Remus, Sirius and James move into their new flat. You’re helpful. fem, 1k

The stairwell is filled with the sounds of kissing. Remus frowns, heart beating quickly, arms aching under the weight of yet another box. He gets to the top of the stairs and peeks around the box’s sides.

Sitting on the step of their new doorway is James. And, sitting on top of James, stroking his cheek, is Sirius. His hair is falling all over the place and they’re kissing so much Remus assumes they’ll have bruised noses. They often turn their kisses into a fight, like one of them can win, though it never really ends that way. He wants to laugh as Sirius pushes James down for more kissing, and he sort of wants to watch regardless because they’re both good kissers and he’d quite like to be included, but mostly he needs the heavy box put away.

“Someone please help me,” Remus says.

James breaks away. Sirius squeezes his face and begins to kiss his neck.

“Baby,” James says as he pushes him away, which is funny, unlike him and unlike Sirius to be called it, but also not actually unlike either of them when Remus really thinks about it.

Sirius gives a last peck and pulls away. When he gets up to look at Remus properly he’s flushed all over from the activity, his neck and face turning red in splotches.

Sirius and James have spent a lot of time spoiling Remus into love. He would’ve ended up there regardless, but he’s used to being the centre of attention. It was nice to see them kissing, and he wishes he didn’t interrupt quickly, but neither party seems to begrudge him. Sirius stands up and James is a second behind him, taking the heavy box from Remus’ arms before it can topple to the floor.

“We’re on break,” James says with a grin. “Especially you.”

“We have to take the van back tonight, in case you forgot. There’s still half our stuff in there.”

“If we have to pay their fine, it’s fine,” James says, shifting the box against his chest. “I’d much rather pay the extra day than have us all hurt ourselves. How will we ever test the big bed if poor Remus can’t move?”

“Poor Remus,” Sirius says, taking Remus’ hand to play with his fingers.

This is pretty much everything Remus has ever wanted. To get to keep his two best friends forever, to be in love, to live together in a new city with good food and better cinemas. And here, nobody knows them. Nobody to judge them or give them strange looks. They can just be together like they’ve always wanted to be.

Remus leans down to put his face against Sirius’ chest, their hands still held, Sirius’ free arm wrapping around him loosely.

“Tired?” Sirius asks.

James reluctantly leaves for the kitchen to put down their heavy box.

“No. We really need to empty the van.”

“We will.” Sirius drops his nose against Remus’ hair. “Cliche if I kiss you?”

“I like cliches.”

Sirius puts his lips to Remus temple. Barely a kiss, no movement nor sound, but Remus knows it counts. It’s about intention.

“Would you like a rough one?” Sirius asks quietly.

“Maybe later.”

“Please, let me give you one,” he says.

“And have you press me into the floor? I don’t think so.”

Sirius tips Remus’ head up and presses a kiss to Remus’ Cupid’s bow in an act of lifting his face, and then presses an equally gentle kiss to his lips. All this kissing…

“I’m so happy we’ve moved,” Remus admits.

Sirius squeezes his fingers, pulling away to meet charmed eyes. “All we need to do is find James a new team, and it’s perfect. Everything, finally.”

“Hello?” someone calls.

Sirius and Remus keep their hands held and shuffle across the hall to look down at the square. The flat building is strange, big and with an interior that’s an exterior, and you stand on the grass with a smile.

“Hi!” you say, hands on your hips. You’re dressed for the strange weather, jeans and a t-shirt and a zip-up hoodie, entirely non-assuming. “Are you guys moving in?”

“We are!” Remus says back. “You live here?”

“My friend, I came to make sure her cat was okay, she’s gone to Ibiza. Do you need help?”

“Oh, no, we couldn’t ask you to!” Remus says.

“Sure you can!”

You smile, and Remus thinks you look really lovely when you smile, it changes everything about your face. He feels guilty for the thought quickly, but it’s not as though being in a relationship means he can’t tell when girls are pretty.

“Are you busy?” Sirius asks.

You grin and make for the metal stairs up to the flat.

Remus peeks at him in surprise, then suspicion, but Sirius only smiles at him. “We’re making friends already,” Sirius says, giving him a nudge. “That’s what we wanted.”

James returns, having taken off his hoodie, a brown t-shirt loose on his frame. His own, then, because he insists on stealing from everybody’s wardrobes and stretching out their clothes.

“Why are you guys shouting?”

“Nice girl’s gonna come help us move.”

James raises his eyebrows.

‘Nice girl’ makes her way up the stairs. You’re still grinning when you get to the top, unperturbed by the appearance of another boy. “Hi,” you say, holding out your hand for an introduction. “I’m Y/N.”

It’s the start of a long road. Remus shakes your hand and gets the sort of butterflies he’s terrified of now, though eventually Sirius and James will admit to the exact same thing, and no one will know what to do about it.

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acotarxreader · 3 days

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Stress Relief

Azriel X Reader

Synopsis: Working for the Night Court has become near impossible with Azriel determined to drive you out the door but can a camping trip arranged by Rhys smooth things over.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, frenemies to lovers, lots of dialogue, if you see a typo no you didn't

A/N: Hehe this kinda long but I wanted to keep the chaos to one part. I'm finding writing since Other Worlds a bit stressy so I think posting this nonsense will help with that and we can return to out regularly scheduled programming. Let me know what you think!

Requests open! (I am working on your Cass request if you see this anon👀 )

----------------------------------------------------------------

“YN you need to fucking relax”

“I suggest that you keep quiet Azriel if you'd like to keep your head attached to your shoulders” Azriel rolled his eyes at you from the couch as you paced up and down, trusty list in hand.

“I’m just saying you’ll give yourself a heart attack”

“Hey! Do you want me to add your name to this list!”

“Az would only want to be on it if it's your To Do list” A pillow flew from alongside Azriel right at Cassian as he howled.

“I’ll relax once we get there”

“Why do you get so fucking neurotic when it comes to travelling?”

“Why are you so fucking anno-”

“Okay okay stop it you too! We promised Feyre no fighting on Rhy’s big camping trip, she’s already upset Elain won’t come, just don’t add to her stress” You and Azriel groaned like scolded children at Cassian’s words. You counted the bags again, checking off your list as you went. Azriel stood to grab his bag, coming chest to chest with you before pushing past.

“I’m flying ahead because I can’t be around her uptight ass anymore”

“Aw you look at my ass” you smiled sarcastically as Cassian laughed in the background.

You all finally arrived deep within the woods of the Night Court, luggage crashing down around the group. You couldn’t stop thinking that you had forgotten everything, glancing from the list to the pile repeatedly, your friends happily unpacking. The night had already begun to creep in, Azriel and you delaying the group by fighting about which was the fastest route to take. You busied yourself fixing up some of the tents as Azriel dug through the pile of bags in search of his own.

“YN, what’s the plan for us sleeping together?”

“Excuse me?” you deadpaned to Azriel.

“Sor-Sorry I meant the plan for sleeping?” he quickly corrected himself, his shadows doing their best to cover his rosie cheeks.

“Well, Feyre & Rhysand, Cassian & Nesta, Amren & Mor and then I guess you and Lucien and then I get my own tent” you beamed, shaking a sleeping bag from its case.

“Funny how that worked out isn't it” he remarked and you rolled your eyes but the group agreed to the sleeping arrangements, with further prodding for Lucien to agree.

You gathered around the fire, feasting on the fire-roasted food Cassian did his best not to cremate, trading life stories in pure unadulterated ease, everything Rhysand had wanted for this trip. You swaddled yourself deeply into your sleeping bag as the fire began to sink beneath its tinder.

“Do you regret leaving Summer Court for us YNN?”

“I think I love the Night Court more than I ever could Summer” You smiled in reply to Cassian, your eyes flashing to Rhysand briefly before he launched into his favourite Tarquin story, Azriel noticing the fleeting glance seemingly tinged with an element of sadness.

“You like it even though being an emissary to the Seasonal Courts clearly makes you want to pull your hair from your head?” Azriel whispered to you.

“You and your antics are the only thing that causes me to do that, I seriously think you need a refresher training on diplomacy” you bit back to his sharp whisper. You had shared the job with Lucien but soon found yourself taking on the brunt of the work as Lucien was lost in Elain.

“You need to stop being so uptight seriously, I think you need to be fucked or something, anything to get you to relax” Your head whipped towards him, the group laughing at Rhysand's story, choosing to ignore the two of you, assuming it was an argument. You huffed out in disgust at Azriel, he watched your chest release the full capacity of air from your lungs before taking another deep breath. You shuffled slightly in the sheet, wrapping the sleeping bag tighter around yourself and facing back towards the fire. It was then Azriel realised he was fully staring at your chest.

“I didn't…I didn't mean that I want to be the one to….fuck you…I meant …”

“Just stop talking Az” you scoffed, choosing to listen to Rhysand instead as Azriel mentally cursed himself for losing his edge over you. The fire sank until it went out, the laughter from the group lighting the forest.

“Okay, it's like 2am, time for bed kids especially if we’re going for the hike tomorrow” Rhysand stood, pulling a sleepy Feyre to her feet. The group said their good nights as you climbed into your canvas home. You stretched along the fabric floor and sank into sleep easily, tired from the day as you balled up in your opened-out sleeping bag.

“Hey! YNN! Wake up!”

“I swear to the Gods you better be a super polite Naga about to rip my head off otherwise you’ll wish you were” you breathed out without opening your eyes, the sound of your tent zip worse than a blaring alarm to your sleepy state.

“It’s Az, I need to sleep in here, push over” he collapsed next to you without invitation, your hand sailing outwards to clock him flat into the chest with a thud.

“Az, what the fuck? It's like 3am, get the fuck out we’re not braiding one another's hair!” you whisper-shouted at him while you sat up.

“Lucien is snoring like he’s trying to deafen me and I don’t fancy interrupting Mor and Amrens beauty sleep and as for the mates, I don’t need to explain why I don’t want to go in there” you sighed at him as he gave you a look that said he wasn’t going anywhere. You sank back into the canvas, Azriel pulling the sleeping bag from you.

“Az” you bit out.

“I’m not going to freeze to death because you’re a blanket thief”

“You’re going to find yourself on the other side of the zip if you don’t go to sleep” you said, rolling into the slack of the sleeping bag, pulling it fully from Azriel. He almost grunted at the action, catching the end and whipping it from under you, sending you rolling into the wall of the tent.

“Az!” you barked and he raised his hands up in surrender. You sank beneath the cover again, moving closer to Azriel to spread the sleeping bag more evenly. Azriels eyes fixed on the mesh vents on the tent roof, the sound of the night filling the tent.

“Do you ever think you’ll go back to the Summer Court?” Azriel broke the silence that filled the tent, you sighed before replying.

“If you keep being a prick then maybe” you deflected the question successfully.

“I’m a prick because I care” You laughed at his joking tone, rolling to your side to face him more, hands tucked in under your cheek.

“As much stress as you and Cass and your antics cause me, which is a lot might I add, I would find it very hard to leave you freaks” you half laughed, eyes still heavy.

“We’d miss you” he admitted

“I mean who would keep your secrets from one another if not me” you teased.

“What secrets?” you tapped the side of your nose lazily and Azriel nudged you slightly in annoyance at your grin.

“Fine fine emmm.... Cass is the one who told all those females in the Rita's where to find you when you were home” you yawned into a light laugh. Azriel felt annoyance grow in him at this revelation, that had caused him months of being harassed by all sorts from every walk of life.

“I swear I’m going t-”

“Just leave it Shadowsinger” you gave a small laugh, grabbing his hand as he went to leave the nest you’d both made, pulling him back down and forgetting to let go, you lost your fight to sleep then, entirely drifting back off. Azriel glanced at you sleeping peacefully next to him and found himself surprised at enjoying holding your hand beneath the sleeping bag.

Azriel stayed awake for half an hour, staring up at the canvas above him, torn between the growing pain in his shoulder and not wanting to let go of your hand. The nerves felt like they were screaming as the muscles went dead in his arm, an idea coming to him. He quickly rolled towards you while releasing your hand and grabbing the other but he greatly misjudged the distance, sending his head straight into yours. You almost immediately dropped his hand to place it on the bump growing on your head, Azriel feeling regret for waking you but more so for letting you go.

“You're such a freak Shadowsinger” You laughed half asleep before rolling in closer to him and draping your arm across his waist, pulling yourself closer to him softly, resting your head between the pillow and his chest. Azriel felt such an unfamiliar level of comfort at the movement but also a new level of confusion.

You moved from next to him then, leaning on your elbow to prop yourself up and look at him as puzzled as he looked at you.

“Sorry I-I don't know why I did that”

“Emm it’s okay YN…it was actually kinda comfortable…I’m ok-ay if you’re okay with it” he spoke the words with caution and you found a sigh of relief leave you that you didn’t know you had. You rolled away from Azriel to face the tent wall, his face slightly greying with nerves, had he been vulnerable to the wrong person? He braced for your rejection only for it not come, instead you shuffled slightly down and laid your back flat into his chest. Azriel cautiously moved his arm across your waist, only to have you catch hold of his hand and move it across faster, forgetting to release his hand again.

Azriel nestled his chin on top of your head, pulling you in as close as he could as you both tangled your legs together. He felt so entirely comforted by how close you were to him…too close he thought suddenly. He shuffled in the bed a little to try to hide the part of him betraying any sense of secrecy he had about his changing feelings towards you. You just moved back to where you were, leaving him no place to hide. Azriel felt your whole body smirk against him as you traced little circles along the back of his hand with your thumb, he hated how you were winning.

“You’re not hard for me to read Azriel” he definitely heard the smirk from you. He refused to let you win, he tried to push the embarrassment from his voice before speaking again-

“Well I hardly think that's surprising, I already told you what I think needs to happen for you to relax” he barely whispered, your body's turn to stiffen in the bed alongside him, he smiled with the point he won.

Azriel slowly moved to hover his mouth above your neck, both so still in the movement that he could almost see the hairs on your neck stand on their end. He gave little thought to his next movement, now acting on his instinct as he met your neck almost painfully softly. He kissed you there until you found your neck flexing to allow him more access. A betraying soft moan of approval escaped you as Azriel smiled into the nips he gave you, gaining a further point advantage.

You couldn’t let him hold the win for long as you began to push yourself into his growing length, a low growl escaping him before he reburied himself in your neck, more feverishly this time. Your hand wrapped tighter around his as you began to grind into him, encouraging him further. You rolled onto your back, Azriel now almost hovering over you and moved without thinking. He leaned down and met his lips with yours. Electric, you were electrifying one another. This night was going further than you both thought it would. Sex was one thing but kissing someone like that and feeling such overwhelming desire as a result was another thing. You both separated almost surprised at the waves of confusion mixed with yearning.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have…” Azriel didn’t know what he was saying, almost begging you with his eyes to say anything.

“I-” you were cut off by the sound of Lucien's loud sneeze from across the fire pit causing you both to almost jump. It hit you both then what you were about to do, with all your friends mere metres away.

“Night Azriel” was all you found yourself saying before rolling back to face the wall of the tent, not taking his arm with you. Azriel cursed in his head before lying back down on the canvas. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, the thought of what could have been controlling his thoughts. He didn’t think you were asleep either but didn’t challenge you on it, what had you both done?

You rolled over to find the space next to you empty as the sun leaked in the thin canvas the next morning. You ran your hands down your face, cursing your actions from the night previous. You got dressed haphazardly, removing a mirror from your pack to braid your hair back, your eyes falling on deep maroon markings on the side of your neck. You traced them gently with your fingertips, a small smile escaping you at the memory.

“YN! Get up! We’re leaving in 10” Cassian's voice accompanied him banging on the top of your tent, chasing your smile away. You ran your hands through the loose braid, separating it out again to cover the evidence of your lapse in judgment.

You hauled yourself out through the soft door once you were dressed to find your friends all laughing at one of Cassian's stories, ready and waiting for you to set off. Your eyes landed on Azriel as he tilted his head back laughing before his eyes met yours, he almost instantly tore them from you and looked back to Cassian.

The group set off bounding along the mountain in total ease, Nesta winding Rhysand up ahead of you and Cassian.

“So YN…you gonna tell me why Az won’t look at you?”

“How am I supposed to read that pain in the ass’s mind?” you replied almost too quickly to him as he raised an eyebrow, catching your hand and helping you up a steeper part of the path. You looked at the back of Azriel’s head ahead of you as he lead the group along the path to the waterfall.

“Hmm likely story YN and tell me why I could have sworn I heard Az leave your tent this morning?” he couldn’t bury the teasing tone as you sighed.

“Lucien was snoring so Azriel just stayed in my tent, no big deal” You could see the thoughts race through Cassian’s grinning face, you tilted your head slightly forward, ensuring the truth was still covered by your hair.

“Interesting, I don’t know Lucien to be a snorer” He gave a small laugh as you raised your eyebrow, only getting a playful shake of the Illyrian's head in return. A sudden slap of mud met the side of Cassian's face.

“That’s for Rita’s!“ Azriel shouted back the path, his hand having just released the ball of mud.

“You told him YN!” Cassian’s head snapped to you as you howled with laughter.

“Must have slipped out?” you tried your best to lie, only to have the broad male throw you over his shoulder as you screamed in hysterics. He ran with you, the group all roaring laughing as they followed. You suddenly couldn’t feel Cassian under you as he flung you from his arms, landing with a splash into the large lake.

“Cassian! I’m going to kill you!” you shrieked, the cold water bursting through you sending power coursing. You sent a tendril of water, playfully pulling Cassian from where he stood straight into the water alongside you, the group following suit in fits of laughter, leaving Azriel to watch from the rocks. Azriels eye caught the slight glimpse of his handiwork beneath your soaked hair, a pang of pride beating through him then replaced by panic. A shadow met the side of your face, draping your hair back to cover the markings. You looked towards Azriel and found yourself laughing at the action, he returned a smile.

After a day of hiking and swimming and being a bunch of fools, you all came back to the campsite ready to feast on whatever you could scrounge up.

“Okay everyone, it’s time to announce the reason behind this little trip” Rhysand announced to his family gathered around the roaring fire.

“Well, as you know, YN has been with us now for some months now-”

“Unfortunately” you hit Azriel into the chest at his sarcasm.

“Anyways-” Rhysand threw a warning glance “-YN has helped to negotiate many our trade agreements and cleaned up many of our messes-” Cassian raised a glass to you at Rhysands words, the group laughing “-But anyway, I’m sorry to announce that I have failed as your High Lord in convincing her to stay with us” the group turned to face you in almost shock.

“I know everyone I said-”

“-You said you wouldn’t leave” Azriel cut across you, semblances of pain dripping from his quick words.

“I know Az but-”

“-No, you said you wouldn’t leave” his words turned to tones of anger, the group looking amongst themselves, feeling as though they were intruding.

“Yes but Az, I’m needed at home, they’re still recovering from Amarantha and Tarquin needs m-”

“-But I- I mean we need you!” He stood from the log to look down at you, your sad eyes meeting his. Suddenly aware of the scene he was making he dissolved into shadow as you tried to call after him.

“I better go-”

“No Cass, I'll go” you winnowed out of the clearing.

Azriel crashed into his room in the House of Wind. Mixtures of emotions spinning in his head like the shadows around his heels.

“Az” he whipped around to see you stood with your hands up chest level in surrender.

“Here to pack your bags?” he chewed out.

“Oh fuck off Azriel, don’t actually pretend you want me to stay” you matched his tone.

“And why do you say that?” he snapped back.

“Because you’re the reason I’m leaving!” he took a small step back in shock at your sharp admission. He sat down on the edge of his bed, brow furrowing in thought.

“What have I done to you?”

“What haven’t you done!? You go out of your way to make my job difficult, every motion I put forward you try to shoot down, you’re constantly following me watching every move I make waiting me to fuck up! Now you have what you want, I’m leaving!” you paced up and down in front of him, releasing the tension you held in your shoulders.

“I don’t want you to leave” he sounded almost offended that you thought so.

“What?”

“You really think I want you to leave…especially after last night” he stood from the bed, stepping in front of you to stop your pacing.

“I thought that especially after last night you’d want me to leave” You half laughed.

“At least I guess I’ve given you something to remind you of me” he gave the smallest smile, his hand sweeping your hair off your shoulder to look at his busy work as you felt yourself blush.

“Don’t leave YN, who would I play with?”

“Cass maybe” you grinned, something seemingly darkening in his eyes.

“I don’t want to fuck him” he breathed out.

“That’s not what Rhys told me” You laughed again before noticing his serious eyes.

“Please don’t leave me YN”

“And what will I tell Tarquin?” you chuckled, unsure what to do with Azriels edgy tone. His hand found yours, hazel eyes fixated on you.

"Tell him you're preoccupied" "With what exactly" he moved closer to you with your words ever so slightly rattling out of you.

“Az if we kiss…this might become more than what either of us wants”

"What if its what we both want?" he was mere millimetres from you now, unable to fight against this magnetic force pulling you forward. Something bubbling between you both, the electricity coursing through the space between you both again as you kissed so sweetly. Your eyes snapped open to find his eyes meeting yours, gently pulling back from one another. Mate. Mate. Mate.

