#still don’t really but the energy is there

[rafecameronssl4t]

Misunderstandings pt. 2 || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Sofia knew what she was doing when mentioning Rafe to you, and she also knew what she was doing when she told you that he never mentioned you, his girlfriend.

Warnings: smoking, swearing, reader is sorta petty buts it’s whtvr

Word count: 1,486

A/n: I’m so glad everyone liked misunderstandings!!!!! PART 1 IS HERE

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Don’t have to act like you didn’t see us, bitch,” you mumble under your breath, the rim of your champagne glass grazing your lips before you take a sip.

“Play nice, babe,” you hear Rafe mumble against the side of your head, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. You shoot him a sideways glance, a silent “really?” written all over your expression.

Rafe chuckles softly, his hand tightening slightly around your waist as he leans in closer. “Just don’t want you all worked up over some girl that I couldn’t care less about” he whispers, his voice low and intimate, a stark contrast to the tension brewing in the air.

As you turn your attention back to Sofia, you can’t help but feel a surge of annoyance at her blatant disregard. You’ve been discreetly observing Sofia working behind the bar, and you’re certain she caught sight of you and Rafe lounging on one of the many couches around the island club.

“Has she spoken to you at all after what happened?” Jada raises an eyebrow at you, her gaze flickering towards Sofia behind the bar.

You glance at Sofia, noting her deliberate avoidance of your gaze, her eyes fixed on her task with a determined focus. “No,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice. “She’s been avoiding me, but not Rafe.”

Rafe’s thumb rubs comforting circles on your clothed hip, a silent reassurance amidst the tension. You let out a scoff, feeling a surge of indignation at Sofia’s audacity.

“The nerve,” Jada says, shaking her head in disbelief before swiftly changing the topic, a subtle cue to steer the conversation away from the brewing conflict.

After about 20 minutes, Rafe pulls you in close, his arm snug around your waist, his breath warm against your ear. “Just gonna have a smoke with the guys, yeah? We’ll be out on the porch,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

You nod, feeling a mix of contentment and a slight reluctance to let him go. “Okay, don’t be too long,” you say, giving him a soft smile.

As Rafe stands and makes his way towards the porch, your eyes inadvertently drift to Sofia. She’s watching him, her gaze following his every move with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. Her expression is a mix of longing and bitterness.

But you push the unease aside, knowing that you trust Rafe completely. After the lies Sofia spread, he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. You turn back to Jada, who’s still chatting about the new shop downtown, and try to focus on the conversation.

Outside, you catch a glimpse of Rafe through the window, laughing with his friends, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the night air. He glances back at you, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. He gives you a reassuring smile as you return it.

“Come to the bathroom with me?” Jada gets up, as you turn back to her and hum in response, nodding. “Sure, let’s go.” You and Jada take a few minutes to touch up your makeup, sharing a laugh over the ridiculousness of some of the party guests.

As you finish applying your lipgloss, you give yourself one last glance in the mirror. “Ready?” you ask, turning to Jada. “Yeah,” she replies with a grin.

You both exit the bathroom, the noise and energy of the party hitting you once again. As you step back into the main room, your eyes instinctively drift towards the porch where you last saw Rafe, only to find it empty. A flicker of unease tugs at your gut, but you quickly push it aside. Rafe is probably just inside, chatting with someone or grabbing another drink.

“Where’s Rafe?” Jada asks, following your gaze to the now-empty porch. “I’m not sure,” you reply, scanning the room. “He was out there with the guys a few minutes ago. Jada shrugs, not too concerned. “He’s probably just inside somewhere. This place is huge.”

You nod, trying to shake off the slight worry that’s creeping in. You make your way through the crowd, Jada by your side, searching for any sign of Rafe. As you navigate the sea of faces, you catch snippets of conversations, the music thumping in the background.

Finally, you spot him near the bar, engaged in a conversation with Topper and a few other friends. Relief washes over you as you see him laughing and looking relaxed. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Sofia lingering nearby, her eyes fixed on Rafe.

“You’re joking,” you say, lightly gripping Jada’s forearm to get her attention. She glances at you, then follows your gaze. “Does she not get the hint?” Jada’s jaw drops as the two of you watch from afar.

Sofia is leaning in closer than necessary, her laugh overly animated as she attempts to draw Rafe’s attention. Your grip tightens slightly on Jada’s arm, irritation bubbling up inside you. Jada shakes her head in disbelief. “Some people just don’t know when to give up.”

Okay, well she doesn’t seem to be walking to him—” Jada starts, but as if on cue, Sofia begins making her way toward Rafe. “—I spoke too soon—”

Without letting Jada finish, you push through the crowd to get to the bar. “Y/N—wait!” you hear Jada call out, but her voice fades into the background as you focus on reaching Rafe before Sofia does.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you weave through the throng of partygoers, the pulsating music and laughter blurring into a distant hum. Your eyes remain fixed on Rafe, who’s seated at the bar, oblivious to Sofia’s determined approach.

Just as Sofia reaches him, you slip in between them, placing yourself firmly on Rafe’s lap. “Hey, babe,” you say, wrapping an arm around his neck and leaning in close. “Missed you.” You lock lips with him, making sure to make direct eye contact with Sofia.

Rafe responds immediately, his arms encircling you and pulling you closer. The kiss is more than just a greeting; it’s a clear message. When you finally pull back, you keep your eyes locked on Sofia, her face contorted in embarrassment and disbelief.

“Oh, hi y/n. Didn’t see you there,” Sofia says, her voice dripping with insincere sweetness. “Clearly,” you reply, a steely edge in your voice. You glance at Rafe, who is looking at you with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Rafe litters a trail of kisses along your jaw, each one sending a warm shiver down your spine. His touch is reassuring and possessive, grounding you in the moment. As you continue to stare at Sofia with a smile, you feel a surge of confidence.

“How’s work, Sof?” you ask, your tone sweet but laced with unmistakable sarcasm. “Are you familiarising yourself around here? Y’know, getting in between relationships, that sort of thing.” You rest your chin on your knuckle, maintaining your smile as you watch her shift uncomfortably under your gaze

Sofia’s eyes dart nervously between you and Rafe, her forced smile faltering. “I… I’ve been busy,” she stammers, clearly caught off guard by your directness. “Just trying to get to know everyone.”

Rafe’s kisses travel from your jaw to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Sounds like she’s been getting to know people a little too well,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice low and protective. The sensation sends a thrill through you, and you can’t help but smile wider at Sofia’s discomfort

“Well, maybe focus on making friends with people who aren’t clearly happy in their relationship,” you suggest, your smile never wavering. Rafe’s hand tightens around your waist, and he looks at Sofia with a mixture of amusement and warning. “Yeah, we’re good here,” he says, his voice firm.