“YN- you’re my-”

“-Mate” you breathed while looking at him with such unadulterated love. Azriel burst into laughter with you following suit.

“Now you really can’t leave me”

“How convenient” you smiled, running your hands through your hair, Azriel tracing the bitemark's outline with his heated gaze.

“Care for some stress relief YN?” Azriels hands went straight for your hips, the feeling of the small calluses meeting your soft sides sent pulses down you both. He met your neck, the same place he had last night, cupping his hands beneath your lower legs and lifting you from the ground, your legs wrapped around his waist

“Why can't I keep away from you?” You breathed, the hairs on Azriel’s neck standing on their end.

“Why does that make me so happy?” Was all he could manage before reconnecting to your neck. Azriel carried you to the bed before throwing you down and closely following in pursuit. You knotted your fingers through his hair and forced down the moan trying to escape at the pleasure of having him nip you. You tugged his hair until he pulled from you to face you.

“I want all of you”

Azriel cautiously lowered his mouth to yours until they met again. Much like the first time electricity coursed through both of you but unlike the last time, neither pulled away, only growing hungrier.

You could feel him hardening against your thigh, no longer able to fight the little victory you were going to give him, you moaned gently. He smirked hard into the kiss before it became more feverish. Your hand ran across him beneath the fabric of his trousers, his turn to groan.

“You're wearing too many clothes” he rasped as you smirked and pulled your shirt from over your head, he gently caught your jaw as he kissed along it.

“I want revenge for these” you smirked, wrapping your leg into his side to flip him so you straddled him on top. Your teeth grazed his neck with heat as he sat up in the bed with you on his lap. He pulled his shirt from over his head, his hands replacing on your hips to support you, his groaning encouraging you on.

“Enough teasing YN, I need you” he said darkly, flipping you onto your back and yanking your trousers free from your legs to discard them. Azriel kissed you sweetly before moving down the shape of your body, peppering kisses along the trail to your entrance. You felt your legs begin to tremble under his touch, begging for more as his fingers began to play with your clit, your hands tangling in his hair with a moan.

“You’re so ready for me YN, its intoxicating” he began to kiss around you and slowly his fingers began to move in and out while he sucked your clit. You felt the tension build in your abdomen, the greatest realess you ever had just a few movements away until he stopped entirely. You looked down between your legs to meet his eyes as he moved to hover above you again, discarding his own trousers in the process.

“You’re so beautiful YNN” Your hand met the side of his face softly before pulling him back down into a searing kiss. Your fingers began to drag up and down his bear back before tracing the spines of his wings as they began to splay in their relaxed state.

“Is that okay Azriel?” you whispered watching his eyes close with the building pleasure.

“Nothing has ever been more okay” he leaned his head towards your hand, taking the waves of pleasure in his stride before lowering back down to meet you sweetly.

Azriel slowly then began to enter you, you both almost meeting your release at the feeling. He slowly began to drag in and out as the sensation grew with its addictive nature, he increased his speed, spurred on by your hitching breath. The pressure growing and growing and growing, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched until the band snapped sending you into overdrive as every nerve in your body stood to attention and then exploded. You practically screamed his name sending him over the edge, returning the sentiment by moaning your name, collapsing next to you while riding out his high.

“I had no idea how much I needed to hear you say my name like that YN” Azriel finally found some composure to rasp out, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you in. You tried not to cringe in embarrassment as you buried a laugh into his chest.

“Don’t go shy on me now” he laughed, kissing the top of your head. You rolled onto your elbows to look into his eyes as they lit up for you. You hauled the duvet up around you, leaving a small corner for Azriel to tug at.

“Why must I be mated to a blanket thief?”

“Why must I be mated to a pain in the ass?”

-------------------------------------------------

Whatcha think friends!

470 notes · View notes

httpsserene · 3 days

Note

Speaking of Mr. Daniel, we all know that he injured himself a while ago. How about the reader faking an orgasm because she doesn’t want to tire or injure him? Daniel frowns immediately upon noticing, but the nurse kicks you out because it’s past hours, and he's longing for the reader. He tries to grab the reader to come back but winces in pain, proving the reader's point. Your pleasure is extremely important to him so he’ll stop functioning if you said otherwise.

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬

Summary: When Daniel isn’t feeling well, it’s no hardship for her to take of him. Except this time, he broke his hand and is proceeding to be an absolute nightmare to take care of. They haven’t had sex since before the accident in Zandvoort because she’s afraid that somehow she’ll end up aggravating his injury. Daniel, however, has convinced himself that he only exists to bring her pleasure. So, she comes up with a plan to soothe his service dom tendencies. Enter, Operation Fake Orgasm. How hard can it be? Spoiler alert: she’s a terrible actress. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader(her skintone isn't referenced but she has braids.) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. orgasm/delay denial. hurt/comfort. caretaking. servicedom!daniel. discussion of pain medication, injuries, and hospitals. dom/sub undertones. sub/shy!reader. praise kink mentioned. sensual beard shaving (it's hot). wet dreams. somnophilia. safe, sane, and consensual. oral sex (m and f receiving). vaginal sex. fake orgasm. mentioned multiple orgasms. Word Count: 3.6k words

Author's Notes: if the tags scare you, i promise it's not that bad!

secondly, thank you for the patience concerning the delay. my sister is doing a lot better now! she had an allergic reaction to pollen; she inhaled so much that her lungs freaked the fuck out on her, and i was in the hospital from 9am-9pm all day. finally got back home so i'm posting it, way late, but at least it's on the same day.

to make up for it, even though my lil sis was nearly taken out by the environment (i'm joking i love her i'm just being a big sister rn), i am releasing episode four on friday! and episode five on either tuesday or wednesday next week!

i hope you all like this episode xxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

The sound of bedsheets ruffling contrasts with the monotonous beeps of the heart monitor filling the sterile hospital room; the noise is more than enough to have you snapping your head away from your phone to look at your boyfriend. Daniel’s awake and he meets your eyes with a soft groan. You coo at him softly, squeezing his hand gently as he reorients himself.

“What time ‘st?” Daniel croaks out. You cringe at the sound of his dry speech and quickly hand him the glass of water resting at his bedside.

“It’s getting late, baby,” you hum, not failing to notice the slight wince he does when his cast knocks against the bed rail, “I sent Michael back to the hotel not too long ago, around 7. Charles, Lando, Max, and Oscar came and kept me company while you were in surgery. Oscar, I think, was pretty shaken up still—to me, I could tell he felt a little guilty that you’re here with a broken hand and he’s as right rain—so, maybe when you’re more clear-headed you can reach out to him. Yuki and Michael were here the first time you woke up. Still, you were so high on your pain medication cocktail, that I think you were hearing colors and seeing sounds,” you break from your ramble, suddenly standing and reaching over the bed to press the call button, remembering the nurse told you to alert her as soon as he woke again.

“Yes?” Daniel offers, unsure of how to respond to the edge in your tone, “I’m feeling better by the way—.”

A hysterical giggle slips from your lips, and you can see the regret wash over his face when you meet his eyes with a crazed look, “Forgive me, for not asking how you were feeling right away Daniel. It’s almost like, my brain isn’t working properly because I’m fucking worried about you. Yeah? I watched you crash into the barriers, and I heard you in pain—I called everyone on your team to get updates and nobody answered! So, I got on the next flight to Zandvoort after Michael finally texted me with updates, with no luggage, just my phone and a change of clothes—so forgive me, for not checking in on you right away, after you didn’t call me once,” you blink rapidly and Daniel softens, clearly it was a terrible time to deflect with humor, he just hates to see you worry about him, that’s why he avoided calling. He’s usually the one taking care of you.

“A-are you feeling better, though?” you ask shakily, deflating quickly at the sight of his warm brown eyes, “You’re going to set off every metal detector for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s like a 6 out 10 on the pain scale—”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the nurse interrupts in accented English, smiling at the two of you briefly before she moves to Daniel’s side and catching him up on the outcome of the surgery and discussing pain medication.

“Visiting hours ended an hour ago,” the nurse speaks to you directly, “Did nobody come to escort you out?”

You shake your head in surprise, the time on your phone reads 9 PM—you have no recollection of time passing that quickly since Michael left. Gathering your few belongings, you lean down to kiss Daniel gently, “Be good for the doctors and nurses, Danny. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“No, what—she can’t stay?” Daniel begs the nurse, and she frowns at him apologetically.

Ruffling his hair, you continue, “It’s not her fault—she’s just doing her job. And, we’re besties now,” Daniel stares at you confused, “She’s been coming to check up on me the entire time you decided to cosplay Sleeping Beauty so if you decide to be difficult overnight, she will not hesitate to snitch on you to me. Understand?”

Daniel swallows before nodding jerkily, “Can I have another kiss?”

It’s an easy ask for you to fulfill; but as your lips barely brush his, Daniel hisses out in pain. He tried to use his left hand to pull you closer to him, obviously aggravating the injury. You exclaim worriedly and he tries to pretend that the flare of pain wasn’t that severe. But, as the nurse reassures you that the pain meds will kick in and he’ll go right to sleep, you’ve already decided: that hand will never be in a situation that causes Daniel unnecessary pain again.

You tell Daniel that same sentence on the flight back to Monaco. He assumed that meant you’d force him to wear a sling or have it constantly cushioned and elevated (which you did anyway). However, he should’ve asked you to elaborate because he was completely blindsided to learn that you really meant all situations.

You may have gone overboard the first week. You’re well aware that his hand is the only broken thing on his body, but you pamper him as if he’s bedridden with the most severe flu seen in the last century. You cook and order him hearty meals, you have alarms set for when he needs to take his medication, you shower with him to make sure he doesn’t wet his cast—where nothing sexual happens, you killed the vibe the first time he insinuated shower sex in conversation, mentioning the statistics of shower-related deaths—you quickly fulfill all of his requests, even if it’s sitting through a movie you find tasteless; yet, you refuse to fulfill one: sex.

The doctor pulled you aside while Daniel was getting dressed to be discharged and told you to make sure he’s very careful with his arm, slow and controlled movements only, nothing abrupt.

And, if there’s one word to describe Daniel during sex, it would probably be abrupt.

He can’t keep his hands off of you when he’s uninjured. From your first time with Daniel, he showed and proved just how much your pleasure is important to him—he made sure that you understood that he lives and breathes to make you satisfied. But, you also know that he’d ignore his pain if it meant he was making you feel good; and, that’s not something you can risk, not with an injury that could affect his career if it doesn’t heal properly.

You’ve reiterated that to him multiple times when Daniel tries to deepen kisses, hoping you’ll forget about your stupid sex ban and let him make you feel good. He’s not used to going this long without making sure you’re sexually satisfied. You don’t even allow him to guide you through masturbation, because you know you won’t be satisfied with it even if you get off—it’ll only lead to you falling into his lap begging for more.

On the eighth day, you’re sitting in Daniel’s lap on the couch, rubbing ointment into the bruises left by the seatbelts of the car. You thought he was focused on watching the entire Dutch Grand Prix he missed out on, not thinking much of how he’s toying with the length of your braids with his uninjured hand.

You think nothing of the soft sighs, moans, and groans he’s letting out of his mouth as you lightly massage him. All of these noises are common reactions to a sensation that feels good. It sucks that they happen to sound very similar to the moans Daniel makes when he initially fucks into you. You’re just a girl with needs that Daniel never fails to take care of; you’re not used to this, for the same reason Daniel can’t understand why you won’t let him get you off.

Then, Daniel gasps out a soft ‘fuck’ that has no reason to be sounding that lustful and you start to squirm in his lap. You mindlessly continue to massage him, not exactly proud of the way you continue to strain your ears to hear his noises—and on one particular shift of your hips, you brush across his hard-on that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, and automatically fly off his lap.

In the frantic movement, Daniel tried to use both of his hands to keep you in his lap, irritating his broken hand. You flutter around him worriedly, your words a mix of chastising and displeasure. You don’t hesitate to say that this is exactly why the sex ban is in place (Daniel pleaded that it was a fluke, but you’re not eager to put that to the test).

Three days pass before Daniel deems you relaxed enough to have another attempt at seducing you into an orgasm or two. He approached you in the evening after you had watched him like a hawk as he took his pain medication. He wants you to shave his beard. It’s grown out some since he hasn’t shaved in a week or so. You’re not a professional beard shaver or anything, but you can imagine it’s difficult to shave your face with one hand. And of course, you’d jump at any opportunity to help out your boyfriend and allow him to relax and look pretty. After an unnecessarily long tutorial, Daniel pretends to have 100% faith in your skills and lets you take the first swipe across his cheek. You painstakingly use slow movements and light pressure, not forgetting to pull his skin tight with your other hand and clean the razor off with every stroke. You feel him tense underneath you as you ready to attempt shaving along his jawline.

Pulling back at the last second, you make to smack his shoulder before hesitating and pinching him instead (it’s his left arm, you don’t want to jostle his cast resting on the bathroom vanity), ignoring his yelp you nag him, “Well, don’t act like I’m about to gouge your throat out or anything! I can feel you freeze up underneath me—it’s not like I want to cut you. I already have to stare at your ugly face every day, I don’t want to make it worse.”

Daniel pretends to be offended at your attack and the two of you bicker back and forth before settling down. The fake roast session calmed Daniel enough that when you brought the razor to his jaw, he remained relaxed.

You smoothly shave the small area of skin and turn to clean the razor when Daniel speaks softly, “You’re so good,” a slight pause follows, “at this.”

The praise tingles down your spine and you think nothing of it. Except, it continues. With nearly every swipe along his jaw, he continues to murmur praise with lidded eyes and an alluring tone. Whispers along the lines of ‘good girl,’ ‘just like that,’ ‘you’re so sweet to me,’ and paired with his stare dancing across your face, you dread the moment you finish shaving him. As your razor ventures down his throat, the air grows thick with intimacy. It’s the result of your boyfriend trusting you to repeatedly brush a blade along his throat and your unfortunate kink for praise and acts of service. With the last brush of the razor, you gently set it down on the vanity, exchanging it for cloth you wet with hot water. Ringing it out thoroughly, you gently begin to wipe Daniel’s face avoiding eye contact. When you swipe around his lips, you get distracted by their flushed color, a result of when Daniel bit his lip to make the skin underneath taut for you to shave. His tongue slips out to wet them and you can’t help but smash your lips to his.

It feels euphoric. You’re kissing him frantically, moaning into his mouth without inhibition, and you can feel him laugh as he struggles to match your desperate pace. His hand squeezes at your waist, anchoring you yet furthering your desperation at the strong grip as you try to climb him like a tree, tugging at his hair, shirt, pants, anything you can reach. At this point, Daniel would’ve had a hand in your hair, tugging at your scalp sharply a couple of times to rein you in and move you to his rhythm. You’re a little lost at the missing sensation and you pull away to pout at Daniel like you always do when he spends too much time teasing you.

It takes one look at his blown pupils, smug smile, and heaving chest before it jogs your memory. You step backward quickly to put space between you guys, raising a hand when you see him open his mouth, knowing he’s only going to convince you to get naked for him.

“I’m going to bed,” you state with a pointed finger, “You, are going to get in the shower, with cold water, and think about what you did wrong. And! You will not wake me up for sex.”

Daniel’s face falls, and you can tell he expected you to break, “Wait—you don’t let me shower by myself, what if I fall?”

You turn and leave the room, “It would be divine intervention. Karma, for trying to get me to break my rule.”

Daniel doesn’t wake you when he slips into bed, but you lose the benefit of going to sleep early when you jolt awake before sunrise. Your mouth is dry and your panties are embarrassingly wet. You can’t recall a single detail of your dream. Still, your legs are trembling at whatever scenario your brain decided to torment you with.

Fuck it. Or fuck him, literally.

That makes sense. You’re going to ride Daniel, it’s the perfect position to make sure he doesn’t move his arm. You work him up beforehand so hopefully he won’t last as long; Daniel has unparalleled stamina usually, but with you constantly denying him for a while…he may wind up quicker. As soon as he cums, you’ll fake yours as well—because he’s only pleased if you're satisfied, otherwise he’ll attempt a round two. It’s that easy, right? You turn on your side and stare at Daniel, his face relaxed as he sleeps. Your synapses start firing as the plan comes to life. The two of you have discussed somnophilia, more on you as the receiving party. Daniel, of course, offered himself to you on a silver platter—any taste of you using him to get off? That’s always going to be a yes from him. So, yes. It is that easy.

You pull the duvet down to the edge of the bed and quietly shift to hover over Daniel’s thighs, never more thankful that he decided to wear only briefs to bed. And that he’s already half-hard; you’re extremely happy that the two of you don’t have a hand on how creative your dreams can get. He doesn’t shift when you pull his cock from underneath his briefs, carefully dragging them

down just enough to not be a bother. He stays under as you get him hard, it only takes a few strokes and some teasing along a vein on the underside. You rise slightly, sucking on two of your fingers before bringing them to rest along your entrance. It’s an annoying experience, you can’t remember the last time you had to stretch yourself out—Daniel’s spoiled you. The feeling of your fingers inside of you is underwhelming, the slight tinge of pleasure would be multiplied if it were him instead but; this is not for you. You are simply performing tonight.

You slide your fingers out and decide on getting Daniel as close to the edge as you can before he wakes up. You lean down to mouth at the head of his cock, knowing it’s incredibly sensitive and the sensation pushes him to the edge quicker than anything else. It can’t be more than a couple of strained minutes—your eyes and ears peeled to make sure you don’t miss any signs of Daniel starting to awaken. Thankfully, you feel him start to pulse along your tongue, a sure sign that he’s getting there.

You pull off, taking a second to breathe as you rest your head on his hip. With one last reassuring exhale, you move to straddle him, one hand underneath you to guide his length to your pussy. The second his head pops into you, you let out a pitiful whimper, eyelids fluttering shut, and your legs begin trembling again. Another realization hits you as you struggle to silently take all of Daniel.

You can’t recall a single time Daniel had forced you to be quiet. He’s always trying to make you scream his name. If he needs to hide your noises he muffles them with a hand over your mouth or his fingers in your mouth. Naturally, you use his tricks and do the same. With two of your fingers shoved in your mouth, you quiet your sounds as your ass meets your (somehow still) sleeping boyfriend's thighs. It feels like he’s in your throat; you know that no matter how long it takes you to make him cum, you’re going to be aching tomorrow. You begin to grind against him, whimpering softened around your digits. You slowly increase your rhythm up to a bounce, doing your best to squeeze around him—Daniel has mentioned before that he can’t resist cumming when you feel like you're trying to keep him inside of you and never let him pull out.

It must work because suddenly Daniel’s hips rock up into yours, and he’s awake with a singular breathy moan of, “Yes—oh, I thought I was still dreaming.”

You laugh airily, letting your spit-slicken fingers fall from your mouth and drop to press against your clit (you’re not actually, you’ve missed it by a mile but it’s all about convincing Daniel), avoiding meeting his eyes knowing Danny will assume it’s under the pretense of you being shy (once again, yes you are incredibly mortified, but you know he’ll be able to tell that you're faking this in a split second).

“H-how long,” Daniel moans out crackly, his abdomen contracting underneath you, “Have you been at this? ‘Gonna make me cum already.”

You nod frantically, moaning out loudly as if you’re on the edge as well. Daniel gets his feet planted and thrusts up into you forcefully enough that your moans turn real. Throwing your head back so he doesn’t see your face in case it gives you away, you continue to moan out exaggeratedly as you feel him cum inside you, pitching your voice and shuddering as if you released as well.

“What the fuck was that?” Daniel commands quietly.

You slump forward, sliding off his softening length and nuzzling into his neck to pretend like you didn’t hear him and to hide. He lets you avoid answering the first time he asks. He takes his good hand and fists his hand in the braids along the nape of your neck and tightens his grasp enough to get you to gasp.

“Mhm. When you cum, baby,” he starts softly, “That’s the quietest you ever get during sex. Usually, it’s because you choke on your breath, even though I remind you to breathe through it every time. You do this cute little thing where you try to slam your thighs shut around me, it doesn’t matter if it’s my hand, my head, or my hips, you try to crush me. It’s also one of the only times during sex when you make eye contact with me on your own, well depending on what position I have you in. I won’t repeat myself.”

You mumble into his chest fitfully before sitting up, “I didn’t want you to hurt your hand, okay? That’s all. During sex, you can never stop touching me and I was afraid that somehow you’d treat your hand a little too roughly and then, boom, you’ll never drive a Formula One car again—”

“Calm down, babe,” Daniel soothes you, bringing his right hand to massage your hip, “I think you’ve overdramatized my injury in your head a little bit. Firstly, I don’t even care if my hand suddenly fell off—genuinely, never deprive me of making you feel good. That hurts me more than my hand aches. Secondly, this entire time I didn’t even move my left hand off the bed. See?”

You look down at his hand and nod once. This entire time you enforced a needless sex ban when you could’ve been riding a high every day.

“Now, if you could be kind enough to let me restore my ego,” Daniel taps you on the ass so you rise to kneel over him, “C’mere and sit on my face.”

You hesitate, the thought of pretending to deny him crosses your mind, but you already shorted yourself of one orgasm tonight. That’s how you find yourself riding Daniel’s face, embarrassingly almost losing control of your legs at the first knock of his nose against your clit. Your boyfriend has mastered the skill of eating pussy and that’s why you feel no shame in just how quickly a few targeted thrusts of his tongue and the pressure of his nose have you shattering apart above him. And as Daniel said, you do choke on your breath as you climax, your legs tighten around his head as well—and you don’t have the strength to be humiliated at how he knows your body better than yourself.

Daniel guides you off his mouth and lays you down by his side only using the uninjured arm, and the care and strength behind that movement sends you shaking again through the aftershock and come down.

Daniel coaxes you onto your back and nudges your legs open to slide in between them. He trails the fingers of his right hand across your fluttering folds, before spreading you open with two fingers, enamored at the way your relaxed entrance winks at him.

“You can give me one or two more right? I think you need a reminder of how much I thrive off of making you feel good, pretty girl. Let’s see how many more I can get out of you before the sunrise.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorrari @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @lh383 @loomiscorpse @hiireadstuff @namgification @gg-trini @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @multi-fandom-rando @sweatrevenge5436-blog @bokutos-babyowl @oliviah-25 @landoslutmeout @love-simon

#serene’s chapters.#httpss :// 2k special #f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 x black!reader #f1 x female reader #daniel ricciardo x black!reader #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x you #formula 1 x black!reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: dr.

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suskz · 2 days

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reader x hyunjin based on the last skz code where they went camping - he looked so hot working on that tent 😯💨 - , going with the boys since it was all minho idea, reader doesn't like camping but she likes him so, building tension up bc that's hot too, and maybe he could switch places with reader's bff and sneak into their's tent? 🖤

pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader (you didn’t specify so I guessed it was a fem reader since I’ve only written of them for now)

t/w: friends to lovers ; Hyunjin is a flirt ; fluff ; a little suggestive.

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: it was fun to write! And yeah, Hyunjin really looked hot (I mean, he always is). The way he rolled his sleeves up omg, I couldn’t not write this. Hope you like this, anon!

↳ Reader has with the members the same friendship they have with each other.

"I hate this." Jiwoo complains as she drops the bag she was holding to the ground.

"Come on!" You try to cheer her up, "It's nice to be out in nature sometimes!"

She shoots you a glare, "That's easy to say," she says bitterly, "You hate camping more than I— hey!" she exclaims when you nudge her arm with your elbow, silencing her.

"I love camping." You lie loudly, with the boys just a few meters away from you.

"I can't say the same." Changbin comments, slapping his arm to kill a mosquito.

And suddenly, an arm falls around your shoulders. You turn towards the person who has come up next to you and see Hyunjin, unconsciously shrinking under his close presence, "I agree with Y/nie, a bit of fresh air away from the city is nice."

A small smile forms on your lips.

"You say that because you have no intention to help with anything." Chan chimes in, opening one of the bags he carried.

"Clever of you to assume that." Hyunjin responds, smiling.

"That's why Hyunjin will help set up the tent." Minho states, biting back a smile.

"Huh? I don't know how!" Hyunjin complains, taking his arm off your shoulders and moving closer to the older guy.

You regret that the contact was so short, but you maintain your composure and watch him walk away.

"You'll learn." Minho closes the conversation in a tone that allows no reply.

—

“You need to pump it?” Hyunjin asks, looking for the pump to inflate the tent.

You watch him curiously, seeing him search non-stop for a while.

“Did you find it?” Minho asks him, watching in disbelief. There are only 5 bags, how can he not have found it yet?

He starts to approach him, but you are quicker.

“They have accessories here.” Hyunjin says in a pouty, hopeless voice, closing a bag. He turns to continue searching but almost falls to the ground from the jump he makes when you suddenly stand up in front of him, very, perhaps too, close.

You hand him the pump that you found in a few seconds, “You suck at finding things.”

He puts a hand on his heart, opening his mouth and sighing slowly with closed eyes, as if he has just seen a ghost, “You scared me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatic behaviour, “Don’t thank me.” You say sarcastically.

He smiles, his front teeth slightly showing behind his slightly parted lips, “Thank you, Y/nie.” He blows you a kiss for show. You are used to this, yet you blush, while he bends down to attach the pump nozzle to the tent opening.

“Do you need help with that too?” you tease, smirking, trying to hide the visible blush coloring your cheeks from yourself, since he can't even see you.

“Huh?!” He stands up and rolls up the sleeves of the baggy t-shirt he’s wearing, showing his muscles, “I don’t need your help, these are enough for me.” He flexes his biceps.

You like them, don’t you? You think he’s cool, right? Hyunjin hopes so.

You chuckle at his words while he gets to work to really show what he’s capable of as you return to Jiwoo, who needs help with setting up your tent.

You don’t even realise you've been distracted watching him the whole time, as his muscles contract with the effort of pushing the pump handle, and soon small drops of sweat start to trickle down them.

Your eyes are fixed on the way his hands roll up the sleeves each time they unroll and on the way he lifts his head and pulls his hair back with one hand when it bothers him too much and prevents him from seeing. It almost seems like he does it on purpose so your eyes never leave him.

But someone's hand rests on your shoulder, waking you up. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he?” Minho smirks and holds back a laugh when you turn to look at him, blushing and trying to stammer out a response, but he stops you right away, “Wipe off all the drool you’ve spilled first.” He chuckles and walks away with your eyes on him, shaking his head slowly, amused.

Just then, you hear the sound of someone falling to the ground, and when you turn, you see Hyunjin sitting from exhaustion. His breathing is heavy, and pained sounds and light groans leave his lips, the heat of the sun making everything worse, while Jisung takes his place to finish inflating.

His friend hands him a black tank top to wear instead of the sweat-soaked shirt he has on, and that's what Hyunjin does.

He takes off the white t-shirt and uses it to wipe off the sweat covering his body. And once again, it seems like he does it to show off so that you watch and can’t take your burning eyes off him, off his body. But deep down, you know it’s not like that, and this thought forces you to immediately look away when his eyes meet yours, amused. It’s a quick contact, it lasts little but says a lot.

And you have to use all the self-control you have in your body not to set your eyes on that tight black fabric that perfectly hugs his body, making his muscles appear more tense and defined.

“That’s better.” he sighs with relief, soon returning to work and starting to add the stakes.

The silence is filled with the sounds of hammers, and you don't notice when he moves away from the group.

When you stand up after finishing setting up the tent, you look around, confused by his absence. “Where's Hyunjin?” you ask Jiwoo, who is taking out lights from a bag to use as decoration.

“He went for a walk over there; there's a river a bit further from here.” She points in a direction with the index finger of her free hand.

“Oh.” you nod in understanding.

Only a few seconds of silence pass before she speaks again, “Go to him, he's alone; I'll take care of decorating the tent.” It's written all over your face, what you want to do. She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and winks at you instead.

And you don't need to be told twice.

When you arrive at the spot, you search for him with quick, darting glances. “Hyunjin?” you call out before finding him lying on a large rock with his hands on his belly and his eyes closed.

He didn't answer, so you gather that he's sleeping. You slowly approach him, trying not to make any noise, and sit down next to his sleeping body.

You look at his serene face and can almost hear his calm breath and sense the steady beats of his heart.

The place itself is very quiet. It's cozy, isolated from everyone else, and intimate.

You glance around a couple of times with furtive eyes, but you end up realising that you're alone. Then you look at him, his slightly parted inviting plump lips. You bring your face close to his almost instinctively, faces so close that you can feel his warm breath on your own lips, but then you pull away.

What are you trying to do? It's wrong and stupid. If someone saw you, it would be a mess.

And if you had done it, he would have noticed, because he's awake.

Your ears burn, your cheeks flushed with shame and guilt when his eyes open.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, looking at you with distant irises, wrapped in thoughts, then he sits up, raising his torso.

"I heard you calling me but I didn't feel like answering.” he tries to smile to tease you, but what comes out is more of a grimace. You pretend not to notice though, lying to him as well as to yourself.

"I knew it, that's why I've been sitting in silence." You smirk, trying to push away the shame and alleviate the strange tension that has arisen.

However, the situation changes so quickly. There is still tension between the two of you, but it is different with his hand holding your chin and his thumb slowly, intensely stroking your lower lip. Intense, too, is the look his burning eyes give to your rosy lips.

When your eyes meet, his movements stop, and it’s difficult for you to tell what he is thinking. The eyes are the reflection of the soul, he likes to say, but at the moment his do not reflect much.

And then, he pulls away from you. His gaze, his hand, a moment later are no longer on you.

He stands up, "You had something on your lips." He looks around, normal, apparently enjoying the scenery.

You touch your lips, embarrassed, "Oh."

He looks at you and chuckles softly, sitting back next to you with a now more serene air.

One of his arms rests on your shoulder in a friendly gesture, trying to get as close to you as possible.

"I like this place, it's quiet and relaxing," he says. "I want to paint it."

"Hey lovebirds!" You hear someone say from just a bit further away from you. You immediately recognize it's Jisung's voice, who has joined you. "Get a room."

Hyunjin chuckles, and you try to do the same, but your mind is clouded by the memory of his gesture.

The fact that he didn't stop you when you tried to get closer to his lips, the way he touched yours with his thumb.

These images still flash in your mind while everyone else sleeps. You touch your lips with two fingers almost unconsciously, smiling sadly.

But apparently, you're not the only one lost in thought, as the entrance to the tent is opened and the little lamp in between you and Jiwoo is turned on. The latter gets up and leaves, letting someone else in.

And how could you not recognize that head of dark hair making its way inside, closing the entrance zipper after murmuring a 'thank you' and receiving a nod in response.

"Hyunjin? What are you doing here? It's late." you ask him, but receive no answer.

You receive no answer because instead, his lips crash against yours in a needy gesture.

Your eyes widen at the sudden gesture, but you don't push him away, not even when his lips start moving on yours shortly after. Instead, you reciprocate.

It's desperate. Your movements aren't even in sync, but it's okay. It's perfect like this; you couldn't ask for anything better.

One of his hands rests above your ear, caressing it so delicately that you barely even notice, as if you’re made of porcelain.

You break the kiss with quick breaths and uncontrollable heartbeats, emotions finally laid bare.

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long." he admits in a whisper, looking into your eyes.

You find the strength to speak, albeit lightly, "Today by the river… I didn't just watch you." You admit, and you can't help the hint of embarrassment you feel in saying those words to him.

"I know, and I hoped so much that you'd do what you were about to do, but you stopped." His smile doesn't falter for a moment. "You didn't have anything on your lip; I just used it as an excuse to touch you. I actually wanted to kiss you, but when I looked into your eyes, I didn't have the courage." He confesses.

"And here you are now." You chuckle.

He huffs a chuckle, "It wouldn't have been like this if you hadn't tried to kiss me first."

“Now I wish I hadn’t stopped earlier today, by the river.” you say, lowering your eyes to his lips and then back to his, licking your own lips. “I’ve always thought you have nice lips and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you, you know?”

“Now you know,” he says happily. “Or do you need to explore a little more?”

You don’t even need to answer; he already knows the response. And once again, your lips are on each other’s, in a kiss that quickly becomes fast and hungry.

Your hands roam over each other’s bodies, fingers tangled in hair, hands gripping cheeks, hips, ending up on thighs.

Your breaths are fast, and the tent heats up. You’re so lost in each other that you don’t realise you’re not being very quiet anymore.

It’s Changbin’s voice that wakes you up and makes you pull away. “Could you guys keep it down a bit?” he shouts from a couple of tents away from yours.

“If you two don’t let me sleep or wake me up at any hour of the night, I’ll put you in the air fryer.” Minho’s voice intervenes right after, annoyed.

You and Hyunjin lock eyes and then laugh silently.

“At least we’ll be put together.”

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader fluff #stray kids x reader fluff #hyunjin fluff #asks ♡#anon ask ♡

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pseudowho · 1 day

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okay here’s me getting all cocky and confident because you answered my ask once (ily for that seriously i think i screamed and fainted and sobbed and climbed up the walls a little) and once again asking you for….. for crumbs………. so my horny self was sitting and thinking…………… nanami sees you reading absolute filth and porn and you end up in biig trouble.. (i.e him doing that exact thing to you 😭) or perhaps you going up to nanami after reading absolute filth and being all needy with him bcs that straight porn made you a liittle…….. yk… 🌚🌚🌚

anyways i literally love you and ur my favorite writer ever and im gonna stop now before i burst

SMUT [smuht] (noun)

In which Nanami Kento catches you reading dirty literature...and punishes you with a performative reading.

Warnings: The anon who keeps targeting me like this needs a warning label...but otherwise: roleplay, erotic literature (*laughs and laughs in Tumblr*) being read to you while you're systematically destroyed, performative Bad!Nanami, Kento fucks you wearing a mask and leather gloves, Pleasure Dom!Kento who gets lost in the sauce, reader way out of her depth, bondage, the usual spicy goodness, couple of cheeky movie references

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The one she knew only as the Man in the Mask swept over to her, delighting in her capture, having evaded him for so long.

"Ahhh..." he sighed, his breath sweeping over the swell of her breasts, and sending shivers down her spine. "Finally...the little mouse who has wreaked havoc on my dreams for too many lonely nights. How does it feel? To be trapped here with me like this?"

Her heart stalled in her chest, and she gasped, his grazing touch to her belly leaving embers in its wake. The Man in the Mask saw her nipples pebble beneath her shirt, and felt something snap inside him as he loomed over her with a whisper; "I know. I feel it too."

With little warning, he lowered his barely covered mouth to her neck, hungry against her, and--

The door opened, and you leapt out of your skin, dropping your phone to the floor. You sat bolt upright in bed, your other hand coming up guiltily from beneath the covers as Kento leaned into the bedroom to greet you. You interrupted him.

"You're home early," you said, offering an unconvincing smile. Kento looked at you, flatly. He let the statement hang for a moment. His shrewd eyes flicked, taking in the glossy subtleties he saw from you only in foreplay.

"...well I thought you'd be pleased, but I'll just go back then shall I--"

You hesitated, words caught in your throat. Your eyes flickered to your phone. So did Kento's. His eyes narrowed.

"...what are you read--"

"Nothing! It's nothing." You lied, unconvincing. You both hesitated for a moment more, before Kento darted. You cursed at him for being faster than you, and Kento's fingers closed around your phone, sitting beside you on the bed in one swift movement. You smothered a pillow over your face, screaming silently, wanting the duvet to grow great maws and swallow you whole.

Kento read silently for a moment, scrolling, before reading aloud; "...she didn't want to fight anymore, as his fingers slid between her puffy lips...goodness me...his cock strained against the fabric of his clothes, begging for attention...I bet it did..."

You had begun to crawl away down the bed, just a maggot, unworthy of the sun and all its glories.

You felt a hand clasp around your ankle, and you squeaked as Kento dragged you back up the bed, without even taking his eyes off your phone.

"I don't think so, where are you going--"

"--oh god Kento just give me something for the cringe and let me die--"

"--no no no I'm blessed to be a part of my wife's interests--"

"--I am less than human, we need a divorce, I can't look you in the eye ever again--"

Kento scoffed, dark and derisive. "As if I'd let you divorce me. As if you'd even want to...now, where did I put that..."

Kento stood, still holding your phone as he rummaged in his dresser. You laid flat to the bed, trying to wiggle away again, still embarrassingly wet, your mortification laced with undeniable arousal.

"Stay exactly where you are, or I'll damn well make you."

You stopped. You looked up at Kento, unusually meek, as he approached you. He stood by the bed, looming and powerful, a god made flesh. He unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, not bothering to remove his harness. He undid his belt with a clink-clink. He let his tie hang loose...and pulled a black balaclava down to beneath his collar. He finished off with a pair of soft, black leather gloves.

Something imploded inside you; a dial-up noise in your mind. Kento prowled over to you, looming over you and chasing you up the bed, caging you beneath him, and reading through the smut on your phone screen.

"Be honest," Kento read aloud, his honey-brown eyes swirling with something altogether darker and more dangerous, "if you'd wanted to escape me...you could have."

You panted, breathless, your pupils blown into inky black as you lay splayed beneath Kento. You couldn't help but be captivated, lost in his insidious pull. You felt your heartbeat between your legs.

"Did you stay because you dream of me, too?" Kento intoned. You bit the poisoned apple, trembling as you nodded up at him. "Did you stay...because you wondered if hatred was as erotic a passion as love?"

"--Kento, I-- let me go, I--"

"That's the spirit." Laughed Kento, his voice booming through you, the vibrations crackling across every nerve, and you whimpered. Kento grasped your hands together with his own, gloved and powerful, pinning them above your head with the whole weight of his body. He pulled his tie loose with the hand holding your phone.

"I can't let you leave...not now. Fuck...you have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Kento growled. Being the villain seemed so effortless to him. Your safe word had never been further from your mind, your attempts to leave so paltry and insincere. The way Kento looked down at you, waiting to see if you would make him stop, sent shivers down your spine. Kento released his tie, eyes skimming across your phone for confirmation.

"I'd apologise, for trapping you here like this..." Kento intoned, tying your bound wrists to the head of the bed as you squirmed, crying out in anguish, "...but I'll show you...how you've craved my touch, just as I have craved yours." You strained against the bonds, in just the silky chemise you wore for bed, and it didn't take much for your breasts to fall free of the fine little straps.

In truth, Kento had never been harder in his life. Seeing you battle against primal desire beneath him, feeling your half-hearted embarrassed squirms brushing your bare mound against his aching, thick cock...and your nipples, hard as diamonds and covered by a thin veneer of lace. His breaths were heavy, chest heaving as he continued his performative reading.

"Just one taste, and we can return to how it was before." Kento groaned, his mouth suckling at your neck, licking, tasting, biting. You cringed against the assault on your senses, afraid to lose yourself to such diabolical pleasure. Kento pinned your bucking hips down with his own, the tip of his cock trapped beneath his waistband against his belly. "Just once...and we can rest easy at night, knowing how it feels for me to spend myself inside you."

You keened, mewling as Kento rested the phone on the pillow beside your head, and took your nipple into his mouth, ragging it around beneath his tongue with a fractured growl. Your head spun with the weight of him, totally captured, so wildly out of control. The suckling pleasure he gave to your nipples, connected in a fine thread to your clit, making it pulse with vicarious bliss.

"I can't...can't take it anymore...Ken--" You moaned, squeaking as his teeth closed in barely hinged warning around your breast.

"Unless it's to tell me to fuck you, I won't have you mewl like a kitten at me any longer." Kento rumbled against your breast, wet with his spit and the marks he left behind as he took what he was owed. "I hope you can take it. I'm...no small man. If you are ruined, after, I know you will bear the scars with grace, just as you have bore your hatred of me."

You were already so steeped in the hot rush of being pleasured, you did not notice how Kento's eyes glowered, lathering down your body and darting occasionally back to your phone. He continued his pilgrimage down your body. Kento growled in frustration at the chemise blocking him, and he rucked it up, spitting curses as you squeaked, wriggling against him.

"At least fight like you mean it." Kento laughed, and you blushed, eyes squeezed shut, mortified by how obviously faked your resistance was. Kento kissed his way down your belly, settling at your mound. He hovered, silent, giving your desperate clit nought but the breath from his lips.

"Do you want my fingers...or my mouth?" You whimpered again, babbling nonsense, such a rough and ruined heroine. Kento laughed again, dark and delicious, raising his mask just enough to free his mouth. "No words? No matter. You shall have both."

With little warning, Kento sunk his tongue between your folds, ragging his mouth and nose from side to side again to bury himself in the heat of you. You cried out as he growled into your heat, hitting a high note as he sunk two thick, gloves fingers into your fluttering pussy, slamming inside all the way to his knuckles.

Kento swore against your pussy, grunting and moaning as he lapped at your clit and entrance with animalistic rage. Quite canonically to his role, his cock wept against his belly, pre-cum leaking down onto his waistband until the fabric was cloying and sticky, the friction against his tip sending him spiralling. He couldn't help but fuck against the bed as you melted beneath him, writhing against his tongue.

Panting, letting his gloved fingers fuck into you and imagining it was his cock instead, Kento chuckled against your clit, at just how easily he had snapped. He pulled his fingers out of you for a moment, wickedly obsessed by the stark contrast of your creamy white arousal on the black leather.

He could smell you on the balaclava, the fabric over his nose soaking with your essence. Kento felt lightheaded with the blooming, heady scent of you. His cock twitched, aching and neglected, and so close to spilling thick spurts of seed all over its owner.

You risked looking down for just a moment. The eyes of a villain pierced through you, as Kento licked his gloves clean, not breaking eye contact once. You whimpered. He laughed, and curled his fingers back into you, continuing his relentless attack on your poor, aching cunt. Your moans reached a fever pitch, and Kento felt the creep of his own orgasm through his belly as he rutted against the bed with total abandon.

"Sing for me." He groaned, lifting your hips off the bed as he knelt, sucking your clit into his mouth in a devastating final move. You tipped violently over the edge, bucking against his tongue and crying his name, a stream of nonsensical babbles. Kento was quite sure you came harder than the girl in the story.