You slide off Rafe’s lap, feeling his hands gently readjusting the top of your dress as you smile at him gratefully. “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Sofia. See you around the country club, yeah?” You wave at her, your tone polite but tinged with a hint of superiority.

Sofia watches you leave, her expression unreadable, before offering a strained smile in return. “Yeah, see you around,” she replies, her voice tight.

With Rafe’s hand resting on the small of your back, you lead him away from Sofia, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the way you handled the situation. As you walk back to the others, Rafe’s arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs, his voice filled with concern. You nod, leaning into his touch. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night.”

#fanfiction #drew starkey #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe x you #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #obx #obx fanfiction #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe imagine #dark rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x oc #outerbanks rafe #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x oc #rafe obx #outer banks x y/n

[bitterchocoo]

Hello ! Can I ask Savanaclaw with a first year student (platonic) that is like LingYang from Wuthering waves pls ? Ignore it if you don't want to write it !!!

Have a good day !

Another Lion?

Savanaclaw | M. Reader as Lingyang [Wuthering Waves] (Platonic)

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"It's like a mini you!"

----------

The day [Name] arrived at Savanaclaw is the day where Leona get's another headache. Such an energetic guy.. honestly where did he got all that energy from? It's annoying. Like a child who's still learning the world around him, believing how being kind and sincere is a good thing. Meanwhile Jack and Ruggie is incredibly happy. [Name] is just such a nice guy, always willing to help, it's a nice change from how many rotten eggs are in Savanaclaw, believing that they're the "strongest."

It's even more interesting how [Name] appears to also be a lion like Leona but turned out way different. Ruggie would always joke how [Name] is the version of Leona if he was kinder. Which earned him quite the death glare. When [Name] offered a private lion dance performance. Boy is it a sight. Watching someone showing their culture and traditions are always a nice experience and seeing him go from pillar to pillar with such swift motions is quite mesmerizing. [Name] is more than happy to teach them lion dancing if they asked.

With how swift he is, [Name] instantly made his way on to the Magical Shift/Spelldrive team in Savanclaw. He's just so agile, perhaps being a lion dancer makes him quite nimble.

Leona still finds him annoying though but after some interactions, [Name] makes a wonderful sleeping buddy. How? Well somehow he always without fail found the nicest and seclusive spots for naps. [Name]'s senses are surprisingly sharper than his, which throw Leona off the loop for a moment, and just like that [Name] had officially become Savanclaw's younger brother, who ever dare lay a single finger on him will answer to the Housewarden.

Ruggie and [Name] bonded like brothers, playing pranks here and there, enjoying life. Jack is like the more responsible older brother. Ready to help, and tries to get the two of them out of trouble, he may seem mean, but he's a big softie.

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Spoilers to those who haven't done Lingyang's companion quest

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Leona, Ruggie, Jack, and [Name] were at the Savanaclaw's dorm, Leona is napping like always, while Ruggie and Jack told stories of from their hometown as [Name] listens eagerly, happy to learn new things. "Oh? So it's like a folklore? Jinzhou also had one. It's called the Jingle Beast." [Name] says casually, looking out at the horizon with a faint smile, remembering it well how people use to fear such a "beast."

"They say that there's a beast somewhere out there and that when it hunts, you could hear the sound of a bell jingle. It's as simple as that really." He explains casually with a chuckle in the end. Such a silly rumor.

"Kishishishi! Really now? A Jingle Beast?" Ruggie can't help but laugh at such an interesting folklore. "Some say it's just a Suan'ni. A mystical creature that has amazing abilities. Some were skeptical though, since Suan'ni's are practically extinct now." [Name] added, looking down at the ground where they sat. This caught their attention, even Leona as he opens one eye and glance over to the three of them.

Ruggie thought about it for a moment before nodding in response, his face became more serious. "I don’t blame them. In ancient times, the world used to be a very brutal world. Suan‘nies were hunted and killed by humans for their own profit and desires. It was cruel and not fair."

[Name] remain silent for a moment, thinking back on those times. "In my own option…" He began slowly.

"The last Suan'ni might have yearn to become a human… it yanked out all of its fur, filled down its claws, twisted its bones, and learn how to stand upright." [Name] explains in a soft and melancholy tone, his gaze never leaving the ground, his ears occasionally twitched as he says those words.

"Anyway…" He paused, adding with hesitant in his voice. "It.. never really became a human in the end.."

Pure silence. Nothing but pure silence follows after that.

Ruggie and Jack look at [Name] with widened eyes, heck, even Leona had gotten up, sitting upright and looking at the other with a dumbfounded expression. They immediately picked up on what the other is implying.

Of course the Suan'ni never became a human in the end... because at the end of the day.. it is still a Suan'ni.

Through out the centuries... animals evolved and that's how they could now stand on two feet, talk, and etc etc.

But what about those who are older? Before such evolution could even be achieve? Suppose...

[Name] had answer that question.

#x male reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twst #twst x reader #twst x male reader #savanaclaw #twst savanaclaw #leona kingscholar #twst leona #jack howl #twst jack #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #lingyang #wuthering waves #wuwa lingyang #platonic

[cvtyvvitch]

💗💐✨Pick-A-Card: What Is Next for You in Love?✨💐

💕 Pick an emoji (⚡️, 🌸, or 🌊) for a reading on what is coming next for you in love.

✨ Focus your intention and remain open — if none of the images light up for you, there may not be a message for you in this reading! Alternatively, more than one image might connect with you. As always, trust your intuition and take what resonates, leaving the rest.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

#1 ⚡️ Lightning ⚡️

In French, love at first sight is called ‘coup de foudre’ — a lightning strike. This picture makes my eyes water, and I get a few different impressions off it. First, someone sees you and is completely taken back. This could be someone you have met already and they felt this, but for some it’s happening soon. Someone who literally stops in their tracks and is dazed by you. It’s a frenetic energy, hard to pin down. A bit of the madness that comes with a really intense new crush.

The second option I get is that someone reenters your life very suddenly, a bit of a Tower experience. It feels that things were left unresolved between you, and it’s a situation/feelings that still keeps you up some nights. It’s a feeling like horses straining under a harness and energy built up to the point of explosion. Not a bad feeling per se, but definitely volatile and shocking.

Key words: fire, volcano, out of control, thunder, chewed straws, bitten nails, knock on the door, feet on pavement, midnight, nokia cell phone, unknown caller ID, broken glass, be not afraid, late night gas/petrol station, buzzing silence

PS If you have any feedback, please let me know! Also if you save this reading and notice it being accurate for you, I’d love to hear about it!

🌸🌸🌸

#2 🌸 Pink Flower 🌸

For this group, I get the image of someone picking flowers from the garden for their grandmother. Someone very sweet on the periphery of your life who you know or may get the opportunity to get to know soon. They feel like someone with a lot of responsibility with maybe their family or community, but always find the time for you. Sweet, somewhat shy or quiet energy. Feels like a neighbor, maybe, or a neighbor to someone in your family.