By the time you came back to earth, being licked in slow, languid movements through your peak, you saw Kento kneeling between your legs, stroking his cock in long, jerking pumps.

"You've reduced me to this." Kento forced, his teeth gritted and his mask back in place over his mouth. "To this...this boy, fucking his own fist just from the taste of you." Kento cursed, his gloved fist wet with pre-cum, cracking his neck from side to side and growling through his lurid tale. You lay, fucked out, bound, a fascinated by how Kento's whiskey-rich voice could fill you with fumes, warm and drunk one minute, but cold and piercing the next. You swung, manoeuvred across his harsh dichotomy.

Kento loomed over you, trapping you beneath him again, blocking the light from your eyes, a bad moon rising. "You did this to me." He hissed, accusatory in his possession of you. "You started this sordid fight. But I'll finish it. No more fisting my cock at night just to the thought of you. No more dreaming about bending you to my will."

You felt Kento's tip press through your entrance, thick and insistent enough that you squirmed up the bed, crying out as he yanked you back, his hands closing around your waist. Kento plaited his fingers in your tied hands, the ghost of affection, and readying himself to slam into your quivering heat. He was falling apart, he could barely contain himself, overcome by the raw power of making you pliable, shaping you to his desires--

Kento whispered in your ear, his voice shaking, gravelly; "And when you submit...know that it was entirely your fault."

You felt your delicate petals forced aside, crying out to be filled to the brim by Kento in one slick thrust. Kento could barely suppress a roar beneath his mask, throwing his head back in ecstasy. His enormous hands cuffed your waist, making it squidge down against your hips every time he dragged your hips, moving your pussy around him like a cock sleeve.

Kento's strength made manhandling you look easy. You lay ruined beneath him, your head lolling against the inside of your own bound arm. The image of him unbuttoned, masked, gloved and still almost fully dressed above you, grunting and groaning as he used your pussy for his own pleasure, burned onto your retinas.

Kento barely moved his own hips, his eyes fixed feverishly on where he dragged your swollen pussy around the length of his cock, twitching and burning inside you. He couldn't contain himself. The hook behind his navel, all scorched steel and selfishness, beseeched him to drag his pleasure from you.

"Fucking-- ruin you-- never be satisfied...by another man again-- keep running from me, and I'll hunt you down...and take you like this every-- fucking-- time--"

As Kento's pleasure roared over him, he punctuated his thrusts against your belly with the written word in action. Making nothing more than jolted, pitiful moans as he fucked repeatedly against your sensitive cervix and soft-spot, you clambered for purchase, sobbing your pleasure as his gloved fingers rolled your clit between them.

Kento came with a string of curses, his thighs cramping beneath him with the force of it. Feeling his seed begin to pump and spurt into you, he dragged you aggressively to another orgasm with his leathered fingers. He had to feel you clench around him, sucking his seed deep inside you. He had just enough forethought to recall his final, toxic line as he gasped, groaning and bucking with the force of his ejaculation.

You could barely hear him through the fog of pleasure, faint in the distance; "If you have the nerve...to crawl back to me...full and swollen-- know we can be enemies in matrimony, as well as battle."

The room was hushed and dark, the gloom broken only by your mingled, heavy breaths, and the earthy smell of sex. You reached up pulling Kento's balaclava up and pressing a breathless little kiss at the corner of his mouth.

"...but...we still have to get a divorce. I just-- couldn't live with you knowing what I read--"

Kento laughed, his shoulders aching from the weight of the villain, slipping away with his gloves and mask.

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obaex · 3 days

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four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 2)

summary: with the stakes of your relationship on the line, can rafe pull off the impossible to win you back?

word count: 6k 🫣

a/n: i love you all for the love on this lil' series!! ♡ toxic hockey rafe has me in a chokehold, so i promise this will not be the last you see of him!! apologies in advance, you will basically be attending a full hockey game here, i tried my best to explain all the lingo!

(part one)

The arena was packed even though you were there early, arriving alone because the other girlfriends and wives were always late, which simply wasn't in your DNA.

Your dad was a coach growing up, so you spent countless hours in empty rinks, arenas and stands; his rule for games was that you were in your seat early enough to see the starting lineup and the national anthem, no exceptions. Truth be told you liked being there when the lights went down, when the music amped up, you loved the anticipation of a new game.

You didn't mind sitting in the cold seat, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that you got from the same concession stand every time. Hockey players were notoriously superstitious and by extension now you were too; just like they had their pregame rituals, so did you: same parking spot in the VIP lot, same hot chocolate from the same concession stand, same seat in section 106. You were in the lower bowl of the arena, a few rows back from the ice, facing the bench, nearly eye-level with the team.

You let your mind wander and tried not to think about Rafe but it was impossible, this place was Rafe to you; from the feeling of the cold air on your cheeks and fingers, to the damp and crisp smell of the ice and the sounds of the fans and ambient pregame music, all of it was a part of your love story, all of it was him. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt like you thought it would, rather it felt like coming home after a semester at college, foreign but familiar.

You swiped at your phone, a nervous tick, even though you knew there wouldn't be anything there, which was a good thing, Rafe needed to be focused on the game, so you slid your phone into the cupholder next to you and resorted to tapping your heeled foot nervously.

The seats around you filled quickly and sure enough the other girlfriends and wives arrived just as the lights were dimming, offering cheek kisses and sympathetic hugs, well aware of your situation. Your best friend Morgan slid in next to you, pulling you into her side.

"It's selfish, but I'm glad you're here" she said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the announcer as her brown eyes traced your face sympathetically.

"I'm fine" you lied with a forced smile. Totally fine you thought. Not the love of my life who broke my heart then skated over it trying to win me back in the middle of the semifinals.

You decided to keep all of that to yourself, because truthfully it was ridiculous. It was juvenile. And it was never going to happen. And you didn't want it to happen anyway, you reassured yourself. Right?

You shook your head as you turned your attention to the starting lineup as Rafe's name boomed over the loudspeaker, the cheering noticeably louder from the crowd. He was a fan favorite, beloved for his fast and aggressive style of play. He wasn't afraid to two-hand someone when the referee wasn't looking, to stand up for his team, to battle for the puck. He was chippy, gritty, and he's on the first line tonight you thought to yourself, a spot reserved for the very best players, putting them in the best scoring position. But surely that's not in any way related to our deal... you mused.

You stood on your tiptoes to see him over the crowd in front of you. He was standing at center ice under the spotlight, his helmet tucked under his arm as he shuffled side to side on his skates, face unsmiling, focused as he looked between his feet and the empty ice in front of him. Your heart leapt uncontrollably at the sight of him; God he's beautiful you thought as your body hummed in recognition and longing, completely betraying you.

The tension and animosity in the arena were thick. You had faced the opposing team a few times in the regular season and it did not end well.

As in, you'd lost every time.

As in, Rafe left the last game with a five-minute major penalty and a black eye after an all-out brawl.

Now the fans were itching for a rematch and you were simply hoping for everyone to leave in one piece. That was the difference between being a fan and being someone who cared deeply for the boys on the ice, it wasn't a spectacle to you anymore. You watched as Rafe's wingers Nick and Andrew stood beside him, followed by two defensemen and your goalie as the national anthem wrapped up.

Everyone took their seats as the lights came back on and the music came on again too, urging the fans around you to cheer, and for you to resume the incessant tapping of your foot as you leaned forward in your seat, laser focused on the guys lining up for the faceoff.

"Girl, you good?" Morgan asked, taking in your nervous energy.

"Hmm?" you responded distractedly, barely glancing at her. "Yeah, yeah m'fine" you said.

You were always more into the game than the other girls, but that didn't account for the clear tension and anxiety rolling off of you in waves, nor the way you were immaculately dressed, which didn't go unnoticed either.

Rafe skated to center ice, equally sized with the opponent at faceoff as the referee dropped the puck. It had barely clattered to the ice before Rafe had gained possession, shouldering his opponent out of the way and barreling towards the offensive zone with a burst of energy like a gunshot that had the crowd almost immediately back on their feet, pulling you along with them.

"OK, I'm sorry, what is happening here?" Morgan said as she watched him.

He was a man possessed, head down, focused, ignoring his teammates as they called for the puck to set up a play, like he was trying to do it all himself. Like he was trying to score. He flipped the puck towards the goalie, who blocked it and possession shifted as he skated backwards on defense, your heart settling in your chest.

Rafe always played with intensity, but with the way he was playing now, he wouldn't make it through the first period. You thought there would be a reprieve on defense, but he was diving for the puck, playing to steal rather than defending his zone. He looked like a maniac.

Until it worked.

The crowd was back on their feet as he and Nick had a breakaway two-on-one, both of them racing towards the net together with only one defender standing between them and the goalie, the rest of their teammates striding to catch up with them. Nick called for the puck, slapping his stick on the ice, but Rafe deked the defender, faking him out before approaching the goalie and tipping the puck into the small pocket over his shoulder, swishing it effortlessly into the net.

The arena erupted as the goal horn blared and you found yourself jumping up and down, overcome with excitement and emotion. You could physically feel your heart beating. This is totally normal you thought. It's totally fine to score a goal in the first two minutes of the game, on his first shift, against the toughest team in the league.

You watched players pile on him in celebration before they all skated back to the bench, bumping fists with their team before taking a seat on the bench. Your eyes were glued to him, and his were on the jumbotron above center ice, watching his own replay before the coach approached him, grasping his shoulder angrily, and you could imagine why. He had been reckless, he had been lucky. Rafe nodded, but ultimately shook him off and refocused on the resumed play. Players zoomed in front of you and your eyes zipped to follow them before you glanced ever so briefly back at Rafe, who was unmistakably looking at you and smiling.

You swallowed to hide the emotions on your face, not giving him a single inch as you focused on the play.

You loved watching hockey, but it felt different when Rafe was on the ice, like he was a magnet, the only thing you could focus on, and his next shift was no different. He was playing like a madman and within seconds you could hear the coach shouting. Rafe turned up emptyhanded this time and the coach was visibly angry as Rafe skated to the bench, going so far as to yell back at him, which had you holding your breath; you had never seen him do that before.

Nick reached for Rafe's shoulder to calm him down and then they started bickering back and forth. Your attention was now split between the two of them and the action on the ice when you saw Nick physically rear back at something Rafe had said, the motion grabbing your full focus. Nick covered his face with his gloved hands, looking back at Rafe and then repeating the motion before he glanced up at the stands, at you, and shook his head, resigned. Were they talking about you!?! you thought. Had Rafe just told him what's going on?

You were so caught up that you missed the play as the other team scored. The game was tied 1-1. The arena echoed with boos as their bench erupted in cheers. You looked up at the clock: 2 minutes left in the first period.

Rafe and Nick got onto the ice for their last shift and the second the puck dropped, they were off as a duo, Nick's intensity now matching Rafe's own; they were bodying guys, tag-teaming as they raced into the offensive zone. Nick had the puck and passed to Rafe, and almost immediately Rafe was cornered by two extremely large defensemen who pinned him to the boards as they tried to steal the puck. But he wouldn't relent, throwing his elbows and trying to wiggle free, desperate and angry as the buzzer sounded for the end of the period.

And yet they didn't let him go. The crowd started shouting and everyone was on their feet as Rafe dropped his stick, turned and grabbed them both by the front of their jerseys, shoving them as the benches emptied and other players joined in, piling on top of one another until you lost sight of Rafe in a mess of limbs, equipment and jerseys. You were craning to see over the ecstatic fans, egging on the fight as the referees raced to break it up, pulling bodies off of one another until they reached Rafe.

His helmet had come off and as the referees skated him towards the locker room, he was shouting at the opposing team who skated after him, riling each other up before he yanked himself out of the ref's grasp and marched off the ice through the tunnel.

Period 1: Game Tied. 1-1.

You let out a deep sigh before collapsing back in your seat. You took a shaky inhale before exhaling and you felt a set of eyes on you.

You turned to see Morgan looking at you with an eyebrow arched.

"You're really going to sit here and act like you don't know what's going on? I know that boy texts you his every thought."

You opened your mouth, an excuse, a lie ready before she interrupted you.

"-- And I KNOW you didn't block him like you said you were going to, so don't try me. What the hell is going on?"

You bit your lip at that, glancing between her and the ice where the zamboni was running clean lines across the cold surface.

You gave a halfhearted shrug, "You know how much he wants to win, how much this means to him."

She doubled down her glare.

You sighed, avoiding her gaze before looking back to her.

"I made a deal with him" you nearly whispered.

A few of the other girls snuck by you both, causing you to shift in your seats as she leaned in and whisper-shouted at you:

"I'm sorry what!"

"If he scores four goals tonight, I said I'd get back together with him."

"You're joking" she said flatly. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pursed your lips with a small shake of your head.

"The two of you" she said as she let out an exasperated laugh. "Unbelievable. You can't stay away from each other and yet you’re willing to bet the stakes of your relationship on a game. I can't" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat.

She paused, getting serious for a moment.

"Are you sure you even want to get back with him, is that really such a good idea hun?"

"Morgan, he's never going to score four goals, it's like, impossible."

"Are you watching the same game I am?" she said emphatically. "Cause your mans sure is gonna try and you better ask yourself what you're going to do if he does."

There was a whisper of truth to what she was saying. It was probably impossible, but not completely out of reach. And what would you do? Your heart trilled. You would be ecstatic the devil on your shoulder said. You would be screwed said the angel.

Your phone buzzed in the cupholder next to you and swiped it open.

You grasped at your phone. Rafe never had his phone between periods, none of the players did, it was basically sacrilegious. They had just enough time to get treatment, catch their breath, hydrate and listen to their coach and he was on his phone!? You put yours down and tried to rearrange the smile creeping onto your face as you saw the teams rejoining the ice for the second period.

Just like before, Rafe was off like a rocket, but the other team was on to him this time, doubling his defensive coverage, making it nearly impossible for him to skate, let alone make a play. He had put a target on his back with the fight at the end of the first period, so even when he didn't have the puck, you could see the other players go after him, a stick in his skates, a slash at his side, heads turning to chirp at him as they lined up for faceoffs. But he didn't slow down for a moment, battling twice as hard now, coming back to the bench after each shift uncharacteristically exhausted, heaving with his elbows on his knees.

You watched him and felt overcome with emotions as the realization hit you: Rafe wasn't good at expressing himself, he wasn't a 'feelings' person, he didn't always know what to say, which is why sometimes words came better to him over texts when he had more time to think about it. But hockey? Hockey was his language. He couldn't tell you how sorry he was, how much he wanted to fight for this, but he could show you. He could play for you, he was playing for you, putting his body on the line, trying his all-out hardest, not a single person in the arena could deny that as they watched him tonight. He wanted this. Badly. Which meant he wanted you, badly. You felt a flush of warmth in your cheeks that had nothing to do with your lukewarm hot chocolate as you watched him slide up the bench for his next shift.

You looked up at the jumbotron. There were only 12 minutes left in the second period, and the game was still tied at 1-1.

What were you going to do if he scored four goals?

What were you going to do if he didn't? felt like the more pressing question. He was running out of time. If something didn't happen now, he would have one period left to score 3 goals, and that was simply not going to happen. I shouldn't have made the number so high you thought guiltily.

Your eyes glanced back to the ice as he clambered over the boards in the midst of a shift change. He was skating methodically, not slower, but maybe more strategically and you were sure his energy was waning even if it didn't look like it.

Suddenly, Nick picked the puck off an opponent and Rafe raced to skate with him, crossing into the offensive zone with several of their teammates. Nick had a wide open shot, and he brought his stick back for a slapshot before turning at the very last moment and passing to Rafe who had positioned himself near the goalie. The puck banked off his stick and ricocheted into the goal.

You were on your feet again, jumping up and down in Morgan's arms as the boys piled onto each other. The crowd was alive again as the team took a 2-1 lead, 5 minutes left now in the second period.

Morgan looked at you, shaking her head before shouting something you couldn't hear over the crowd. You shook your head back before she leaned in closer.

"Is Nick in on this shit?" she yelled.

You looked at her, confused.

"Why else wouldn't he take that shot? It was wide open."

The idea of Rafe recruiting his best friend and linemate into this made you lightheaded and giddy. As you looked back at the bench, the two of them were shoulder to shoulder, looking right at you and Nick waved, a goofy little smile on his face for the briefest of seconds before his attention returned to the game.

Period 2: Eagles winning. 2-1.

The period ended and you spent the last intermission glued to your seat as everyone around you got up to get food and drinks, your mind spinning.

One period. Twenty minutes left for Rafe to score 2 goals. It was still nearly impossible, but didn't feel as insurmountable as before and you still weren't sure what you wanted the outcome to be. You were staring into middle space, questioning your entire relationship when your phone buzzed again in your cupholder. You swiped it open.

Two hearts.

Two goals.

You smiled widely, rolling your eyes before giggling like a little girl. You wanted to respond, and your fingers lingered over your screen, but he still had no business being on his phone, and what could you possibly say anyway?? "Nevermind!! Let's get back together despite all the shit you put me through!"

Ugh.

The third period was simultaneously the slowest and quickest 20 minutes of your life.

Rafe was battling, and the other team battled back, getting chippier and chippier as the teams exchanged penalties and breakaways, but the score stayed the same. You could feel the crowd's excitement at the prospect of scraping through this game with a one-goal lead; a good enough result to make them happy, but you couldn't deny the disappointment you felt as you were playing an entirely different game.

As time whittled down you felt yourself getting emotional as the odds were stacked against Rafe, stacked against both of you. Ten minutes. Eight. Five. Three. You could feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes as your foot continued to tap, eyes glancing anxiously between Rafe, the bench, the players and the jumbotron that counted down the time unceasingly.

Morgan reached for you, winding her arm around yours and grabbing your hand, a sad smile on her lips. You both knew this wasn't going to happen. There was just no way. You could sense that Rafe could feel it too, he was getting more and more desperate, scrambling after the puck, making sloppy mistakes that made you feel guilty, the most so when the other team scored… tying the game.

And then what felt like the final twist of the knife: with less than 1 minute left, they scored again, capitalizing on the dashed morale of the Eagles to take the lead 3-2. It was like someone sucked the air out of the arena. Rafe was on the ice, on his knees and all of the players looked so defeated.

Fuck fuck fuck was all you could think as they regrouped with their coach to come up with their last play, their last chance to tie the game. You leaned forward, desperately trying to read lips as if you could somehow decipher the plan. The ref blew the whistle and the coach sent guys on the ice, leaving Rafe behind, and your stomach dropped: he wasn't even going to get a chance.

Rafe argued and you could see him yelling and gesturing wildly as the coach yelled back. The ref blew the whistle again and you knew they were dangerously close to getting a delay of game penalty. A ripple of confusion went through the crowd as they watched the argument unfold and you wished you could sink into your seat and disappear.

The coach shouted something that seemed final before Rafe took one look at him, ignored him and skated onto the ice, swapping with Nick who slid onto the bench, head bowed, ashamed, as the coach berated him.

At this point, Rafe had been on the ice way longer than he should have, he was making mistakes, and now he was putting his career, his contract on the line as he stepped up to take the faceoff.

The puck dropped and the battle ensued as the teams fought back and forth. Their team took a shot on goal that had you holding your breath as the time ticked down.

There were less than 20 seconds left as the puck rebounded towards Rafe and he guided it with his stick, taking off down the ice faster than you'd ever seen him skate; in just three strides he had nearly covered the length of the rink, leaving all of the other players trailing behind him as he squared off with the goalie.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" the crowd shouted.

You were on your feet, grasping Morgan's arm for dear life, certain you were leaving a mark as you continued to hold your breath.

Rafe shot the puck and it hit the goalie's leg pad, but bounded right back to him.

"Three! Two!"

He shot again and the goalie fell forward, but the crowd behind the goalie erupted and the official lit the lamp behind the goal - he had scored.

The puck had slid between the goalie's legs and Rafe exploded with energy, ripping down the ice and jumping into the glass in front of you as his team piled on top of him and the crowd went ballistic as fans threw their hats onto the ice to celebrate his hat trick - three goals scored.

You were jumping and screaming with the other girls, a few tears escaping your eyes in relief and excitement, overwhelmed at the entire situation.

Three goals.

He'd scored three damn goals, a new career record for him. And now they were in overtime.

Period 3: Game tied 3-3. End of regulation play.

"Wait! Wait! What the hell happens now!?" Morgan asked breathless, looking to you as the only girl that knew a thing about the rules.

"Overtime" you huffed, trying to calm yourself. "Another 20 minutes, first team to score wins."

"Was that part of the deal?" she asked.

"It wasn't not part of the deal?" you said. "We didn't really get into specifics" you laughed, rolling your eyes.

You glanced at the bench as both teams hydrated and listened to the coaches. Rafe's teammates were still all over him, smacking his helmet, arms slung around him. The coach said something to him and he put his hands up in surrender as he sat on the bench and his teammates took the ice.

Your eyes were glued to Rafe but unlike before his didn't meet yours and for a second, you didn't know how to take that. You craved that acknowledgement from him, but you also recognized the look on his face; he was totally 100% focused, eyes fixed on the action on the ice. He wants to win you thought. Or maybe his focus was for something else.

Within a few minutes, his line was up and they jumped on the ice. He was playing smart now, conservative, concentrated and gathered, a stark difference from before. He was strong on defense, backing his team up as they played perfectly off of each other, which paid off when Nick stole the puck and shouted as he passed the puck up the boards to Rafe who sprinted after it, just a stride in front of a defender.

"Oh my god" you heard Morgan mutter as everyone stood to their feet and even though the roar of the crowd was deafening, you swore you could hear every scrape of Rafe's skate against the ice, the clatter of the puck as the play moved in slow motion to the beat of your heart.

Another stride and Rafe was alone in the offensive zone, the defender just a hair behind him.

Was this really happening? Was he about to end the game, to score a fourth goal?

Another stride and he was eyeing the goalie, lining up his shot.

He maneuvered his stick and just as he was about to shoot, the defender dove, thrusting his stick in Rafe's path, causing them both to tumble onto the ice and into the goalie, the puck sliding away, abandoned as the refs blew their whistles. No goal.

Rafe was down for only a second before he stood up, grabbed his stick and swung it with full force, snapping it in half over the boards in front of him in rage and frustration, causing the fans behind the glass to jump and spill their beer on each other.

Two of the refs were frantically skating towards him, waving their arms and blowing their whistles, but your eyes drifted to the head referee who was standing next to the officials box, watching a small computer screen, a replay. Almost immediately he nodded, handed back the screen and raised his fisted hands over his head and crossed them and you let out an uncontrollable shout of excitement as you grabbed for Morgan.

"What! Oh my god! What is going on!!?" she shouted back, and all you could do was laugh and shout as you jumped up and down and pointed to the referee.

"You are the ONLY ONE HERE who knows what that means!" she shouted. "What does it mean!!!?"

"A PENALTY SHOT!" you shouted back.

Your eyes shot back to Rafe who had clocked the same thing and was skating back to the bench. The equipment manager handed him a new stick and now the arena was abuzz with the same information as the announcer explained that Rafe would have the chance to score one on one against the goalie, with all of the other players off the ice. A golden opportunity.

The fans were ballistic. You could barely hear yourself think, could barely process your emotions as you struggled onto your tiptoes again to see over the raised hands and jumping fans as Rafe skated methodically to center ice, alone.

He skated back and forth, side to side with crisp turns like a predatory shark before he stopped at center ice, hands on his stick on his knees, eyeing the goalie before his head turned slowly and he looked right at you. Even amidst the chaos, you could see his signature smirk before he refocused and gathered the puck in his stick.

He was going to score.

You just knew it. You knew by the look on his face, by the stride of his skates, by the confidence in his gait.

"He's going to score" you said out loud, quietly, to yourself, a revelation before you turned to Morgan who was solely focused on the scene unfolding on the ice. You tugged on her sleeve, desperate for her to understand the weight of what you had just said.

"He's going to score, Morgan" you said, louder, matter-of-factly.

"Well SHIT I hope so!!!!" she shouted back without looking at you, now completely wrapped up in the game.

She didn't understand.

He was going to score.

And that meant he was going to be yours again.

Your eyes found the ice and you watched as he approached the goalie, goading him out of the goal, faking him out before wrapping the puck around his leg and tipping it upward.

The goalie dove backwards at the last minute and 15,000 fans held their breath as his gloved hand extended, brushing the edge of the puck, causing it to wobble, but without enough force to change the course of fate as the puck swooshed into the net.

The goal lamp lit up.

The goal horn sounded.

And if you thought the arena was loud before, it reached a new level as fans screamed, shouted, jumped up and down and embraced each other.

You felt realization ripple over you, your gaze stuck on the ice. Stuck on the image of the goalie flat on his back, defeated. Stuck to Rafe who had ripped his helmet off, discarded as he let out a roar of victory before getting bombarded by his teammates who piled on him in celebration.

End of OT. Eagles win 4-3.

Morgan yanked you into her by your shoulders, hugging you and jumping up and down, but an unexplainable calm had settled over you, gluing your feet to the ground.

You should be excited, you were, but instead you felt like you were having an out-of-body experience. What the hell had just happened? Rafe had scored four goals, had led his team to the finals. Had he done it for himself? Of course. But wasn't a part of it for you too?

You turned and looked back at the ice, desperate to catch his eye, to talk to him, to figure this out as chaos rained around you. The players skated to center ice with their sticks raised to salute the fans before skating away, Rafe leading them quickly into the tunnel without so much as a look at you. Not even a cheeky smile or a blown kiss, which you used to get after every game. What the fuck.

Morgan shook your shoulder.

"Babes, now what?!" she asked, excited, curious, anxious.

You looked at her, lost. You had no idea. Did you text him? Were you just back together again? How did this work?

The lights dimmed as the announcer drew the crowd back in to introduce the three stars of the game - recognizing the three standout players of the night. The third star was your goalie, who stopped an unimaginable number of shots and you cheered for him as he skated solo onto the ice in a spotlight, taking a spin around the ice before tossing a t-shirt into the crowd to an excited fan.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, your mind incapable of thinking of anything but Rafe. You grabbed your phone. No new texts. The players were all in the locker room by now. Sure, they were partying and celebrating, but if he had time to text you in the middle of the game, couldn't he text you now??

Nick was the second star of the game and you glanced up from your phone to see him doing the familiar skate around the ice, waving to Morgan who blew him a kiss back, but you glanced back at your phone, willing a text to appear, opening and closing your texts, refreshing the app, messing with your wifi. Surely it was the internet connection you thought, now desperate to hear from him.

"Come on Cameron" you murmured to yourself.

"Okay, what is he doing?" you heard Morgan laugh and you looked down to the ice to see Nick still circling around, backwards, forwards, pumping up the crowd who roared around him as he gathered a t-shirt to throw. You were thrilled for him, really, but you resumed your focus on your phone. Should I turn it off and turn it back on again? you thought.

The lights dimmed further and the deep voice of the announcer reverberated, "Ladies and gentlemen, your first star of the game, with an unprecedented four goals, including your game winner--"

"Uhhh YN" you heard Morgan say.

But you were too distracted, too afraid to look away from your phone in case you missed a text coming through.

"--Rafe Cameron!!!" the announcer said, the spotlight shining on the tunnel, and your eyes shot up at the sound of his name, only to find the ice empty.

You felt Morgan tug harshly on your sleeve and when you finally looked back to her your stomach barrel-rolled and your heart shot into your throat.

Standing unmistakably next to her in the aisle was Rafe, still fully suited in his gear and pads, towering over everyone like a giant, his skates traded for his training shoes. Pieces of his hair were clinging to his forehead and his face was rosy with exertion, sweat dripping down his temple in rivulets.

He was smiling confidently at you, and unlike the last time you had seen him in your car, his eyes were unwavering and transfixed on yours, even when the fans around you turned around and noticed he was there, even when phones were whipped out and shouts and cheers went up, he ignored them; he only had eyes for you.

"How--" you started to say, your phone completely forgotten as he started to nudge his way past the people at the end of your row to walk fully into the seats next to you.

"Ohmygod, ohymgod" Morgan was saying as she clambered out of the way of his bulky frame and suddenly he was towering in front of you.

He was breathing heavily; with how quickly he made it up here it was no wonder he had been sprinting off the ice and into the tunnel. His face searched yours, eyes twinkling, flitting over your lips, searching for a sign, a signal, a hint of how you were feeling. And you weren't sure you could have expressed it even if you could form words.

He leaned down next to your ear and you could feel the sweat and the heat radiating off of him.

"That was four" he said, breathless and husky before pulling back, but not as far as before, his nose brushing yours.

The spotlight was sweeping the empty ice, looking for him as the announcer tried awkwardly to fill the air time, wondering where he was.

All you could do was meet his gaze, staring into his crystal blue eyes.

And all you could see was your Rafe.

Sure, he had his issues, but you knew he was sincere, you knew he was trying and you acknowledged that despite everything he was probably the love of your life.

"We didn't agree on overtime goals" you said loudly back at him to be heard over the crowd.

For a moment you could see fear, panic and a hint of hurt cross his face; if you didn't know him as well as you did you wouldn't have seen it, it was nearly indetectable. But he took one look at your sly smile, your blushing cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears.

"C'mere" he said roughly, ignoring you as his warm and sweaty hands that smelled unmistakably like his gloves grabbed your face and pulled you towards him as his lips enveloped yours, engulfing you, bold, brazen and completely unabashed as he full on made out with you, chaotically, his tongue slipping into your mouth, even when you tried to wiggle away, more out of a sense of decorum than anything as a feeling seeped through every inch of you like he was mending every wound in your body.

He was sweating all over you at this point, but you didn't care. You could feel it dripping on you. You could taste it in his kiss, mixed with the tang of yellow gatorade and your fingers grasped for purchase on his jersey as you tried to balance yourself against the force of him pressing into you.

The crowd around you erupted, as the flash of pictures being taken lit the two of you. He was unrelenting and you could feel yourself flushing as much from his attention as from the heat radiating off of him. It definitely went on longer than it should have, longer than any right-minded couple would have made out in front of thousands of fans before he paused just long enough, his lips still hovering on yours and said through a growl, "You're mine, baby."

taglist: @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @ihe4rttwd, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer, @jjsbank444, @rafescurtainbangz, @romiiq, @dkjndfnmdfmdmnd, @warriorblu, @ietss, @tiaamberxx, @zyafics, @maybankslover, @saintchxx4, @akirkland, @cameronspecial, @f4ll-for-you, @diduzzula, @user123453226780536, @zizuras, @imabigback, @rowans-posts, @mymultiveres, @drewsphswife, @fangirlwithlou

#rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #hockey rafe

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ladyamortencia · 2 days

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HOLD UP HOLD UP

This author was watching this for the bazillionth time for blocking notes and OMG

Colin's breath legitimately hitches after the first kiss (13 secs) AND THEN he's the one to initiate the next kiss (16 secs)!!

He is the one breathing her in like his life fucking depends on it (24 sec) and when they pull away THIS MAN TRIES TO GO IN FOR MORE (34 sec) BUT PEN PULLS AWAY

This man's whole worldview just shattered and this is the first time he has wanted to kiss someone like this and then SHE PULLS AWAY AND THANKS HIM. My poor boy had no choice but to be absolutely devastated. Sure he's kissed a lot of girls (or so he says) but NONE have ever left him reeling. NONE have ever made him wish there was more like this one.

I think this definitely goes with the theory that Colin is demisexual because my man has always loved Penelope. There is no doubt in that logic at all because it's evident how he cares for her. But the moment that man's lips touched hers, he knew he was IN love with her. Colin is extremely in touch with his feelings and the minute he felt that tug of his heart, he was destined to be down bad.

He already loved Pen's mind but society reinforced that she wasn't a prospect for him with every little comment. Every sense of social norm went out the fucking window after this kiss for Colin. All he knew is that he loved Penelope Featherington and fuck anyone who was going to get in the way of what he wants.

#polin #my heart cant take it #down bad colin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin bridgerton #send help #first kiss #so much pining #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #polin fic #fanfic #writing

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megalony · 1 day

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Can't You Be Mine

As promised, this is my newest Evan Buckley imagine and I have a follow up planned if anyone is interested.

Let me know what you think.

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

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

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Evan has a great relationship with (Y/n)'s little girl, Minnie. So good, in fact, that at preschool, she starts telling everyone that her dad is a firefighter.

Enjoy.

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

A grin spread across Evan's features when he pulled up outside the preschool. He unclipped his belt and tilted his head to the right, looking across at his little 'passenger princess' as he had come to call her recently.

Minnie had a cheesy smile on her face that glistened in the sunlight, illuminating the streaks of syrup covering her lips and chin and most likely her hands too.

Her hair was tied up in a bobble with a dark red bow in the centre of her head which always acted as a beacon. Evan could always spot her when he was dropping her off or picking her up due to the bows and clips she liked to have in her hair.

"Alright, let's clean up quick."

He leaned across to fish out the pack of wipes he had in the glove box while his heart gave out an extra beat when he noticed what Minnie was doing. She had her arms pinned to her chest but her hands held out in front of her, waiting very patiently and doing her best not to touch anything. She didn't want to get syrup all over the car, especially not when Evan told her the pancakes they got on the way to school were a secret.

Of course, (Y/n) knew they would pick something up on their way, they always did. (Y/n) knew one of them would end up letting slip what they had got on their way to school and work and half the time it was Evan who let slip what they had.

He swiped the sticky golden splotches from Minnie's hands and dabbed at her mouth before he kissed her nose.

Evan loved bringing her to school but he loved to pick her up even more because then he got to see her run out into the playground and make a beeline for him. He adored seeing Minnie run over to him with her arms out and a bright smile on her face, it made his day ten times better.

"Okay," He murmured to himself, cleaning himself up too before he grabbed the rubbish and climbed out the jeep, tossing everything in the bin on his way. "Ready?"

He unclipped Minnie's belt and scooped her out of the car seat, easing her down to her feet and helping her slide her backpack over her shoulders.

He loved that he didn't even have to say anything and she would automatically reach up and take his much larger hand in her own. Her fingers squeezed into his palm and she started to sway their hands back and forth as Evan guided them across the path towards the gates.

"You picking me up today?" The four year old tilted her head back and squinted in the bright sun to look up at Evan.

Her toothy grin melted his heart and had him beaming a smile back down at her. He wished he was picking her up, he would pick her up every day from school if he could, but he was going to work in ten minutes and he would be on a double shift. He wouldn't be finished until tomorrow morning so he wasn't going to see Minnie until tomorrow afternoon when she came home from school.

"Not today, mouse. Your mum's gonna pick you up, but I'll pick you up tomorrow if you want."

The nickname rolled off the tongue without Evan needing to think about it. He had come accustomed to calling her mouse, after Minnie Mouse, and he knew if he ever called her by her name, she thought she was in trouble because she was so used to petnames from Evan.

The four year old had attached herself to Evan from the moment they met and he couldn't of been happier.

Evan had been a little bit apprehensive going into a relationship with (Y/n) because all the other girls he'd dated had never had kids. He loved kids, he was a natural at looking after kids, but this was new territory for Evan. He had been worried that Minnie wouldn't want him around.

With (Y/n) being a single mum, Minnie wasn't used to her mum having a boyfriend or having a father figure around and Evan worried that she wouldn't want him being that father figure in her life.

She took them both by surprise. If Evan didn't pick her up from school she would pout and wobble her lower lip. If he wasn't round to have tea with them or if he couldn't put her to bed, she would stomp her foot and have a tantrum. If she thought (Y/n) was getting more attention she would get grumpy and if (Y/n) got a kiss, Minnie would pout and wait until Evan kissed her too.

And she had easily wormed her way into Evan's heart. He was forever telling the team about her and had dozens of photos of both his girls on his phone.

His favourite was the one of Minnie trying to wear his uniform. She had found his uniform when she and (Y/n) came over for dinner at the loft. Safe to say, Evan found her wearing his boots and his shirt that drowned her frame and he had to take a picture.

"Okay," Minnie leaned her head against Evan's leg, itching her temple against the scratchy material of his starched trousers.

Evan slowed down when they approached the gates, but he knew their routine by now. He didn't necessarily have to walk Minnie through the gates, her classroom was ten feet in front of the gates next to the playground. He could stand at the gates and see her safely into class.

But that never happened. Every time he dropped her off, Minnie would walk him through the gates like she was the adult safely escorting him to school. Only when they were right near the classroom door would she let go of his hand and say goodbye.

He let her drag him through the gates, smiling happily as the little girl led him towards the playground. They were a few minutes early today and her class was out in the play area, all milling about and burning off energy until the teacher would call them inside.

"Okay now I won't see you until tomorrow. Try not to miss me too much," He crouched down in front of her, letting go of her hand so he could hold her sides instead.

The whine she let out made his smile dampen but at least she didn't cry. She pushed forward and looped her arms around his neck, leaning against his chest for a hug.

"Bye bye." She broke off in a fit of giggles when Evan started to press sloppy kisses against her cheek to brighten her up.

"Bye girlie," He pressed a lasting kiss to her temple before he pushed up and headed back out the gates. He looked back over his shoulder, as always, and found Minnie waving at him with a toothy grin and creased eyes.

Minnie's shoulders sagged and her head lolled to one side as she looked around the playground.

She liked school, but she wasn't the most interactive or social child in the room. It worried (Y/n) that Minnie would rather sit on a table by herself and colour or do games on her own than with the other kids. The four year old started to panic when the teachers tried to get her to join in with everyone else. She was better with one on one where she interacted with one friend at a time otherwise she seemed to become overwhelmed and recluse herself.

She stayed watching through the fence as Evan hopped in the jeep, giving her one last wave before he pulled away. When he was gone, her lips pressed into a big pout and she turned around.

Her beady eyes landed on Amber, one of the girls in her class who she felt more comfortable sitting and talking to.

She headed over towards Amber and flopped down on her bum next to her as Amber was doodling on the pavement with chalk. There was another boy from their class, Miles, sat chalking the floor and Tina was stood kicking at the stones, waiting to head inside.

For a few moments, Minnie sat quiet as the mouse she was named after and listened to the conversations floating around. Her hands tapped against her thighs and her head tilted to one side as she tried to keep up.

"My daddy builds things, like big buildings. He goes in big crane machines." Amber didn't look away from whatever creation she was doodling, but she moved her hands out at her sides to emphasise how big the machines were that her dad operated.

"My dad fixes things, like trains." Miles dropped the blue chalk he was holding, now bored of doing this. He wanted to go inside.

"What does your dad do?"

Minnie's lips formed another pout and she began bashing her hands against her legs to give herself something to do.

She didn't know.

She didn't have one. Minnie always found it strange when she started school that the other kids talked about their dads and said their dads lived with them and took them out or told them off or picked them up. It was strange because she didn't have one. All Minnie had was her mum and Evan, who (Y/n) always said was her boyfriend.

But surely, if he was her mum's boyfriend, that meant he was Minnie's dad, didn't it?

Couldn't Evan be her dad? He brought her to school and picked her up, just like Amber's dad. He took her out to the zoo with her new 'cousin Chris'. He stayed over a lot of nights and he stayed in her mum's room. He cooked and played games with Minnie, he helped her get dressed and tucked her into bed. Sometimes he would tell her off like Miles's dad, though not often because Minnie prided herself on being good.

Evan did all the things the other dads did, so that had to make him Minnie's dad. Plus, they were going to live together soon. (Y/n) and Evan had already sat Minnie down and said they were all going to live in a house together soon and they were all packing their things up, ready for when they moved next month.

"My daddy's a fireman." Minnie kept her eyes on the chalk on the floor as her tummy fluttered and her legs began to jitter.

Well, that was what Evan did and he seemed to be her dad, for all intents and purposes. And that was what Minnie wanted. She wasn't sure if her friends chose their mums or their dads or if that was how this was supposed to work, but Minnie chose Evan.

"Does he drive the big trucks?"

Her words seemed to spark Miles's interest and he stopped fidgeting to pay attention to her.

"Yeah. Daddy had the truck fall on his leg."

"No he didn't."

A deep frown set in Minnie's features. Her nose scrunched up and her brows furrowed until she could barely see and her lips curled into the biggest pout she'd ever made. Her little hands planted down on her thighs as she huffed.

"Did too! I've seen the scar, he had pins and bolts in his leg." She wasn't fibbing. She had seen Evan's legs whenever he wore shorts when he stayed with them or when he took her swimming.

On the back of his left leg, he had a massive scar going from the back of his knee right down to his foot. It was a streaky white colour and as wide as Minnie's thumb that could trace the indent it caused in his skin like the formations of a crack in the road.

She was enamoured by the small lines that streaked horizontally across his scar from the stitches and she had seen the little circular scars where he'd had pins inserted into the bone to keep it in tact. Minnie didn't quite understand why he still had his leg considering such a big truck had landed on it, but she was satisfied when Evan just told her he was very lucky.

"Wow." Miles seemed satisfied by her answer and Minnie managed to smile, her frown washing away just as the bell rang and Miss Harvey came over to usher them all inside.

***

"Are you ready?" (Y/n) let her eyes scan around the group of children all piling off the minibus, but her sight kept falling back to her daughter stood at her side.

She felt Minnie take hold of her hand and tuck herself up against her mum's leg like she wanted to blend in and hide herself away.

(Y/n) was glad she had signed up for this little fieldtrip. She dreaded to think what Minnie would be like if she wasn't here. The preschool seemed to take the kids on lots of different outings and activities and parents were encouraged to sign up as chaperones and (Y/n) was more than happy to do that. Especially since Minnie was struggling with including herself and wanting to join in.

If she wasn't here, (Y/n) had a feeling Minnie would of thrown a tantrum about going on this trip or she might have attached to one of the other mums here and not left their side.

Their group- consisting of fifteen children, three parents including (Y/n), and two teachers- all walked down the path until they were in front of the large brick building with bright red shutters and signs attached.

"And this is the fire station we're visiting today." Miss Harvey beckoned all the kids to stand close together with the parents hovering them towards the wall and away from the road.

(Y/n) looked down when she felt Minnie give a small tug on her hand, although the four year old had her eyes set on the station like it was a beacon coming out of the darkness.