There’s hesitation here, maybe on both ends? I don’t feel major turmoil but just the uncertainty mixed with curiosity that comes with a new person who isn’t obviously mutually interested in you. Friendly without being over flirtatious. The type of person who gives you a bucket of lemons because they’ve had a bunch extra in their backyard.

Keywords: bicycle, farmer’s market, pharmacy, picket fence, down the hall, shy, hedge, grandmother, dahlias, peonies, tuna can, plum

PS If you have any feedback, please let me know! Also if you save this reading and notice it being accurate for you, I’d love to hear about it!

🌊🌊🌊

#3 🌊 Waves 🌊

This connection coming in has a feeling of longing. It feels like a period of missing someone or a time in your life that you know you can’t return to. Grief that feels a little bit difficult to place because it feels like wanting something that even if you got it, things wouldn’t feel the same because you have also changed.

I know that’s not a super happy sounding message, but this is a period where you are asked to deeply reflect on what you loved and feel you’ve lost. Allow yourself to move past the surface of yearning to the deeper questions: why did I have this experience? Where did I learn what I wanted, and what does not truly help me grow and feel safe? It may feel very confusing right now in the face of perceived loss. It’s a murky time you must allow yourself to experience and pass through, but take care not to become trapped by the siren’s song of nostalgia. There is more for you to experience on the other side of this lesson, and a version of yourself waiting to embrace new joy based on a profound understanding of these past disappointing experiences.

Keywords: sighs, mirror, fingers along water, long hair, loneliness, emptiness, nostalgia, despair. Salt, tears, egg yolk, relearning, color, passion, glorious comeback and rebirth

#tarot reading #divination #tarot #tarotcommunity #tarot pac #pac reading #pick a pile #pick a card #free tarot reading #channeled message #loa tumblr #pink aesthetic #love reading #tarot love reading

[supercutszns]

luke castellan comforting his gf?

btw i love ur work 💗💗

wc + pairing: 0.9k, luke castellan x reader

oh i really needed this,,, if i stop writing comfort fics i’m dead i will literally write a thousand of them over and over they could be exact replicas and i would not care. sorry this took such a long time i've been in a big writing slump and i really don't like this but we have to start somewhere <3 every time someone requests a comfort fic i get very happy inside! i know this isn’t my best work like at all but hopefully it’s enough for now

Luke’s good at finding hidden things. A playing card wedged between wooden panels. A camper that always trudges at the back of the line. He can find something at its most sheltered and pluck it right back where it belongs. He’s good at that with you, too. When you wedge yourself somewhere tough, he slips through the cracks every damn time. 

You’re exhausted. You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve been here, or how you can stop it. You just couldn’t get up this morning and your siblings let you stay sick. You imagine an alternate version of this day over and over, where you’re up and alive and contributing to something. But that’s not today. But it should be. You dream it until tears press against your eyes but you’ve got no energy to push them out. 

Feeling like this isn’t a constant occurrence, but it happens. Luke finds his way in each time, wedging open the slightest crack in your door or coming in through the window. He comes bearing gifts, he jokes. You don’t ask him where he gets the things he brings you—snacks, chocolate, plastic figurines to place on your windowsill. Menial things you like. Luke has his methods, and you know he loves you too much to reveal them. 

“Got some offerings for a goddess here,” he says when he sits down on your bed, knuckles brushing your arm. If you’re too tired to answer he never minds, he just crosses his legs and pulls your head into his lap. He smooths the hair away from your face to massage your scalp, and lets you rest. He doesn’t ask you for anything. Doesn’t force you to speak. You do when you’re ready. 

“I don’t feel good,” you admit hoarsely, blinking back tears. 

“That’s okay.” He leans down to kiss your forehead. “You just rest.”

It almost makes you laugh. “I’ve been in bed all day, Luke.”

“Mm, yeah, but you’re not really resting,” he says without judgement, letting you cling to his body as you pull yourself up to a seated position. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

You press your face into his neck so the warmth can distract you. Sometimes you say a lot, sometimes you say a little, like your mouth has separated from your body. It almost always ends with, “I feel like shit. I don’t know what to do.”

Luke is patient with you, but never overbearing. He knows you shut down when things are laid on too thick. “Want to take a nap?” He offers, threading his hands through your hair. “I can take you to my cabin, it’s cooler.”

He’s right, so you let him, and he steals you away without a fuss. The sheets smell like him, so even if you want to be alone, he still grounds you. When you fall into his bed you curl into a ball like an armadillo, like you can squeeze the rot out of your bones if you compress hard enough. Luke slots himself beside you after confirming it’s what you want, pressing kisses into your shoulder, until you turn into him and starfish over his body. “You let me know if you need anything, angel,” he murmurs, swiping your hair away from your face. “I’ve got you.” 

You manage to doze off, with his arms loose around your back and his chest underneath you. When you wake up later with a kiss of late afternoon breeze, you’re struck with the disorienting feeling of a good sleep. “Luke,” you mutter, digging your nose into his neck. 

He rouses too. “How’re you feeling?”

“Still bad.”

“Mm.” He kisses your forehead, squeezes you against him. “That’s okay. Want me to go grab you some food?” 

“Can we talk a little before?” 

“‘Course,” he says gently. He ghosts a kiss over your jaw. 

Sleep has pieced together some of the words you need, and Luke brings them out of you with hardly any effort. You have what’s probably a fragmented reason at best, but he doesn’t care. He keeps you anchored to him as long as you want him to, rubbing your back and letting you take your time. Once you’re done with the conversation, Luke diligently wipes your tears and kisses you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” he grins. “I mean, I do love you. Nothing else I’d rather do.”

You let your forehead rest against his. Your throat feels thick but you get the words out, “I’m worried I’m going to feel this way forever.”

It doesn’t feel good to admit. Luke’s face softens, and he presses a kiss between your brows. “You won’t,” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “You’ve got time.”

The length of the day moving around you matters a little less when Luke shields you from it. His knuckles rub across the ridges in your back until you’re sure the texture of his shirt is imprinted on your face. 

After he goes off to bring you some food, you find the strength to go wash your face in the bathroom. It’s practically nothing. Practically. At least you settle back into his bed, the blankets aren’t as heavy as before. You don’t feel better yet, but Luke’s got plenty of time for you. (He’ll pawn his kids off to Chris. None of them need this grilled cheese anyway.)