"Station, like where Buck works?"

"Yep." She squeezed Minnie's hand with an encouraging smile. She had chosen not to tell Minnie where they were going or which station, when they talked this morning. It seemed safer not to in case Minnie got too overexcited or in case this trip didn't go ahead for some reason.

And (Y/n) hadn't told Evan either so it would be a surprise for both of them when they walked in.

She kept Minnie tucked into her side and also kept an eye on the other two girls who were staying close by, Amber and Tina. They seemed to want to talk and interact with Minnie, but Minnie wasn't so keen. She just wanted to stay with (Y/n) and only talk to her mum.

They all followed Miss Harvey inside and (Y/n) took a moment to look around, almost in wonder as much as the kids. She had never been in a fire station before. Despite being with Evan for a year now, she had yet to turn up here. That didn't mean she hadn't met his friends, or his 'work family' as he called them, (Y/n) had met just about everyone who was important to Evan, but actually being here made all his stories come alive.

They were all guided to a large space between two fire trucks and all the kids were kindly told to sit down on the floor in the middle of the trucks.

"Okay kids, this is Captain Nash. He's in charge here and he's going to talk to you about what they do here."

Once Miss Harvey moved to the left and motioned towards Bobby, (Y/n) moved her hands and motioned for Minnie and Amber to sit down in the third row.

A gasp tumbled past Minnie's lips and she suddenly tugged on (Y/n)'s hand before she tried to rush to the side. (Y/n) followed her line of sight while she wrapped both arms around her daughter and reeled her back into her chest to stop her from running off.

"Baby, come on we need to sit down-"

"Buck! It's Buck." She wriggled from left to right, doing her best to get out of her mother's arms but it didn't work. (Y/n) sat her down and knelt behind her, keeping hold of her like they were just having a cuddle when really, she was preventing her daughter from running around the station like the Tazmanian Devil.

"You can see him after the Captain's talked to everyone," (Y/n) hushed in her ear, wincing when Minnie all but huffed and crossed her arms.

But she stayed seated on the floor, pressing her chin into her chest while she tried to focus on what the Captain was saying. It was hard. Minnie couldn't concentrate despite his soft voice and his warm smile. She wanted to go and see Buck.

Evan tossed the cleaning rag over his shoulder and stepped away from the ambulance when he heard the ruckus. That meant the kids were here.

It wasn't often that they got schools coming by to visit the station, it was normally them turning up at schools to give safety talks and lectures. He figured this was better for the kids. Out of their usual environment, somewhere new to look around and explore and this way, they got to see the trucks and the ambulance and see what it looked like inside a real station.

He crossed one leg over the other and leant against a pillar next to Eddie who was stood with his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his face.

Once Eddie turned and noticed who it was behind him, he grinned and lightly jabbed his elbow into Evan's chest before pointing towards the group of kids all sat on the floor.

"You never said it was Minnie's class coming in today."

"What?" Evan pushed up off the pillar, standing back on his feet properly as his shoulders straightened and his back clicked into place.

Minnie's class? She was here? (Y/n) never mentioned it. She never said Minnie was going on a trip today, or that it would be a trip to his very own station. Come to think of it, Minnie hadn't said anything either and if Evan knew her like he thought he did, he knew that she would of been screaming in his ear that she was going to come and visit him today. He would of been waiting by the door if he knew.

His eyes scoured the three rows of preschool kids all sat quietly, barely any of them moving, all enamoured by Bobby's speech and how he was beginning to point and describe the anatomy of the trucks.

Sure enough, Evan's beady eyes landed on not only Minnie but (Y/n) as well. They were knelt in the back row on the end and Minnie was leaning back into (Y/n) like she was desperate to wriggle out of her mum's hold and run around the station.

"I didn't know," Evan whispered softly, barely turning his head in Eddie's direction because he couldn't look away from his girls.

The moment Minnie looked in his direction and realised he was looking at her, her whole face lit up. She smiled and her eyes shone like stars and she started to wriggle again. She sat up straight and squared her shoulders, moving to wave frantically in his direction until a grin broke out on Evan's face and he silently waved back.

Evan's original plan had been to hang somewhere out the way and then come down when Bobby had finished his speech. He had it in mind that he would come down and interact with the kids for a bit and then see them off. But now he knew Minnie was here, he couldn't find it in himself to disappear.

He stood next to Eddie, both of them only half listening to Bobby. Evan began to tap his foot, suddenly impatient for Bobby to finish so he could go over and talk to his girls.

Bobby couldn't have finished a moment too soon but he waved Hen over to have a quick chat to the group since she was a medic as well as a firefighter.

(Y/n) took that as her moment. She leaned forward and kissed Minnie's cheek, whispering in her ear quietly. "Let me go talk to Buck, then when Hen's finished, he's all yours. Okay?"

Minnie bubbled up excitedly and nodded, but she wouldn't look away from Hen just yet. Now she was interested just before the speeches were going to end.

Moving her hands to her knees, (Y/n) slowly pushed up from the floor that had turned her legs to jelly and made her knees harden like stone. She could feel her back clicking into place once she was up and she took a glance around the group before she moved towards Evan. Miss Harvey was stood near Bobby and the other two parents were stood off to one side, murmuring and smiling with Chimney. It would be fine for (Y/n) to talk to Evan, she would still be within close range of the kids in case they needed her.

(Y/n) ran her hand through her hair and moved over towards Evan who took a few steps away from Eddie to meet her at the side of the truck.

She noticed his eyes do a quick sweep around the station, making sure no one else - or the kids- were watching before he looped his arms around her waist and reeled her into his chest.

He ducked his head down and stole a kiss from her lips before she had chance to panic and look around as if they were teens trying not to get caught in school. His lips tasted like cherry cola and his fingers felt heavenly, squeezing into her hips while his chest leaned down into hers like he was trying to tilt (Y/n) backwards or lay her down on the floor.

She brought her hands up to cup the sides of his neck, smoothing her thumbs up and down behind his ears until he was shivering.

Their temples pressed together when they parted and the grin that lit up his face made Evan look like one of the school kids. A quiet "Hi," whispered from his lips into hers and he nudged the end of his nose along hers until (Y/n) was smiling and shaking her head.

"You didn't tell me you were coming here."

"It was a surprise."

"Well colour me surprised… I bet you didn't tell Minnie either, did you?" The hint of a smirk pulled at his lips while he let go of her hips so he could loop his arms fully around her waist and tug her closer until every ridge of her body was pressed up against him.

"Course I didn't, she'd of been screaming your name all day if I told her." As much as (Y/n) loved her daughter's enthusiasm, she didn't think everyone would appreciate Minnie's hyperness if she knew they were coming to see Evan.

The four year old would have been bouncing off the walls, telling everyone and proudly shouting Evan's name until they got here. At least this way both she and Evan got a lovely surprise and it stopped Minnie from getting worked up like a sugar rush.

"Well, I'm glad you're all at our station. I'll show you round in a bit." He leaned forward and pecked her temple, smiling to himself when (Y/n) buried her head beneath his chin and kissed his neck causing a shiver to roll down his spine.

He kept her burrowed away into his chest for a few more seconds, savouring the moment until he noticed Hen had finished her talk and the kids were starting to get up.

He knew Minnie would be heading their way any second now and then Evan would happily show her and a few of the kids around and answer any of their strange questions. He let his arms loosen around (Y/n) just enough for her to spin around in his hold so her back was snuggled into his chest and both of them were looking at the kids.

Minnie was stood with two other kids while the rest of them split up into groups and followed after Hen or Bobby.

Her hands began to itch at her sides and she couldn't stop herself from smiling when she looked over towards her mum and Evan. He was here. This was where he worked. This was the fire truck he drove and maybe the one that landed on his leg too. This was his other home that he was always telling her about.

"Is that your dad, the fireman?" Amber kept her chin tilted down and feebly pointed towards Evan. She had seen him with Minnie at school a few times, and Minnie did tell them last week that her dad was a fireman.

A beaming smile lit up Minnie's face as a rush of adrenaline flooded her stomach and she began to fidget from foot to foot. She nodded and pointed over at Evan which caught his attention and made him smile in her direction. And he watched as Minnie trotted towards him, both Amber and Miles in tow behind her.

"Yeah. That's my daddy."

Evan couldn't breathe.

All the air in his lungs suddenly evaporated; his lungs turned into balloons which popped and shrivelled up in his chest. His jaw hung open and his lips became dryer than the desert, but he couldn't find anything to say.

Minnie had never called him that before. When they first met, she used to call him Mister quite a lot, then when they became closer, she started calling him Buck. Even though she heard (Y/n) call him Evan, she never tried to call him that, it had always been Buck so far. She had never called him dad before or pointed him out and named him her dad to other people.

But what else could he be? What else could she call him when she saw him almost every day? He took her to school, he picked her up when she fell over, he tucked her in bed and took her out and went to the doctors with her and (Y/n). He introduced her to everyone as his 'little mouse' or 'my girl'.

And just a few weeks ago after Minnie commented that he was always telling (Y/n) that he loved her, he started to tell Minnie he loved her too. He never wanted to say that before in case it upset her or made her feel uneasy but just seeing her face light up when he told her, meant the whole world to Evan.

"My turn." Minnie held her arms out towards Evan, suddenly breaking him out of his trance.

He realised he was shaking when he unravelled his arms from (Y/n) who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Her hand moved to his shoulder while he leaned down and scooped Minnie up so he could cuddle her into his chest.

Her arms looped around his neck and Evan breathlessly kissed her cheek while he did his best to ward off the burning sensation behind his eyes that were threatening to spill tears. God, he hoped Minnie wasn't just saying this because her friends were nearby. He hoped that when he got home from work tonight, she would still call him that.

He hoped tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after, that Minnie was still going to call him her dad. He hoped she would introduce him to everyone as her dad. He could just see himself telling people he had a little girl, he could imagine showing the guys her picture and proudly saying that was his daughter.

"Hi, are you being good, little mouse?" He kissed her cheek again when she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled in close to him as she nodded and hummed.

His eyes darted from Minnie to (Y/n) when he suddenly realised that maybe, (Y/n) might not be happy about this sudden revelation.

Evan remembered the conversation they had not long after they started dating. He remembered every word of that chilling conversation where (Y/n) told him about Minnie's biological dad. Minnie had never met him, he didn't even know she existed.

Minnie had been the reason (Y/n) got out of her abusive relationship with her ex. She managed to get away from him and moved in with her sister until she found a place of her own. And Evan remembered everything (Y/n) told him about what her ex had done. There was no way (Y/n) could stay with him if she had Minnie and to protect Minnie, (Y/n) hadn't named anyone in the father's section on her birth certificate.

It suddenly occurred to Evan that maybe (Y/n) wouldn't be happy about this. Maybe she wouldn't want Minnie to have a dad or call someone her dad. But Minnie had never known her dad, she had grown up thinking she just didn't have one and that had been fine until Evan walked into their lives and changed their perspectives.

But the way (Y/n) smiled and the single tear that rolled down her face told Evan she wasn't displeased at all. She was thrilled.

She stood close to Amber and Miles in case they had any questions or wanted to go and take a look around. But Miles took a step forward towards Evan and gingerly tugged on his trouser leg to gain his attention.

"Did a truck really land on your leg?"

Surprise flooded Evan's eyes and his jaw hung loose again while he tried to think how to respond to that. But all that came to mind was the fact that clearly, Minnie had been talking about him. She had been telling her friends what Evan did for a living and about his accident. Clearly she loved him enough to want to brag about him and talk about him to her class. and that thought melted Evan's heart.

Evan looked between Minnie who had her cheek pressed into his shoulder, and the young boy who was staring at both his legs intently. He looked like he wanted to pull on Evan's trousers and peek beneath them at his legs. And Evan would bet that the young boy thought Evan might have some kind of prosthetic.

"Uh, yeah, yeah it did." He nodded and leaned backwards a little so Minnie could rest better against his chest.

"Wow. So- so you're like superman?"

"Well, not qui-"

"Yeah he is! Show him your leg, daddy." Minnie wriggled around in his arms, shimmying down his chest a little until she could grab at the waistband of his trousers.

For a dreaded second, Evan thought she was going to undo his belt and try to pull his pants down to show his scar. But she only tugged on his pant leg to get him to take the hint. She wanted him to pull the pant leg up so he could show Miles his scars.

Evan rolled his lips together to supress a smile and juggled Minnie in his right arm so that he could scrunch his trouser leg up in his other hand. He pulled it up towards his knee, showing just enough of his tattered, scarred leg to make Miles gasp and grin like he'd seen one of the seven wonders of the world.

The young boy simply stared at Evan's leg, unable to look away even when Evan rolled down his trouser leg again.

He carefully leaned forward and planted Minnie back down on her feet, but when she clutched his hand and held it to her chest, he smiled. He stayed slightly stooped over so she could keep hold of him while (Y/n) looked between Miles and Amber.

"Alright, who wants to look round the fire trucks?"

When the pair of them nodded, (Y/n) guided them over towards Miss Harvey and Bobby who were with five other kids looking round the first fire truck. She noticed Hen guide the other half of the class towards the ambulance to let them take a look around and show them what each appliance and equipment piece was.

Once the pair of them were back with the group, following Bobby's lead like he had put them all under a trance, (Y/n) slowly headed back over to Evan and Minnie. Her hands moved up and down her sides to try and remain calm, but she didn't know what to do with herself.

Minnie had never asked about her dad before, and (Y/n) had always been grateful. She was always relieved her daughter never wondered why she didn't seem to have a father figure or why she didn't have a dad to come and visit her and take her out like other kids. She seemed content just to have (Y/n).

And she had been so happy that Minnie took to Evan so easily and attached herself to him. But somehow, (Y/n) still didn't think that Minnie would want to call Evan her dad, not yet anyway.

She smiled as she approached them and crouched down in front of Minnie who was still clinging to Evan's hand that she seemed to have confiscated and pinned to her chest.

Her hands reached out to hold Minnie's waist and tug her closer while Evan shimmied his hand out of her hold so he could rest his hand on her back instead.

"So… you, you've got a new name for Buck?" When Minnie didn't answer, Evan crouched down beside her so they were all level.

"You've never called me that before, mouse."

The way she looked down at her shoes made Evan's heart flip. She looked so sweet, so innocent and worried as if she thought she might have done something wrong by calling him her dad. It would never be something bad in their eyes, but both (Y/n) and Evan would have thought they would of gotten some warning first. Which made them wonder why Minnie had suddenly come out with it today of all days.

"Everyone was talking about their dads, so… so can't you be mine?" Minnie shifted a little so she could go back to holding Evan's hand and she started to sway it back and forth between them like their hands were some kind of swing or a toy to be entertained.

For a few seconds, Evan focused on controlling his breathing so he didn't go into a fluttering panic. And he looked to the left, locking his eyes on (Y/n) so he could gauge her face for a reaction.

This wasn't his question to answer, it was hers. He couldn't overstep the mark or set the boundaries, it had to be (Y/n)'s choice no matter how thrilled Evan was that Minnie clearly wanted this.

When (Y/n) nodded, Evan felt like his heart had exploded in his chest and a tingling sensation shot through his arms right down to his fingertips. He let a soft grin overtake his features and he reached out for Minnie, unhooking their hands so he could hold her sides and gently twist her in his direction.

"I'd love to."

He braced his knees and levelled his weight out in his boots when Minnie slammed into his chest and deadlocked her arms around his neck.

The sweetest smile (Y/n)had ever seen fluttered across Evan's lips and she couldn't help but lean forward to kiss that smile and see if it was as sweet and sugary as it looked. She smoothed her hand up and down his shoulder before she glanced over to the left when she heard Miss Harvey switching the groups around. They wouldn't be here for much longer before they all would be getting ready to leave.

"Let's go take a look at the trucks then, baby, let dad get back to work." It felt strange to say but somehow, it rolled off the tongue like magic.

"Off you go, I'll see you when I finish work tonight, okay?" Evan pecked her cheek when she finally untangled herself from him and he couldn't help but kiss her temple too as he pushed up to stand tall once again. He murmured a soft "See you soon," in (Y/n)'s ear, dancing his fingertips along her hip while he kissed her quick.

"Bye daddy," Minnie cast a quick look over her shoulder, one hand tangled with (Y/n)'s and her other hand waving across to Evan as if he couldn't spot her in the small crowd.

His smile brightened and his breaths came out shaky as he waved back at her, his other hand tucked into his pocket while he leaned back against the pillar.

Their fire house had been taken off all calls for two hours, dispatch was redirecting all calls to the nearby stations so no calls came through and disrupted the school fieldtrip. That meant Evan still had a while to mill about the station and tidy up or get a drink and amuse himself until the kids left and they were allowed to take calls again.

And it felt like a good thing that they weren't going out on any calls at the moment because Evan was running on a high. Adrenaline was fueling his system and he felt like he had taken an overdose with how lightheaded he was. It felt like he was walking on cloud nine and he didn't ever want to come down from this feeling.

The smile wouldn't leave his lips and his head tilted to one side while he watched both girls head back over to the group and follow Bobby who was showing them all the different compartments and aspects of the truck.

"What's got you smiling?" Chimney brought his cup of coffee to his lips and raised a brow when he looked up at Evan. There was an unusually happy smile on his face, even for him, and it had Chimney looking round the station to try and find out what was so funny.

But he wasn't prepared for the answer as Evan slouched down against the pillar, dipping his chin towards his chest as a blush started to taint his cheeks.

"My daughter."

#911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #bobby nash

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alwaysmicado · 2 days

Text

why her?

4.6k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: alcohol, mention of self-harm & bad mental health, complicated feelings Summary: Joel tells Tommy that he’s been seeing you. A/N: He had to find out eventually...This fic is part of You wanted this and takes place before Joel finds you at the beach in Sink or swim. Enjoy this little glimpse into the Miller brothers’ relationship and let me know what you think! ♡ Dividers by the wonderful @cafekitsune.

“I fucked up, Tommy,” Joel blurts out as he strides past his brother, his footsteps heavy with agitation.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Tommy murmurs, his brow furrowing in surprise as he closes the door before following his distressed brother into the living room. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy watches Joel’s restless pacing with a mixture of confusion and worry as, between the two of them, his older brother is usually the calm and collected one. Feeling the tension radiating off Joel in waves, a palpable energy that fills the light-flooded room, leaves Tommy feeling unsettled.

“I’m a fucking idiot, that’s what’s wrong,” Joel’s voice is raw with self-recrimination, his fingers rubbing furiously at his forehead as if trying to erase the mistakes he’s made.

“What else is new?” Tommy attempts to lighten the mood and get a feel for how much of a fuck-up he’s working with here, but when he catches Joel’s glare, his smile disappears immediately.

Oh.

“What happened?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably, his left hand finding its way to his hip while his right hand brushes anxiously over his lips, unconsciously trying to contain the words struggling to break free.

When he finally meets Tommy’s gaze, there’s a storm brewing in his eyes—a whirlwind of guilt, apprehension, and uncertainty. Before he can second-guess himself, the words he’s been wrestling with spill out in a rush, each syllable heavy with the weight of his confession.

“Look, I didn’t wanna tell you like this, but I’ve been seeing someone.”

Taken aback, Tommy stares at his brother with a confused look on his face. “Okay? How is that–”

“It’s, uh,” Joel starts, his voice reducing to a low murmur as he says your name with downcast eyes.

Hearing the sound of your name coming out of his brother's mouth startles Tommy to his core, and the image it invokes in front of his inner eye causes him to start laughing immediately, like Joel just said the punch line of a hilarious joke.

This has to be a crude joke...right?

But when Joel’s scowl doesn’t flinch after a few tense seconds, Tommy's face falls.

“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, no, no. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his face unmoving as he meets Tommy’s gaze head-on. “No, I’m not kidding.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” Tommy murmurs, his expression doing nothing to hide the horror he's feeling right now.

“Look, it’s–”

“How long?”

“Tommy…”

“How long?”

Joel sighs deeply and rubs the nape of his neck with his hand. “A few months. Since your, uh, housewarming thing,” he admits reluctantly.

Tommy’s jaw drops in disbelief, his eyes widening with incredulity. “Are you fucking serious? The day you met her. Where I introduced you. Here. I introduced you. And you have nothing better to do than go and sleep with her?”

“I didn’t plan for it to happen, okay?” Joel insists, his calm tone a sharp contrast to his racing heart. “We started spending time together and I can’t explain how, but things just clicked between us. She’s...different, Tommy, and I–I don’t remember ever feeling this way about someone.”

Tommy’s expression shifts from disbelief to outright shock as he absorbs his brother's words. “Hold the fuck up,” he interjects with a lifted hand. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you’re in love with her?”

Joel’s eyes flicker with a mixture of vulnerability and determination as he meets Tommy’s gaze, silently conveying the depth of his emotions. It’s a moment of raw honesty, baring his soul to his brother in a way that words could never fully express.

“Jesus,” Tommy mutters, shaking his head. “So you’re what, moving in together, getting married, living happily ever after? Is that what you’re fucking telling me?”

Joel's throat tightens and his heart flutters at the vivid image his brother’s sarcastic words conjure—the future he so desperately wishes for with you, the future he can feel slipping through his fingers with every tick of the clock on the wall.

He sighs deeply and murmurs, “It’s not that easy.”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s not easy to fuck someone I love.”

“Hey–”

“No, you explain to me why it had to be her. There’s four billion women on this goddamn planet, and you couldn’t keep it in your pants this one time? For me?”

“It’s not about you, Tommy.”

“The hell it isn’t. She’s been part of my life for years. Mine. You wouldn’t even know her without me.”

“I realize that. And I understand that from the outside it might look weird–”

“Might?” Tommy blurts out. “What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you date someone that much younger than you, or even be interested in anyone in the past, I dunno, ten years. What the hell happened?”

“She happened. Tommy, I’m listening to my heart for the first time in over a decade and I…I can’t help it that it’s her.”

“You’re losing it, man,” Tommy scoffs.

“It’s the truth. I saw her that night and that was it for me. I–you know her, she’s–”

“Yeah, I do. I do know her. And I also know that she doesn’t need someone who’s gonna play with her heart and hurt her even more. She’s had enough of that bullshit.”

“I know–”

“The fuck do you know? Huh? You know nothing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Tommy says, taking a step closer, “get a grip and buy a car if you’re having a midlife crisis. Go pay a hooker or play golf or whatever the fuck you gotta do, but don’t involve a vulnerable girl–”

“Stop.”

“–just ‘cause you’re trying to relive your past and are confusing lust with love.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Is that how little you think of me after everything we’ve been through? After everything I’ve done for you? Tommy. Look at me,” he pleads, searching for connection in his brother’s eyes. “I get that you’re upset, I do. But you know me. And I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to believe that my feelings for her are sincere.”

Holding his brother’s gaze, Tommy is torn between apprehension and the undeniable sincerity he sees in Joel’s eyes. It’s maddening—the push and pull of trust and doubt, love and resentment. But beneath it all lies a deep-rooted fear, a fear of seeing two people he holds dear get hurt, a fear that claws at his heart.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration he mutters, “It’s not right.”

“Hm. You honestly don’t believe I could love her and she could love me?”

Tommy averts his eyes, shrugging and slowly shaking his head.

“What’s wrong with me? You think I’m too old? Boring? Unlovable?” Joel asks, his tone laced with bitterness, the warmth in his eyes gone. “Or am I just not good enough for her ‘cause I’m not you?”

Tommy stares at his brother with wide eyes like he just slapped him across the face. But after a second of stunned silence, he nods and spits out a venomous, “Fuck you, Joel,” before storming off into the kitchen, his footsteps echoing loudly against the tiled floor.

Feeling the weight of his brother’s accusation, he leans over the counter, his palms pressing firmly against the cool marble surface. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, the sting of Joel’s words lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

For Tommy, his affection for you transcends the bounds of friendship, romance, or sexual attraction; it’s a connection, a bond he treasures. He feels responsible for you, like your life is tied to his in a way. But it’s a sentiment he keeps hidden, knowing that few would understand the depth and nature of his feelings.

And yet, Joel’s words hit closer to the truth than Tommy is willing to admit, even to himself.

Deep down, beneath the layers of brotherly loyalty and protective instincts, there is a sliver of possessiveness he can’t ignore. Maybe, just maybe, he does think that no one is good enough for you—not even Joel. But he buries this feeling under the weight of his sense of duty and care, knowing it’s a dangerous path to tread.

He sighs deeply, the sound heavy with the unspoken truths he carries. “No”, he thinks, shaking his head slightly, Joel doesn’t understand. It’s not about being good enough, or being in love, or jealous, or protective; it’s about the irreplaceable bond he feels with you.

It’s about knowing you.

And it’s about knowing his brother.

“Tommy,” Joel’s voice breaks the silence, his tone laden with remorse.

“I need a fucking drink,” Tommy responds curtly, his back turned as he busies himself with retrieving a whiskey bottle and a glass from the liquor cabinet.

Joel approaches and joins his brother in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he watches Tommy pour himself a decent amount. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t meant to–”

“You know what, Joel?” Tommy turns to look at him. “I don’t care that you two are fucking. She’s an adult and if it makes her happy then so be it. What I do care about is that she’s started crying again.”

Joel blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Tommy snaps, knocking back his drink and grimacing at the bitterness of the alcohol.

“She was crying at the bar yesterday. And she was crying on Saturday when she called me ‘cause she sliced her fucking hand open, begging me not to tell you and send you over to help ‘cause you were on a date.”

Joel’s heart sinks like a stone as the weight of Tommy’s words settles heavily upon him. The thought that he wasn’t there for you while you were in pain has been gnawing at him all night and day, but hearing it from his brother cuts him to the core all over again, leaving him feeling utterly devastated.

“I’ve been trying to convince her to see her therapist to work through it, but she insists she’s fine when it’s clear as fucking day that she’s starting to spiral again. And you’re telling me you’re serious about her but she can’t even call you when she’s in trouble ‘cause you’re out with someone else?”

Tommy’s frustration is palpable as he stares at Joel, waiting for an explanation that might justify his brother’s actions. Joel’s hands tremble as he reaches out for the edge of the counter, his mind swirling with a torrent of regret and confusion. How could he have failed you in such a fundamental way?

A profound sense of guilt washes over him as he struggles to process the depth of his own shortcomings. He feels a lump form in his throat as he realizes the extent to which you must have felt alone and isolated, unable to turn to him for support.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. “Tommy, I swear, she–she wouldn’t talk to me, and yesterday I…fuck, I–I snapped at her ‘cause she wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, and now she thinks I’ll abandon her when that’s the last thing I’d ever do. She’s shutting me out again and it’s killing me.”

Tommy silently observes his brother, and the sincere distress he can detect in his voice makes him uneasy, but also reassures him that he might actually be telling the truth about his feelings for you. “What the hell is going on, Joel?” he murmurs, his eyes full of concern as he scans his brother’s face.

“I messed up bad, Tommy. And I–” Joel swallows heavily, a pained expression on his face as he looks into his brother’s eyes. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“You can’t do what anymore?”

“Act like I don’t wanna spend every second of every day with her. Like she isn’t all I ever think about.”

Joel's face softens and a smile spreads across his lips as he speaks the words his heart has known to be true all along. “Like I don’t love her.”

Tommy's heart skips a beat. “Shit.”

Joel scoffs, a lopsided smile on his lips. His younger brother’s always had such a way with words…

“Yeah. Shit.”

“You sure?”

“The sun rises and sets with her, Tommy.”

Tommy sighs deeply and closes his eyes for a moment before murmuring, “Get your ass out on the patio. I’ll go grab us some beers.”

Joel gives him a tentative smile. “Thanks, bud.”

“You’re welcome, jackass,” Tommy mutters under his breath as he heads toward the garage.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Tommy says incredulously with a furrowed brow after listening to Joel giving him a rundown of the past few months.

“You’ve been doing all that and you weren’t sure if she has feelings for you? Jeez, and here I always thought you were the smart one.”

Joel chuckles wryly, lifting his cold beer to his lips before replying, “Yeah, well, my brain doesn’t work when it comes to her.”

He glances down at the label on the beer bottle, a faint smile touching his lips as he absentmindedly traces the lettering with his thumb. “And it turns out I’m not cut out for the whole friends-with-benefits thing. Pretty sure catching feelings on the first night’s the one thing you’re not supposed to do.”

Tommy shakes his head as he lets his gaze wander over to the flowers Maria has painstakingly planted in their backyard. The vibrant colors seem to blur together, his thoughts consumed by the weight of the situation his brother has presented him with. He shifts uneasily in his seat, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer bottle, the cool glass offering a small measure of comfort in the midst of his inner turmoil.

It’s clear that his mind is still trying to process the complexity of emotions swirling within him, and judging by the tension in his grip, it’s going semi-well.

“Why’d you even think something like that could work?” he murmurs between sips, his eyes following a bee flying from flower to flower. “You’re way too old to be acting like a brainless, horny teenager.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not trying to lecture me about relationships, are you?” Joel scoffs, his tone tinged with playful sarcasm. “You? The guy who married a stripper he met on a three-day bender and ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere when she stole his car and disappeared?”

“Case in point, asshole,” Tommy retorts as he shoots his brother a pointed glare. “I was thirty then, you’re fifty now. You should know better.”

“Oh, so was that you knowing better when you had an affair with your landlord’s wife two years ago? Or when you had an affair with your dentist’s wife, or with that girl whose husband chased you down the street while you were butt naked? Or–”

“Okay, I get it,” Tommy interrupts, rolling his eyes. “You can shut up now.”

“You know, Maria accepting your proposal was the luckiest break for married men in this town.”

Tommy snorts at the jab, and Joel’s smirk widens as he glances at his brother before turning his attention back to his bottle.

“I just love spending time with her…in whatever form,” Joel continues, his tone softening as he speaks. “She's smart, funny, beautiful, calls me out on my shit, and I honestly feel like she lets herself enjoy herself around me. That's what I love the most. Seeing her smile, feeling her be happy.”

Tommy nods, his brother's sentiment one he knows all too well.

“We, uh, we never said we were exclusive or anything, so she’s been doing her own thing, and I know that. But I just haven’t really been interested in anyone else since meeting her.”

“Why’d you go out with Jan then?” Tommy asks between sips. “I only set you up ‘cause I thought you weren’t getting any and she’s going through a divorce and could use some cheering up.”

Joel lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting away as he searches for the right words. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I guess I was trying to prove to myself that I could keep it casual and see other people, too.”

Tommy studies his brother’s face intently, searching for any hint of deception in his eyes as he awaits an answer to his burning question. “And?”

Joel’s eyes drop to his lap, his expression guarded as he murmurs, “I couldn’t. I can’t.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Tommy’s tense features, a subtle pang of doubt creeping into his mind, but he decides not to probe further. With a resigned nod, he acknowledges Joel’s response.

“Okay. So, why are you here and not with her, trying to fix things?”

“She’s not answering me and I already tried looking for her, but she’s not home or at the office, and you’re the only pers–”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Tommy interrupts him, leaning forward in his chair. “You’ve been to her place before?”

“Yeah, of course. Many times,” Joel says with a curious look on his face, confused about why his brother is fixated on this seemingly minor detail.

“Unbelievable,” Tommy scoffs. “You have no idea what’s happening, do you?”

Joel’s brows furrow as he shakes his head. “I don’t follow.”

“Ask her how many people have been to her place since she moved there three years ago. Spoiler, it’s two, and they both have the same last name.”

As Joel processes Tommy’s words, his mind races with silent contemplation. He reflects on the trust you must have placed in him from the beginning.

His heart aches with the weight of his own actions, realizing how they may have strained this sacred trust, threatening to fracture the very essence of your connection. He silently vows to make amends, to prove himself worthy of the faith you have bestowed upon him, no matter the cost.

After a moment of continued heavy silence, Joel’s voice breaks through the tension. It’s time to rip the bandaid off. He has to know.

“Tommy?”

“Hm?”

“Did she hurt herself on purpose?”

Tommy’s exhale seems to carry the weight of the world as he responds, “Yes.”

“Why?” Joel’s question hangs in the air, the ache of confusion and concern palpable in his voice as he searches for understanding.

“Look, Joel,” Tommy says, his tone serious as he turns to look his brother in the eye. “There’s things you don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“She has issues, man. Real issues.” Tommy takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head as he holds the bottle in his lap.

“She’s much better than when I met her, but even after all this time I can’t shake this fear that she’ll just up and leave one day when things get bad again. And when she called me…I haven’t gotten a call like that from her in a long time and it scared the absolute shit out of me,” he admits, his eyes reflecting the love he holds for you and the helplessness he feels.

“I’ve had that fear too before,” Joel murmurs, his heart heavy at the mere thought of you leaving him.

Tommy scans his brother’s face and takes a deep breath. “Do you remember how messed up I was when I came back?” he asks. “With the drinking and the self-loathing and the getting into fights and all that bullshit ‘cause I didn’t know what to do with the dark thoughts in my head?”

“Yeah. It’s a miracle you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“I know. And she’s like me in a lot of ways. It’s just…while I directed my anger and hurt towards others, she directs it towards herself.”

Joel nods slowly, his mind flooded with memories of Tommy’s past struggles and the toll it took on both of them. He remembers all too well how emotionally devastating it was to see his brother make bad decision after bad decision, and the thought that you’re similarly troubled by whatever it is that plagues you fills him with a deep sense of sorrow and the overwhelming desire to protect you from further harm.

“What happened on Saturday?” he asks, eager to understand what’s going on with you.

“Does she ever talk about Laura or Simon, her ex?”

“Um, yeah, once. He called her a couple of weeks ago.”

“What?” Tommy’s reaction is visceral, his body tensing as he sits up in his seat, his gaze locking onto Joel with intensity.

“He wanted to meet her, but she told him off and blocked him,” Joel explains, his brow furrowed at his brother’s reaction. “I calmed her down and we had a good talk, I felt like.”

“She didn’t tell me,” Tommy murmurs to himself, his eyes not leaving Joel. A subtle pang of jealousy settles in the pit of his stomach as he digests the fact that you confided in his brother instead of him. “You know what he did?”

Joel shakes his head. “Just that he hurt her deeply, but I didn’t wanna press the issue and ask for det–”

“Look, it’s not my story to tell, but I need you to understand something right fucking now. That piece of shit is dangerous and should be rotting in jail or a fucking ditch somewhere if it were up to me. And if he ever tries to contact her again, you make sure she’s safe first and then you call me second.”

Joel’s response is a firm, “Understood,” a testament to his implicit trust in his brother’s judgment about your ex, even without knowing the specifics of the situation. Tommy has his flaws, but when it comes to the people he loves and wants to protect, he doesn’t fuck around. And neither does Joel.

“Trauma’s a cruel thing, man,” Tommy murmurs as he opens another bottle and takes a sip, the sound of the cap popping resonating gently in the quiet of the summer evening.

“You can be 'fine' for years and then bam, you run into someone from your past and it all comes rushing back. You know you’re not that person anymore, you know you’re safe, you know it’s over…but then there’s this tiny voice in the back of your mind telling you you are still the person you used to be and that no matter what you do, you can never escape that fact.”

Tommy sighs deeply, staring into his bottle.

“And now that I’m on the other side for once…it’s fucking awful to watch someone you love self-destruct.”

“Hm,” Joel responds quietly.

Tommy studies his brother's tired face, the dark circles under his eyes, his slumped form, and forces himself to look past his own anxiety and resentment.

“I still think this whole thing is a stupid fucking idea,” he murmurs, “but if you really do love her…”

Joel meets his brother’s eyes with a hopeful expression.

“You guys ever go to the beach?”

“No.”

Tommy smiles to himself, the fact that that’s still something only the two of you share making him feel a little better.

“It’s a special place. Decent chance she’s there.”

Joel lets out a deep breath and straightens his shoulders. “Thanks, bud,” he says, his voice infused with genuine warmth as he rises from his seat. With deliberate care, he sets the beer bottle down, the clink of glass against the table echoing softly in the stillness.

Joel’s hand extends, gently patting his brother’s shoulder in a gesture of appreciation. The touch is tender yet meaningful, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they share.

Making his way through the living room, Joel thinks to himself that this conversation went better than he imagined it would go. It seems that Tommy really has matured. Incredible. Maybe Joel needs to stop underestimating his little bro–

“Hey,” he suddenly hears from behind him as he’s almost reached the front door. “When we had you over for Maria’s birthday party and I saw you both heading upstairs…”

Ah, there it is. So much for maturing.

Joel turns around and looks at his brother with a raised eyebrow and an almost imperceptible smile that speaks volumes.

Right as Tommy’s chewing his brother out for being a 'perverted motherfucker', the front door creaks open, and Maria steps inside, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion at the sight of the two brothers standing there in what seems to be a heated exchange.

Joel’s smirk widens into a sheepish grin, while Tommy’s cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment, realizing the timing couldn’t be worse for such a conversation.

Maria’s eyes dart between the two men, her brow furrowing as she takes in the scene before her, her husband’s choice of words catching her off guard.

Tommy clears his throat, struggling to find the right words to explain the situation, while Joel attempts to suppress a chuckle, knowing full well the awkwardness of the moment.

Quick to react, Joel moves forward to greet his sister-in-law with a warm kiss on the cheek and a murmured apology. “I’m sorry, gorgeous, I gotta go,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief.

After the door closes behind him, Maria turns to Tommy, her head tilted inquisitively as if to ask, “What the fuck was that about?”

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but instead he just sighs exasperatedly and shuffles back outside, the weight of the situation still heavy on his mind and heart. He plops down in his seat again, his expression somber.

Maria puts the grocery bags into the kitchen and then joins her husband on the patio, settling into the chair Joel occupied moments before.

“How was work, honey?” Tommy asks, his voice gentle as he tries to push his thoughts into the back of his mind.

“Oh, you know, Johnson’s still giving me a headache,” Maria replies with a heavy sigh, her frustration evident in the lines creasing her brow. “That asshole should’ve been disbarred years ago.”

She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to alleviate the stress that has been pressing down on her all day.

“And raspberry is making me nauseous, so that’s fun,” she adds with a tired smile, the weariness in her voice tempered by a hint of amusement.

Tommy smiles back at his wife, a soft glow of happiness illuminating his features at the mention of their unborn child, a precious secret they’ve been keeping for a little over a week now. With a tender gesture, he scoots closer to Maria, his hand instinctively drifting to her lower belly, his touch gentle and filled with a profound sense of wonder.

“So,” Maria says after a minute, her tone teasing yet affectionate, a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips as she tilts her head slightly, “they’re together?”

Tommy takes a big swig of his third beer, the cool liquid offering a brief respite from the warmth of the evening. He nods slowly, a sense of resignation mingled with a flicker of hope in his eyes.

“Yup,” he confirms quietly.

Maria chuckles, her laughter light and melodic as she puts her feet up on the little table in front of them, her eyes closed as she soaks up the warm rays of the setting sun.

“I told you.”

♡ Thank you for reading! ♡

previous • series masterlist • Joel masterlist

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barblaz-arts · 3 days

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I promised lore about Pugsley's kids forever ago but kept forgetting, sorry. Or more like, I kept putting it off because I wanted some sketches to accompany the lore dump, but I don't think I have the time to do that. So, just... Here.

Dante Addams

- Outcast type: Demon

- Power: can turn into fire

- Mother: was a demon that Pugsley fell in love with but only saw his father as a quick fling. Months after she broke things off with him, Pugsley finds baby Dante left behind on the Addams family doorstep with the note 'Keep him if you want him'

- he's smart and precocious. Vega likes talking to him because they're both intellectuals.

- Pugsley never had the heart to tell him that his mother abandoned him, but he's smart enough to put the pieces together

- just like any Addams, he has a penchant for mischief. His favorite prank is to steal and hide Jasper's legs

- he becomes a member and leader of the Nightshades when he becomes a Nevermore student

Jasper Addams

- Outcast type: Manananggal

- Power: breathes fire

- Mother: She never married Pugsley. Because she's a free spirit who loves to travel, they agreed that Jasper is better off in Pugsley's custody(yes she could have just settled down to help properly raise him. No she didn't do that)

- he loves salty food. Salt is typically deadly to a manananggal, but because he's an Addams, the worst it does is give him rashes

- he's a bit of a klutz. He often loses his legs. He sometimes puts them back on backwards.

- he isn't very confident in himself because he thinks his siblings are a lot more impressive than him.

- he's very popular among his peers in school because of his friendly nature

Briar Addams

- Outcast type: The Faceless

- Power: controls fire

- Mother: she was the only one Pugsley married. She died before Briar was old enough to remember her, but Dante and Jasper have very fond memories of her

- she adores her Tia Wednesday and has a petty one-sided rivalry with Vega. She carries around a doll that looks like her cousin so she can stick needles into it.

- Vega, Dante, and Jasper think she's scary. Very cute, but also scary

- she knows sign language, but mostly just gesticulates like Thing when she communicates. She's a girl of few words anyways.

- she's also very smart but hates school

- she just creeps people out. As a kid, it's initially just because of her appearance. As she gets older, she does things on purpose to make people uneasy around her.

I'll make another post for lore about Sora's parents and Regine's mom later. Maybe tomorrow.

#next gen nevermore AU #Pugsley's life as a parent is kinda sad romance wise #but he's grateful to have had his children regardless of the circumstances #they're all a piece of him and it shows in how the powers they inherited from him manifested #the irony that i unintentionally got dante dressed like a hazbin character is not lost on me no

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annewithaneofthegreengable · 1 day

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Hearts in Sync, Tires on Track

I'm sorry I have hit the deleted button 😢 and so I have to repost this one. This was based on a request of a reader @pear-1206, so sorry that your request message was also being deleted.

But yeah, here it is. Hope that you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I did. Also, if you have any requests please feel free to hit my dm, I appreciate it very much. If not then send me some of your love and support through that reblog and like button. Love ya alllll! 🫶🏻

Toto Wolff's wife and son, Y/n and Jack were in the garage, watching the race with bated breath. The atmosphere was tense, as nothing seemed to be working for George and Lewis. Toto's wife watched her husband's face, noticing the way his jaw was clenched, the deep furrow between his brows. She knew how much he was struggling, trying to figure out a way to turn things around for the team. Her heart ached for him, wanting nothing more than to ease his worries.