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

#perrie’s fics #perrie’s asks #perrie's requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan comfort #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x you #pjo x reader

[klttn]

Ahhhh I'm in love with your writing style, your dainty blog format and your personality 😭🙏🙏 MY soul left my body when I noticed you only have one adam fic.. Could I pls with cherry on top request adam headcanons or a fic (whatever is easier for you) with a constantly sleepy, lethargic gentle sloth-like reader? I just find the alot of energy + no energy dynamic super cute and funny. You can also add nsfw aspects onto it if you'd like! Idm, I just CRAVE to see how you'd write it. (I do this with every writer I hyperfixate on)

𐙚 ⋆˚ 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 ⋆ ｡ ྀི

— 𝜗𝜚 adam x f!reader

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 summary : a soft dive into how much adam loves his sleepy lil girl. spoiler alert. it’s a lot. nsfw. lil bit of smut. somnophilia. lots of praise. soft!adam. mention of murder cause execution day. adam has a god complex.

𝜗𝜚 adam always gives you a kiss before leaving for work in a morning. always. if he ever forgot, work would have to wait, he would be coming straight back to give you one. he just loves the sleepy look on your face and how you wrap yourself up on his side of the bed as soon as he leaves, nuzzling into his scent as if to chase it before it fades.

“so cute,” he’d mutter, planting a soft kiss atop your head, “sleepy girl.” a small yawn slipping past your lips as you clung to his pillow. “i love you baby, i’ll be back later.”

“mm love you too,” you mumbled back, eyes not opening, still half in a sleep sedated state, nuzzling into the pillow in your grasp, letting the feeling take over you once more.

“such a sleepyhead.”

𝜗𝜚 adam loves how sleepy you are, always. running on two hours of sleep or twelve, you’re always soft eyed and needy for cuddles and naps and he loves that it gives him an excuse to baby you at all times, mostly too lethargic to notice the subtle manipulative tone in his voice. able to have you wrapped around his finger and hanging off the praise that he showers you in. no room for arguments if you’re worshipping him like he was god himself.

“you really are just a baby, aren’t you?” he said it so casually like he was asking you how was your day was, eyes elsewhere, attention on something trivial, but he wouldn’t miss the hitch in your breath and the way your eyes would widen at his words.

a confused look waved over your face, head tilting like a puppies and a soft bite of your own lip filled your mouth. “huh?”

subtle smirk rising on adam’s face, his eyes now gracing your presence. “look at you, little girl, just a soft sleepy thing, you’re just a baby! my sleepy little girl.” a blush would creep up your face. “don’t know how you survived before me.” the words like honey to your ears as he moved closer into your space. “that’s why you’re lucky to have me, like a god to protect you so you don’t have to be anything more.”

in theory you shouldn’t like it but he made it taste oh so sweet.

𝜗𝜚 adam loves to shower you with compliments. for anything and everything you do, loves to make it known how cute you turn with the flustered expression on your face when he boasts and excitedly tells you just that. coaxing you out of your blankets n stuffies deserves you being praised after all.

“awh, pretty girl, look so cute in your blankets,” adam cooed, looming over you and peppering your face with soft kisses, energetic and powerful as always. “such a cute babygirl.” his large hands coming to leave gentle tickles to your sides, little giggles erupting from your throat, big grin plastering over your face.

“adam stoppp!!” fidgeting and squeaking and squirming under his touch and gaze. “tickles adam!!” but all he would do is look at you under his lidded eyes and thrive in the absolutely adorable noises and looks on your face.

“so adorable, baby.” he’d smile. “think you can leave this cuddle fest and come give your god some attention?”

a little huff escaped your lips, whining and burying yourself back into the comfort of your blankets “do i haveee to? you could cuddle with me!” a stern look covers adam’s face and the warning look has you melting, crawling into his lap. he didn’t say you had to get up, just that you had to leave your blankets and give him some attention. he can carry you if he wants you elsewhere. “didn’t say i have to get up hmph.”

“how dare i expect you to do such a thing,” his eyes roll and he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you.

𝜗𝜚 he LOVES to show you off. in front of anyone who will let him. no matter who it was, hellspawn or heaven, everyone knew exactly who you were. adam loves showing you off almost as much as he loves telling everyone about how many sinners he’s killed on execution day. this also came hand in hand with him being very possessive over you though, so as much as he liked boasting about you, if you say the wrong thing about his girl or him, there would be angelic steel pressed up against your throat before you could finish the sentence.

“look at this babe!” he’d pull out his phone, innocent picture of you lit up on the screen. “yeah, this one’s mine, hot as fuck right?” chants of agreements flood back at him, fuelling his ego almost as much as you do, “speaking of the word fuck,” he winks, “this one can.”

that got the crowd cheering, his douche friends intrigued and curious, “yeah, bet she would look pretty with a cock in her mouth.” someone clearly has a death wish to say something like that to the adam.

he borderline growled, they were allowed to think such depraved thoughts only if he let them. only if he brought them up. “oh she does,” he was now in the guys face, making a point, “she looks adorable with my cock in her mouth, her eyes are so beautiful when she’s all sleepy and i’m fucking her throat.” emphasis on the ‘my’ and the ‘i’m’. “even when she sleeps, she’s the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.” the last bit a little too domestic for adam’s usual taste.

lute scoffed, “going soft, sir?” she’d mock, the attention of the others looming over the pair.

“i’m about as soft as my dick is when i fuck her, so be careful with your words, danger tits or i will show you and everyone here, just how hard i can be.” and suddenly everyone stiffened, the innuendo lost out of fear of adam. a ‘sorry, sir,’ ushering out lutes mouth as she backs down as quick as she spoke up.

𝜗𝜚 as soft as adam could be, he was also a perv. a major one. so vulger and loved to do such depraved things to you. you were his little pillow princess and he thrived in the control he had over your body, so pliable and submissive for him. he loved it. you’d match the energy in return, wearing lewd things under your blankets just so when he’d pull them back, he’s be greeted with a sight to make him melt.

“shit, fuck, baby, what’s this?” his laugh borderline sadistic. “naughty girl. so innocent til i’m pulling these-“ he held the blankets in his hands. “-off you and look at the state of you, hard nipples, dripping cunt and that cute little innocent smile looking up at me, you’re just begging to get used, aren’t you?”

a giggle erupted from your lips, “maybe..” you spread your legs, teasing, “just a little.” you felt yourself shrinking at his gaze.

“yeah?” adam’s eyebrows raised, grin now showing his pointed teeth, “such a little tease, babygirl,” him now manhandling you, you letting him do whatever he pleased as he adjusted your pillows under your hips and got you ready for his cock, “fuck you’re really soaking them panties for me.”

needless to say you’d be a stuttering, mumbling mess after. sleepy and clinging to him on the comedown of your high.

𝜗𝜚 calling out for god during sex would he useless because adam already was your god. and he loved it, his god complex would sky rocket, cocky self only growing more so the more you’d shrink and whimper underneath him.