As the race continued, the tension in the garage grew thicker. She and Jack glued to his side, watching him anxiously. Toto's eyes flicked back and forth between the monitors, his fingers flying across his laptop as he tried to find a solution, anything that could help the team's chances. Toto's mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and strategies. His eyes scanned the monitors, searching for any glimpse of improvement from his drivers. As he pondered the various scenarios, his hand subconsciously went to his own wedding band, his fingers toying with it gently. Meanwhile, in the garage, Y/n sat with Jack, trying to keep a brave face despite her worry. She was struggling to keep her own anxiety in check, her mind constantly going back to her husband. Every now and then, she found herself twisting her wedding band around her finger, a silent prayer for his wellbeing.

The race was over, but the results had not been what he had hoped for. His heart was heavy with disappointment, and his mind raced with thoughts of what he could have done differently. Suddenly, there was a soft knock on his door, and he looked up to see his wife standing in the doorway. Her face was filled with concern, her eyes filled with a mixture of worry and love.

Toto's heart skipped a beat as he saw her. In that moment, all his worries and stress seemed to melt away, at least for a moment. He held out his hand, a silent invitation for her to come closer. She walked over to him, taking his hand and sitting down on the edge of his desk. For a moment, they were silent, simply taking comfort in each other's presence. Finally, Toto broke the silence. "It didn't go well," he said quietly, his voice low and strained.

Y/n nodded, her fingers gently rubbing small circles on the back of his hand. "I know," she murmured softly. "But you did everything you could. You always do." Toto let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping. "It wasn't enough," he replied. "I should have done more, I should have thought of something..." His wife reached up, gently cupping his face in her hands. "Stop," she said firmly. "You shouldn't blame yourself. You work too hard, you worry too much. You need to let go sometimes." Toto looked up at her, his expression a mix of exhaustion and guilt. "I can't," he said quietly. "I'm responsible for this team, for everyone who is now working at Brackley also. If I don't worry, who will?"

His wife chuckled softly, her thumbs stroking his cheeks fondly. "That's exactly what I mean," she said with a smile. "You're too dedicated, too determined. You forget to take care of yourself." Toto let out a huff of breath, his lips twitching into a small smile. "And who's going to take care of me, hm?" he teased, a hint of the old spark returning to his eyes.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, an amused grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Who do you think? Me," she replied, her tone playful. "Someone has to keep you from working yourself into the ground." Toto chuckled, the sound low and heartfelt. "You did a good job of it," he admitted.

As they were all laughing at his words, Toto's door creaked open, and they both looked up to see their son, Jack, standing in the doorway. The young boy's face was pinched with worry, his eyes taking in the sombre atmosphere of the room. "Papa?" he asked tentatively, his small voice breaking the silence. Toto's heart clenched at the sight of his son. "Hey, buddy," he said, mustering a smile. "Come here."

Jack hesitantly stepped into the room, his eyes flicking between his parents. Toto reached out a hand, gesturing for him to come closer. "Don't worry, everything's alright," Toto said, trying to keep his voice steady for his son's sake. "Just having a bit of a tough day, that's all." Jack slowly made his way over to them, stopping beside his father. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "We'll figure things out," he assured him, his voice gentle.

Y/n nodded in agreement, her fingers once again toying with her wedding band. "Papa's right," she said firmly. "We always figure things out. We're a team, remember?" Jack looked up at his dad, his eyes wide. "Us?" he asked, his voice small. Toto chuckled softly, reaching out to ruffle his son's hair. "Yeah, me, mama and you. We've been a team for a long time, haven't we?"

Jack seemed to accept this, his expression relaxing slightly. He leaned into his mother's side, resting his head against her shoulder. For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of everything that had happened that day hanging heavily in the air. Toto could feel the presence of his family, their love and support grounding him, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

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hoseoksluna · 3 days

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CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

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

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

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

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

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman.

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

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

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

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

How inspiring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you tell him.

“I want you to help me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does this feel better than if he gave in?

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

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

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

With words, this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so satisfied that you could cry.

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

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

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

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

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

“Swallow it, baby.”

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

“You do, baby.”

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

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

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

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

He’s Father.

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

Your heart quickens, abnormally.

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

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

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

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

Sunny side up it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not letting go of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put it in my ass, then.”

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly.

“What?”

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

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

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

“Baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come and you don’t stop.

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

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God.

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

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

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

“Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hum. “Oh, yeah?”

There he fucking goes again.

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say them again.”

You speed up your movement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

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

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ladythornofrivia · 3 days

Text

SING FOR ME (part one) | REVISED

dark!aemond x septa!tyrell!reader 🌹

summary: a once princess from a noble house took sworn oath for the Faith of the Seven blossomed into a septa with immaculate reputation due to her gift and preserving her virtue until the fate encounters with the one-eyed prince. (Also inspired by Phantom of the Opera).

warning: stalking, r*pe, unprotected sex, non-con, dubcon, dark aemond, manipulation, obsessive, kidnapping, aemond being delulu

a/n: I'm so sorry--I had to revise this. I didn't think it's good enough, so I had to make some changes, even the title--it feels off. Please forgive me.

Chapter One

The Pious Rose

The most beautiful rose was hidden away from the gardens.

The rose meant to blossom, not wither. She wasn’t meant to be tucked in the rest of her life. (Y/n) wasn’t meant to be tucked in the shadows. She belonged in the golden daylight, surrounded with flowers and her companions, her servitude in the Faith of the Seven, a lady with a driven purpose for the greater good to the Gods in the Sept. Her fate is supposed to be hers and hers alone.

Her dignity, her honor, her virtue and morals, one that inspires love and peace.

Within this darkness, how will the bask of sun shine her with comfort—living in suffocation. How will she live?

Rigid walls greeted her when her eyes were open. Where is she? Her stomach ached with a sharp jab. What has transpired for your fate to be trapped in a lonesome room with no sunlight, no candles, no sound and touch of breeze gliding through the windows? The windows were shut—no, you were confined.

Like the light, her hope has dimmed, and the shadows of her qualms and debate within her outlive. In this darkness, no one was present to succor her distress. The tattered clothing on your sleeves dampened from tears she shed.

No mother or father or sisters to guide her back home.

No servant or subject would come to her aid.

No guard to escort her out of the darkened room that has confined her to flee.

No sound of laughter, or talk amongst folks and lively music she had grown accustomed to.

The air is vacant. No one is to hear the voice but hers and the walls. And the door is locked. No way of escape.

The world felt so small and cramped, you weren’t sure if your life has been meaningful. Surely the Gods were testing you in this challenge.

The peace didn’t last when a heavy oak door boomed with long croak shattered the silence, flames pierced onto your sleepy eyes, until you met the eye of a certain shadow looming over her.

Several Months Ago….

It is said that the Gods had given grace to someone holy and pious. But you were the most holy and pious of all.

But it wasn't pious and holiest reputation.

With a gift you possessed, you managed to capture everyone's hearts, even the look of your beauty. But a song is what entranced every noble and ladies and children alike--at every occasion--namesdays, feasts and tourneys, and at every private and bond between families. Lords and ladies in every kingdom requested for you to commemorate on their special day.

Your song was a gift of light. A song in your voice is a gift of your heart and feast for the soul. A heart so pure and ethereal, that even men would swoon with tears.

You sang an eternal hymn, a hymn of love. A stellar performance like yours is not like any other--light and airy and amongst the heavens.

Since the days of wisdom, you are the most beautiful princess in all of Westeros, titled as ‘Golden Rose—the Rose In Winter and Sun’, ‘A Rose Never Wilted’—as you were born under a chilled winter under a golden sun, hence the given title. You’re the youngest of all Tyrell daughters.

Guests and family members of the court showered you with gifts, jewels, dresses and dolls that is twice as heavy and shiny with importance. Since when you were a child, you are cheery and bright; cheeks flush with health, as you grew older, your mind is constant with wit and daydream.

You have it all.

A gifted wit such as you shouldn’t be cast aside for a nobleman—whether handsome or hideous, young or old, sick or healthy—and to decay as a mother and a widow. And with your wit, you were also pious. Pious and cautious. For a young woman such as yourself, you’re wiser than others.

With every letter the suitors have sent have been casted into the hearth. Sometimes when suitors visited the kingdom, they would often asked of your presence, which you turned a blind eye.

Men.

Men are close to define as a unhinged beast.

Men are vile—filthy as if men are created from Seven Hells. Men are creatures that are made of fire and lust. Marriage is the death sentence to women as men being dutiful as killers and swordsmen at Night’s Watch, with their cocks gelded and their flesh smeared in sin. A woman’s body is as holy as the Sept, must be preserved and clean and mustn’t be driven with temporary hunger. The thought of your virtue being soiled by a man disgusts you, almost a phantom pain summoned between your legs, jab like a sharp knife. You shall never be clean again—overripe and tainted.

Undesirable, one which you can’t undo, with a child born in a mother’s belly was a monstrous and vile thing to give from an unmarried and unfaithful man—a beast hungered and scorched, burnt into the ashes of regret, unable to reverse the damage has been done. Frightened of a soiled reputation, as to avoid death, you must remain healthy with vigor.

You witness to all noble ladies, to whoever they consummate or shared pleasure with they’ve spent in secret upon a high nightfall, with their pleasurable sighs and moans, coming on their high, neglecting their noble duties, or how they gave a painful birth, you tend to avoid converse your peers and stayed inside, wandering in the gardens with flowers blooming just for you, as the canary birds chirped you’ve found yourself with reading or sewing or tending the birds in your pass time.

Most noble folks mistook you as shy, but in your heart, its grimace and resentment. At this rate, the noble ladies will likely to gain bastards than those with natural birthright.

No, it was never your destiny to tarnish.

You must remain pure.

With a life like yours, it’s perfect.

Almost.

House Tyrell has thrived since the dawn of time—the Age of Heroes and survived through fiery battles and clashing swords and broken oaths, traitor after traitor. Vows reformed and ruined by the likes of men’s lusty thoughts from their lusty cocks. House Tyrell went through all. How Tyrells became resilience is all thanks to lessons from experience—had been passed down generations to newcomers that breathed their first air.

Through beauty, through grace. Tyrells are clever and winsome and sly. Flower among flowers. But with flower with thorns are all the more dangerous.

It is said that your beauty is the fairest of all fairs. The day when you’re born, it is said you are bestowed by the Gods of Old and New. Since you were a child, all families brought together in peace. With you as a babe in a cradle, you are precious that when you were a child, you tend with animals and planted seed in the garden for flowers to blossom, for the grass become greener and brighter and clearer in the air. Sometimes you even sang hymns to the injured--animals, more particularly, to ease the frantic emotion that has been emulating.

But those are the days of past.

For years, you have not experienced duty, but all is thrive with a command with a snap of your fingers or whines in your voice to command. For someone young, courtship and marriage is not your intention. Your intentions are made clear to all with prying ears: you would never soil yourself to be bind by dutiful marriage and loveless vows.

But you, as of now, you are made to forge your own destiny. With beauty and grace, you remained to use cleverness for greater good. When you have been informed of the lords’ son wanted your hand, you declined his offer—an offer of negligence and ignorant bliss. That is when your mother resented you.

"Selfish," they all said.

"Cold and calculating," others concluded.

"A conceited bitch," the other men--who have once looked at you with admiration, muttered in between gossip.

Like flowers, beauty and life of love never lasts.

"She mustn't do this," your mother objected. "A young girl like her doesn't know what she wants. She preserve her status as a princess until she gives birth to children and cherish--remain loyal to her husband. That is her future accomplishment. Her reputation amongst men will be tarnish for eternity if she does this. Some men are turning away from her. There's still a chance to remedy this! We must remedy, we must!"

"We have other daughters, my love," your father said with a tender smile. "They have potential to be married off to the suitors. All of our daughters are kind and diligent."

"But all are not as pretty and useful at their talents as she," your mother remarked, as the father's smile died. "She can't be spending her days in the Sept for the rest of her life. I have confiscated all of the books, locked them away so she wouldn't suggest or spark an idea. A woman's mind is as clear as a man's mind. One must give as a future mother and wife. What good are the other daughters for, if they cannot be as achievable as she?"

"This is the fate I choose," you reasoned your father, in determinable rage. "I must do this."

And so, you cast aside the crown, the future prospects of awaiting suitors, who constantly want your hand in marriage of great alliances, and transformed as a septa. Like your mother, few other members of the Tyrell family objected, but your father had the last say and committed to a subjugation of your apply for a challenging task. Although your father and older sisters and brothers shared their support, your mother's intentions are quite clear as it did everyone else's.

As the matter has settled, your mother stopped you midway. "You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail," she hissed.

She's no rose, but a serpent that leeches the flesh.

"I always knew that you're an insipid witch who inspires no love but resentment, as of others. I must remain clean and pious, ever virtuous and benign. I hope you remain bitter and ugly, so that you die alone in your bed, no one to love you. You have killed the love from my father and my siblings, for I want no part with the likes of you," you told her, and barged out at the doors.

Perhaps your thorns are sharper than theirs.

And so, the raven sent a word from the capital, and by dawn—days later—your status is disposed and born anew as Septa (Y/N), and said your farewells and head off, afar from Highgarden with a single tear dropped on your face, as you recalled your grandmother’s words.

Growing strong.

"Farewell, my family, my home, my life, my garden, my comfort..." is all you uttered.

~*~

In King’s Landing, the capital since the dawn of time—has reconstructed and instructed under Aegon I, the most well-known infamous dragonlord that one day overshadow Westeros with a dragon and fury, as well as Visenya with her stubborn grit, and Rhaenys with her peace and wit. Once upon a time, King’s Landing used to be called Aegon’s Fort, but before Aegon’s Fort, it simply used to be a giant forest. Until all three of the dragonlords’ combination of their superb qualities and giant beasts, they’re unstoppable. Therefore, it’d be wise to bow down and surrender, if not, you’d be burn with dragon flame.

Rumor has it when living in King’s Landing, you can afford all the things and wealth and status you desire, even for being a prostitute in one of the inns at Street of Silk, but you intended to avoid filthy things altogether.

Other whispers you’ve heard is the Green Queen, Alicent Hightower, often visited in the Sept. Queen Alicent shed her blood through heretics on praying to her gods for salvation, whatever it may be, prayers to Gods are as sacred as a woman’s maidenhead. Somehow you felt it was out of duty to remain clean, or rebuke the filth to remain clean.

Since the days you have resided in a newfound residence within a glorified kingdom, you immersed your time on tending the orphans and the sick, you tend to your prayers and studies, sometimes tutoring the commoners and bastards and nobles alike—sunrise until sunset. Sometimes the children liked it when you sang them to keep them distract in daytime, or when you sang to them in sleep, for they have no parents to guide them in the land of sin.

In your private quarters, you summoned the belongings you treasured in your luggage—several books, a ring and a doll. There are times where you have missed your family dearly in your heart. Dresses exchanged with robes, your shining hair draped and tucked by veil.

Every once in a while, in your sleep, when an overwhelmed perception intruded in your blank state of mind, you pressed the porcelain glass doll in between your breasts, stroking it’s stringed hair and embraced it tightly.

Somehow, you felt the doll is alive each time you spoke to it, sometimes sang, pretending to be as your family member. You are alone in the capital, but you will outlive the loneliness. But that feeling of loneliness spread, tears dropped, your heart hitched and clenched as if someone’s fingers pressured onto the bleeding organ in your chest after ripping your ribcage open.

"Please stay close to me, stay close to me, my beloved, for the garden has grown cold without you," as you sang to the doll.

Each time your heart beats, the bell tolled in your ears and head on a slumbering nocturnal hour. In an otherworldly place, on the vast side afar from your former homeland, the bells reminded that King’s Landing is your new home.

Every now and then, you sent letters to your family. Every letter they sent gave you a sense of pride and joy--mostly your father, but only to be address as "Your Lord" instead of "Your Father". And every letter, there was a trinket of love that your father shared. And each time you lay on your bedside, you read their letters repeatedly until you lulled to slumber.

But as of late, you gained no response from them. For whatever reason, you kept on writing letters to them.

To think of a good and peaceful life, think of prosperity and glory to your prayers, guidance to a fulfilled wisdom and grace and flourish as the purest soul to fly within Seven Heavens above is the only way after passing on from a life of blood and lust and wretched souls that are beyond saving.

Days had been busied, and days had been hectic and tedious. Shutting your eyes in prayer in front of a grand statue, mouthing prayers in your mouth that you knew by heart. Each time you utter another thought, tears threatened to spill once more.

But you hardened your consciousness and pressed on.

~*~

One day, when dismissed from duties, you ought to find time a seclusion away from books and scriptures—lessons you have dealt with rambunctious children and spiteful elderly on the other side of city. You attended there, tending needs and care for animals, as well. Tending to endless hours seems forever, no way of escape for isolation.

But alas, you found solace under a spare time on a new night--and you have done this several times in several night previously. The area is empty but the walls adorned in fresh red roses and outgrown vines, reminded you of your garden. It was perfect. Surrounded in a garden, light of moonlight pooled behind the tree. On a marbled bench you sat, you resumed with your stitching of a canary, and sang a song from a book you've last read.

The birds chirped alongside yours, as it remain peace, but melancholy. But with the company of feathered friends, you remain your heart steady and true. You have chosen this life.

But as of late, you grew self-conscious, wondering if anyone was spying on you, in case you didn't do your duty to serve the Gods. Therefore, the passing hour has grown dark and departed from a secluded area.

~*~

The underground tunnels of King's Landing was all but darkness. But with a torch placed upon the walls stirred a bit ease to your liking. You ought to company other sisters back to the main ground.

As of now, you didn't like walking alone, as your thoughts remained at the last converse with your mother.

"You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail."

Immediately snapping out of your dreary thoughts, you marched onward with a sewing fabric clutched to your chest. Tunnels rumbled and echoed from your footsteps, as you saw a glimpse of small light above you.

You were almost there.

The air in your breath held in as you felt a large hand grasp your mouth and waist, dragging you back in the dark part of the tunnel. Struggle you as fought your way out, your needlework dropped, dragging and trapping you, wedged between the rustic bars. Biting off his fingers, you scurried off, but caught in between his hands again. You bit again and again until he yanked the veil back, released a sharp wail as the scalp on your golden brown hair has tugged in brute force.

As you attempted to turn around, but a lithe and large retaliated by you turning back around. Behind you, the shadow of someone's trousers dropped, and bent you forward. With large hands gripped tight on your waist, felt a hot tip, his hips grinding you, and plunged it all the way in, blood trailing down on your legs.

You cried aloud as the cock jabbing in your slick cunt.

No, no--not my virtue. Anything but my virtue.

A man groaned in satisfaction as he plunged into you, positioned your wrists behind you, hearing the wet splat as his hips snapped harshly to your entrance.

"Please...no..." you begged, cried.

But the man ignored you, a guttural moan pressed onto your ear, a man’s breath panted.

As he reached his high, hot semen spilled, leaving you breathless and beaten. Bruises on your skin swollen with numbness and your hair--the veil undone, your tucked hair loosened with tangle. Leaning forward with your shaken hands support from fall, you didn't spare a moment to shed your tears, as your final thoughts head straight to the culprit. Your eyes dazed in confusion and hurt. Why would someone hurt the person who was trying to heal the weak, and to preserve a restoring peace?

In your last moments of awake, your eyes glimpsed of a shadow strutting down at your direction, and passed out before a chance for you glimpse and run away.

Heavy footsteps caved in.

And the breath withhold loosened as a pair of hands reached you.

Like every flower, they wither.

~*~

In the next hour, you woke up, surrounded by darkness on cold bedside. You trudged at the door, finding out it was locked. Your fists banged against the door, screaming, "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"

Each time you screamed, your tears formed and stuck between your lashes. The tight, cold air caved into your chest, breathing harshly as your hands reached its exhaustion.

Then a pain between your legs had swollen each time you stride vastly back and forth, unsure to grasp the circumstances. It was then you realized one conclusion. Therefore, you tried to find another path, but how could you when you don't know its secrets to where you're standing now? Everything is dark and you're buried with stoned walls, nowhere to run to, or to hide or to tell someone to help you escape and flee from a wretched prison.

Leaning upon the wall, relying on a dimmest light of candle flame, you rested as your back slid downward, pressed against the wall, cuddled your knees to your chest and wept.

Weeping went on, but your hope wasn't lost.

But months went by, as the consciousness in your heart was trying to cooperate, to survive at least for tomorrow and the upcoming of days. You've been fed and clothed and sheltered. But it's not to your content; you yearned for more. There are times where you have sang to yourself, but still ended in tears with no one to hear but your own.

Oh the Gods have been cruel, but the god in your heart sets alight of hope for freedom, finding its way, but you must find a way within a perfect time.

Until one day, in your confined chambers, the dark room lit up until you faced the tall shadow casted before you with a sapphire glinted under the heavy cloak.

A shiver ran down on your neck, knowing who it was.

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