“oh my god, please, please, too much, please!” you begged, whining and soft tears slipping down your cheeks, wriggling and writhing to get away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck that’s right, baby, i am your god.” adam quipped, the comment only making him fuck you harder.

𝜗𝜚 somnophilia!! having such a cute little sleepyhead as a girlfriend comes with its perks and that perk for adam was getting to fuck that pretty cunt whilst you slept and he was rock hard and horny. it was you that brought it up first, shyly, whispering how cute it would be n how much you wanted to try it. of course, who was adam to turn that down?

your sleeping body was something adam loved to admire, no clothes in the way, just soft skin and adam’s wondering hands -and cock- whilst you slept so peacefully.

he was addicted to the tightness of your pussy as he first slipped in, “fuck, fuck fuck, shit, god, so fucking tight.” curses would spew out of him as he bottomed out.

a soft gasp escaping you, stirring you as his cock pushed deep into your cervix.your eyes began to slip open, blinking a little without thought.

“no, no, baby, go back to sleep, shh, it’s okay, fuck, go back to sleep, little girl.” your hands clinging to the duvet, eyes fluttering shut and squeezing tight, “good girl, gooood girlll, just let me use you, my little sleepyhead.”

𝜗𝜚 adam’s aftercare was incredible. you did have to teach him at first but when he learnt, he was amazing at it. stroking your hair, cleaning you up, putting you to sleep, making sure you were safe, protected. anything you need. he’d be there.

“you did so good for me, baby,” adam shushed, “took me so well, you’re such a good girl.” your eyes glassy as he spoke, so deep and lost, you couldn’t help but stare up at him all doe eyed. “gonna take care of you, yeah? clean you up and get you in bed, that okay, sleepyhead?”

he felt a soft nod on his shoulder from where he was holding you, “good girl.” he chuckled at your ditzy state. “you just be cute in my arms baby, i’ll handle the rest.”

overall adam was the best ball of energy bf to your sleepy baby gf.

A/N : sleepyhead gf is my favourite <3

#mine ♡ #⁺˳✧༚ dolly’s drabbles #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel reader insert #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x you #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin adam #hazbin adam x you #hazbin hotel reader x adam #hazbin hotel you x adam #hazbin reader x adam #hazbin you x adam #adam #adam x y/n #adam x you #reader x adam #adam x reader #you x adam #hazbin hotel adam x y/n #hazbin adam x y/n

[hoseoksluna]

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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

[scoonsalicious]

9.2 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of past cheating.

Word Count: 2.3k

Previously On...: Bucky and Lily had a conversation. Now Lily knows you and Bucky are dating.

A/N: Sorry this is late; I had to clean out my office after hours today. It was... an experience, to say the least :/

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

“I think you’re a fucking idiot,” your best friend, Hannah Santiago, said to you as you sat in the coffee shop across the street from The WarZone. She had been furious with you when you hadn’t answered her texts all weekend, so you promised her a lunch date to catch her up on your last few days in the company of one Bucky Barnes.

She did not appear to be taking it very well.

“Why?” you asked, mildly insulted. “He’s amazing, Han. I think you’ll really like him when you get to know him.”

Hannah rolled her eyes at you. “Oh, I’m sure he’s a peach,” she agreed with just a hint of sarcasm. “Though I’d probably feel better about it if you got to know him, too, before shacking up with him for days on end!”

“It’s NRE,” you told her, as if that perfectly explained the intense connection you felt you shared with Bucky. “That New Relationship Energy.”

“Oh my god,” Hannah groaned. “Get off of TikTok. You’re too fucking old for that shit.” A mother at the next table over with an infant in a stroller gave her a disapproving look and audibly tsked at her, but Hannah just responded with a glare.

“It’s great for marketing,” you grumbled.

“Look,” Hannah conceded with a sigh, “I’m sure this guy is wonderful, really. But (Y/N), sweetie, you haven’t had a serious relationship since you and Connor split.” You opened your mouth to protest, despite knowing she was right, but Hannah silenced you with a look. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to get back out there; lord knows it's past time– I just want you to be smart about it and not rush into anything headfirst with someone you barely know.”

Logically, of course, you knew Hannah was right. “He suggested we should put a pause on having sex so we can focus on getting to know each other better,” you offered. 

Hannah raised a well-manicured eyebrow. “Okay, that’s interesting,” she said. “Especially if it was as good as you said it was.”

You dropped your chin into your hand as you rested your elbow against the table and sighed dreamily. “Hannah, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I swear, I don’t even know if I can call anything Connor ever gave me an actual orgasm after then things Bucky’s done to my body.”

The mother at the next table muttered something about “inappropriate talk” under her breath, but loud enough that you both could hear her. 

“Last time I checked,” Hannah said pointedly at you, though projecting her voice so that you knew it was actually for the other woman’s benefit, “‘inappropriate’ speech is still free speech. So sue me, please.”

You rolled your eyes good naturedly. As a First Amendment litigator, Hannah took Freedom of Speech extremely seriously. “Han,” you warned. “Let it go. This isn’t a courtroom.”

“Fine,” your friend said, ignoring the mother as she stood up and walked away with her stroller. “I’m just worried about you,” she said. “The last time you jumped headfirst into a relationship without really knowing the guy, you ended up married for nine years.”

You hated that she was right– you did have a track record of impulsive relationship decisions. “I appreciate you looking out for me,” you offered, reaching out to squeeze Hannah’s hand across the table. 

“So, do you really see this turning into a long term thing?” Hannah asked, genuinely curious. “Because I’ll support you if you do; I’ll just tell you I told you so if it all falls apart at your feet.”

“I think I do,” you told her, choosing to ignore her jab about rubbing failure in your face. “I know it’s early, but… I’m happy when I’m with him. There’s just the one issue with his–” You paused, not quite sure you wanted to divulge the Lily-sized elephant in your relationship with Bucky just yet.

“One issue with what?” Hannah asked. “And you better not say ‘nothing,’ otherwise I will use my cross examination skills against you,” she threatened. 

Having no desire to subject yourself to that, you relented. “It’s just… he’s got this female best friend–”

“Oh, hell no!” Hannah said, loudly enough to attract the attention of most of the other coffee shop patrons. “Nope, we are not doing this, (Y/N). I will not stand by and watch you go through that all over again.”

Truthfully, this was the reaction you had been expecting. “I’m not the same person I was back then, Han,” you protested. “Bucky’s not Connor, and Lily’s not Danielle.”

You understood your friend’s anger on your behalf. When Connor had promised you there was nothing between him and his childhood best friend, Danielle, you’d naively believed him, despite the gnawing sensation in your gut that told you something wasn’t right with their relationship. It was years before the instinct grew enough to convince you to look at his phone and you had found thousands of text messages between the two of them. You’d promptly thrown up.

His reaction had been textbook. At first, he tried to gaslight you– you didn’t see what you thought you saw; you were taking innocent conversations out of context (though, you weren’t sure how much context the exchanging of nudes really needed). Then, he tried to shift the blame on you– you were never around, always away on deployment or assignments. You emasculated him by getting promoted again and again, until you outranked him, and how was he supposed to live with that? Finally, he love bombed you, showering you with compliments and praise, begging you to forgive him, making promises you knew he would never keep, telling you he’d do anything to get you to stay.

Except for cutting off all contact with Danielle, apparently. He was willing to do anything, anything at all to regain your trust… just not the one thing you’d actually asked of him.

In the end, the divorce had been relatively straight forward. You weren’t stupid. You’d made sure to take screenshots of all of the text conversations between him and his mistress in case he deleted them. You’d even recorded the conversation you had with him when you confronted him, and he’d actually admitted to it. 

There were a lot of things you had disliked about the United States Army, but their stance on cheating hadn’t been one of them. Connor had ended up demoted, and you were able to maintain all of your financial assets without having to shell out anything for spousal support, despite the fact that you had out-earned him by more than double. 

As for Danielle? Well, you became an expert at giving her the cold shoulder and pretending like she didn’t exist.

“You never thought Connor would end up like Connor, either,” Hannah told you pointedly. “And yet.”

You sighed. Your friend had a point, you knew she did, but you just couldn’t imagine Bucky doing that to you. 

“Look, I’m not trying to shit in your cornflakes,” Hannah said. “I love you and I’m worried about you. I don’t want to see you rush into something and make the same mistakes again. That’s all.”

“I know, I know,” you agreed. And you really did. Hannah had been your biggest source of support when your marriage had gone to hell. She’d set you up with your attorney, let you stay with her while your housing situation got sorted, and had been your shoulder to cry on all the nights you had too much to drink and swore you were going to die alone. 

“Look, I promise to not jump into anything crazy,” you assured her. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

*

After saying your goodbyes to Hannah so she could return to her firm, you headed back over to The WarZone, hoping to get yourself absorbed in some work so you could get your mind off of Hannah’s worries before they became your worries, too. Natasha should be arriving shortly for her standing Tuesday appointment, and you were hoping to chat with her for a few minutes once she was done. 

The bell above the entry door rang cheerfully as you pushed your way inside, but the atmosphere in the lobby felt unnaturally heavy. You looked up from your phone to see Rand leaning against the reception desk with his arms crossed, glaring at someone across the room, and Zadie trying to pretend to look busy at her computer.

You followed Rand’s gaze and locked eyes with Bucky. His giant frame was spread out across one of the lounge chairs, and he seemed to have been watching Rand with a puzzled sort of wariness. When he turned to look at you, though, a blinding smile broke across his face that made your knees feel weak.

“Hey, sugar,” he greeted, standing up and making his way toward you. 

You moved to meet him halfway. “Hiya, Sarge,” you said, putting your arms around his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him hello. “I missed you.” 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye as his hands settled on your hips. “I just saw you yesterday.”

“Lotta lonely hours between then and now, Bucky,” you told him evocatively, toying your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck.

The loud sound of a clearing throat brought your attention back to Rand, who was looking at you in disbelief. “Really?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry–” you said, purposefully ignoring Rand’s meaning. “Where are my manners? Bucky, this is my office assistant, Zadie–” Zadie waved enthusiastically from her perch behind the reception desk, “-- and my Midtown location manager, Rand. Guys,” you said, taking an excited breath, “this is Bucky.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Bucky,” Zadie said enthusiastically, and you knew the orchid and note he had sent you on Saturday had definitely won her over to his side. “Major’s told us so much about you.”

“Yeah,” added Rand through gritted teeth, “we’ve heard an awful lot about you, Mr. Barnes.” You shot him a look, silently pleading for him to be nice, or at least remove himself before he said something offensive.

“It’s nice to meet you both, as well,” Bucky said, ever the gentleman. He made to move, and you highly suspected he was going to try to shake hands with them. While you had no doubt Zadie would be friendly, you wouldn’t put it past Rand to just be a dick for the hell of it, so you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s midsection and drew yourself toward him, keeping him in place.

“So,” you began, hoping to distract him from your manager’s open hostility, “to what do I owe the pleasure? Because it is a pleasure to see you, especially when unexpected.”

Bucky smiled and moved a hand to brush a lock of hair away from your face. “Nat mentioned she was coming down for her weekly visit,” he said. “She invited me to come join her; thought I’d like to check out the place for myself.” He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially: “And if I just so happened to run into this pretty girl I’ve had my eye on, well, that would be a bonus.”

His words made your insides dance, leaving you feeling like a giddy teenager. “You’ll have to let me know if she shows up, Sarge,” you teased. “I’ll try to put a good word in for you.”

“You’d do that for me? Thanks, doll,” he grinned.

“Of course, handsome. Where is Nat, anyway?” you asked. The redhead hadn’t been in the lobby when you came in.

“She had to take a phone call. Avengers stuff,” Bucky offered with a shrug. “She shouldn’t be too long.”

As if on cue, the main door opened and Natasha breezed into the lobby. She caught sight of you and Bucky with your arms around one another immediately and threw a knowing smirk your way. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she said. She turned to Bucky and rolled her eyes. “Fury had some questions about the last mission that apparently couldn’t be saved for an email.”

“Fucking bureaucracy,” he muttered. 

“Tell me about it.” Nat’s frown quickly transformed into delighted glee as she rubbed her hands together. “Alright, Barnes. You ready to fuck some shit up?”

“Oh,” chirped Zadie. “I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff; we didn’t have you down for a doubles’ room. Just your usual single.”

“Zadie, just move them to a VIP room,” you told your office assistant. You turned to Nat. “That should be more than big enough for the both of you.”

“They’re also significantly extra in price,” Rand interjected. 

“Waive the fee,” you said. 

“Sugar,” Bucky said, looking down at you, “that’s not necessary; we can pay the difference.”

“I’m not going to make my boy– er, um… my friends pay for an upgrade I offered them that they didn’t ask for. For fucks’ sake, Rand.” You hoped no one noticed your slipup, but the way Bucky was grinning down at you and squeezing your hip let you know it hadn’t gotten past him at all. 

“No problem, Major,” Zadie said. “Room 5c is available and all ready to go.”

“I’m sure you’re busy being the big boss, doll,” Bucky said as you moved to escort him and Nat to the elevators. You’d be having a chat with Rand later. “But any chance you could join us? I’d really like my first time to be with you.”

“Oh my god,” gagged Natasha. “You’re pathetic, Barnes. Seriously. That was bad.”

“So bad,” you agreed with a laugh, “but it worked.” You grinned at the both of them. “Yeah, of course I’ll help you pop your rage room cherry.”

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[idkwhatever580]

I threw it away

Masterlist<< I mostly write Natasha romanoff but if you have a request I’ll be happy to write Regina.

Pairings: Regina George x reader

Prompt: weight had never been a tricky thing for y/n. Until she started dating Regina.

Warnings: bad relationships with food/weight

A/N: idk I wanted to write something like this to show that an ED or a relationship with weight can change even when you’re older and not just at girlhood i guess? Just remember that you are so perfect and loved.

Y/n’s pov

I started dating Regina during the summer between our junior and senior year.

I used to be friends with Janis. That is until I found out what she did to Regina.

I don’t care if a girl is your mortal enemy. You don’t mess around with her biggest insecurities. Even if it’s what she flaunts the most.

Especially not weight. Those Kalteen bars were horrible of janis to do.

I slowly just got “busier” over time. And I eventually just stopped talking to Janis all together. I didn’t want to surround myself with that energy.

So after Regina got hit by that bus I started visiting her and trying to make it up to her.

It might not have happened if I just told her what they did.

But then again, we might not have started dating. So back to now.

I basically have been living at Regina’s place. I spend the night a lot, but if I go home then Gina is always picking me up when I can go.

My parents don’t care much. They say that I’m allowed to live my life. Thank goodness they’re laid back. Of course not as much as Mrs George but they believe that as long as I’m not getting drunk, high, or pregnant then I’m good.

I’m in Gina’s room and she gets up and says

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

I get up to go with her.

“Okay!”

She’s like the black cat and I’m like the golden retriever. But we work really well together.

She walks in and does her business and then after she washes her hands and all, she decides to head over to the scale.

I’ve never used it. But she uses it all the time.

She breaks me out of my thoughts when she thinks out loud

“Yes! Back down to my ideal 120 pounds” (about 54 kilograms?)

I frown. I’ve never heard her say her weight before. And I say

“Congrats baby! Was that from all the kalteen bars?”

She nods her head and says

“I finally worked all the weight off”

I smile and kiss her and say

“That’s great. Why don’t you go tell your mom?”

She shrugs and says

“Eh. It doesnt matter. I’m gonna go back to the room okay?”

I nod my head and say

“I’m gonna pee”

She doesn’t stay since I’m a bit pee shy still so when she leaves I quickly run to the scale and check my weight.

Definitely not Regina’s ideal weight.

Suddenly I feel this rush of guilt fall over me. I walk back to her bed and crawl in with her. As she scrolls through her phone, I get lost in my thoughts.

If Regina tells me I’m perfect the way I am then why would she lie? Obviously she wants to be a certain weight. And if it’s her ideal weight then she clearly wants me to be that way too. I need to lose more weight. Maybe I’ll start a diet. That’s good. I’ll start a diet and just won’t tell Gina until I hit her desired weight and then she’ll think I’m perfect for real.

“What’s on your mind?”

I snap out of it and shake my head

“Nothing! Just watching videos over your shoulder”

She squints at me and says

“Alright. You know if you need anything you can tell me right?”

I nod my head.

Then all of a sudden Mrs George comes into the room and says

“Hey girls! I just wanted to let you know that I made my world famous cookies and they’re cooling in the kitchen right now if you wanted to grab them while they’re warm.”

I smile and Regina gets up so I follow.

She grabs one and says

“Aren’t you gonna eat one?”

I shake my head and say

“I’m not hungry.”

She hums and says

“But you love my mom’s cookies. You always eat a few”

I just now realized how much I eat of those and get slightly flustered so I say

“I’m just not hungry right now”

She nods her head and eats her cookie.

They do smell heavenly. But I must stay strong.

We head back upstairs after Gina finishes her cookie and I go on my phone to look up good diet routines. I find a decent one to start with.

If I don’t like it then I’ll do another one.

So I text my mom and ask her if she can get a few things the next time she goes to the store and she agrees.

Then I turn around and yawn.

“Y/n are you sleepy?”

I nod my head and she says

“Take a nap baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I smile and let my eyes flutter closed and Regina whispers into my ear

“My perfect girl”

I smile at her even though it’s fake. I don’t feel perfect anymore.

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

It’s been a few weeks on this diet and it’s hard. It’s hard for me to reject a bunch of the foods I love.

Thankfully Mrs George also makes some keto versions of her food every now and then so I can eat those.

I have a routine now. Every time I go to the bathroom I check my weight right after. I check my weight in the mornings and in the evenings. But only at Regina’s house since I am here all the time.

We’re watching tv on her bed and I say

“I gotta pee. I’ll be right back”

Gina nods and says

“Kk”

I do my business and wash my hands. But it isn’t until I go to where her scale is that I find it’s not there.

I look around the room and I don’t see it anywhere.

“Gina?”

I say loud enough for her to hear me.

“Yeah?”

Once I know I have her attention I say

“Where’s the scale?”

“Oh.. I threw it away”

After she says that I walk quickly to the room and say

“What?! What do you mean you threw it away?”

She shrugs as always and says

“I threw it away”

“Why would you do that? I need to see my weight.”

She gets up and comes to me and says

“I threw it away because I noticed that you’ve been doing this thing where you check your weight all the time.”

“Well you check yours all the time too!”

For some reason this is like a huge deal to me. I just want to be perfect for her. She grabs my hand and sits me down and says

“I know. I realized how bad that can be for my mental health. So I decided that I was going to lose the weight from those nasty kalteen bars and then start fresh. I, of course, have been having a healthy balance between my food intake. But it’s not a huge deal if I lose weight or gain weight. As long as I’m healthy.”

I look at her and say

“Oh. That’s nice.”

She nods her head and continues

“I noticed that once I stopped, you started. And I didn’t want that for you. You have never had to worry about your weight before because it was never a bad thing in your house. Most girls would call you lucky. And I don’t want you to start thinking bad about yourself now”

I frown and say

“But you said the ideal weight is 120?” (54)

She sighs and says

“I said that wrong. I wanted to get back to my baseline and start taking care of myself properly. The only reason I lost that weight in the first place was because I didn’t want to feel like Janis had that hold on my body anymore. If I was gonna gain weight it was going to be for myself. And because of myself. Not for anyone else and not because of anyone else.”

I nod my head in understanding and she puts one of her hands on my cheek and the other on my waist and says

“I’m sorry you ever felt less than perfect because of a stupid slip up I made. Your body is literally so beautiful.”

I doubt her until she says things that most people think are ugly

“From your beautiful stretch marks. Right down to the cellulite in your legs. It’s all beautiful. Perfect. And honestly. You’re so healthy. You work out. You’re strong. You have a good balance with food. Well, you did before you started whatever diet thing you have going on. And you are literally like a puzzle piece for me. The way we can cuddle perfectly. I love your soft tummy because I can nap on it and be so comfortable. I love your ass and tits because they make great handles for… sexy times…”

I giggle and she continues.

“I love how each and every scar and divot and bump and mark on your body tells a story. It makes you, you. And I would change that for the world. So I threw the scale away. If I’m starting new. Then you are too.”

I sigh as I get a fluttery feeling in my heart and stomach and I hug her. I finally say

“Thank you. Thank you so much”

She shakes her head and says

“No thank you. You’re the one who convinced me I’m perfect the way I am. And now it’s my turn to do the same.”

I pull away and she says

“Why don’t we go downstairs. I think my mom is making us a snack”

I smile and nod my head.

We head downstairs and Mrs George is making snickerdoodles and I smell the air and say

“It smells delicious!”

She smiles and says

“I made some keto ones for your diet y/n!”

She pulls out one singular cookie that was set apart from the others and I say

“Oh. No thanks. I’m not gonna diet anymore. My body is perfect the way it is.”

She smiles and nods her head affirming that and then hands each of us a cookie that is still warm and soft from the oven.

I hum when I take the first bite and Gina does it at the same time as me so we end up giggling from it.

This time. I eat two cookies and Gina does the same.

Then Gina asks

“Mom? What did you do with that other cookie?”

She turns around and says

“Oh! I threw it in the trash.”

Gina nods and turns to me. I smile at her and say

“Slay”

We love a good parallel.

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

A/N: I hope y’all liked it! It’s my first time writing Regina George. But I’m thinking of writing a prequel to this and doing how Janis and y/n had their fall out. And when y/n started being friends with Regina. Let me know what y’all think!

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish

#regina george #regina george x reader #regina x reader #mean girls #fanfiction #fanfic

[nicromancytarot]

WHAT DO YOU NEED TO FOCUS ON RIGHT NOW?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD TAROT READING

I asked my spirit guides what you need to focus on right now, pick a picture and find out what they had to say!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

Pile 4 ———> Pile 5 ———> Pile 6

PILE 1

Maintaining relationships and friendships is the most important thing for you guys right now. It’s been proven hard for people to hold up friendships and relationships of those who they are about, as lots of people are becoming less tolerant towards bullshit. Perhaps you’re not being the best version of yourself towards your friends right now. I’d recommend taking a look inside yourself and figuring out what is making you act out in possibly not the best ways, and how can you help yourself, and make up with others in the process?

PILE 2

You guys need to focus on your money and how you are treating it, I don’t know if you’re being too lenient, or too stubborn with your spending, some of you will fit into their of these. Make sure you spend responsibly. For those of who who have the money and are scared to spend it because you fear you will lose it, you won’t - you can spend an amount without worrying about not making it back, because you will gain that back. For those of you who are the opposite and spending too much, or too impulsively, take a breather and allow yourself to take a break from spending for this next month, only spend money on necessities.

PILE 3

You guys have a decision that you need to make right now, something in which you are very confused or stuck towards. I’m assuming this decision to be quite life changing for you guys, so get thinking and try to figure out the best choice for you. Not to scare you my pile 3’s, however if you don’t make this decision and choose the direction or path you desire to go down, the universe will do it for you, and they will lead you to that tower moment to get rid of everything and start again.

PILE 4

This is a very specific message, so if it doesn’t resonate, choose another pile. For the ones of you who this does resonate with, you guys seem to currently be struggling on whether or not you want to give your heart to someone. You may have been hurt in the past and now worried about opening yourself up to a person in such a way. Don’t stress so much about this, you will find and make the decision that is right for you.

PILE 5

Focus on your healing journey so those around you who have hurt you and caused you great sadness will be able to feel that of what they made you experience. Your reading is themed heavily around karma that can only be achieved once you heal yourself and accept that these people hurt you. Take your time, not too much, but allow yourself to figure out who these people were and what they did to you. You are so incredibly powerful, the universe wants you to heal so they can have your back and get at those who have hurt you. For a very select few or you, this could theme around legal trouble, gather your evidence and keep it all orderly for when you need to speak about it.

PILE 6

You guys need a breather, take some time to just relax, rest, stop doing so much. You guys are very busy, some of you are really into the whole nightlife scene, and are constantly out partying until early hours of the morning. Take a moment from it and relax, you need to rest instead of working or doing so much constantly. Allow yourself to relax for the love of god. SLEEP.

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot witch #free tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile

[unformula1]

So… corny (LN4 x male!reader)

lando likes you w/c: 612 a/n: happy pride month ! (masterlist)

“Happy pride month!” Lando says as you walk into the room.

You raise an eyebrow and stare at him, confused.

“Okay, rude.” He scoffs and kicks his feet up onto the table, glaring at you.

“Thank… you?” You say, still a little unsure.

“That’s more like it!” He claps and goes back to scrolling his phone.

“I’m not…” You hesitate, not sure how to phrase this, “How did you know?”

“It’s really not that hard!” Lando shrugs, “You radiate that energy.”

“How… what?” You look at Lando, confused.

“You’re clueless!” Lando sighs, exasperated, “My gaydar is never wrong.” He smirks confidently.

“Doesn’t explain much.” You shake your head.

“The accounts you follow on basically all your socials! Your posts from 2018 onward, it’s basically an open book!” Lando says.

“So you stalked me?” 

“What!? No-” Lando’s legs drop off the table, “No, wait- well when you phrase it like that.”

You nod as Lando facepalms.

“I appreciate it.” You say as you take a seat next to Lando and pat him on the shoulder.

“It’s not like it was unprompted, it’s because-” Lando trips over his own words, “Someone asked me and I thought I’d go find out!”

You nod but slightly slower, giving Lando an awkward smile.

“Yea… okay.” You pat his shoulder slightly harder.

“You’re not like… insulted… or anything, right?” Lando asks.

“No! Not at all.” You say.

“Well, I also found a couple of gems!” He says as he holds up his phone with a screenshot of your old post.

“Oh-” You gasp, “Oh hell no!”

Lando laughs at your reaction and swipes, showing you another.

A message drops from Lando’s phone. 

you should just ask him

And another.

he might say yes

You shrug them off quickly as Lando swipes again.

“How many did you take!?” 

“Like… thirty!” He smiles proudly.

“I’m gonna beat you up.” You say.

“Hey!” Lando leans back, “You aren’t flattered?”

“What?” 

“Nothing. Pretend I never said that.” He quickly stashes away his phone.

“Well, of course I’m flattered!” You chuckle, “It’s been a while since someone has given me this much attention/”

“Oh?” He says, “Really!?” He says, but more excitedly.

“Yea, I mean-” You speak with your hands a lot more, hoping to bring across a point.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to! Just know I’m flattered.” You say and Lando smiles really wide.

You sigh.

“Usually guys get to this point and say ‘just know i’m not like into you or anything’” You say, horribly mimicking a deep voice.

“Oh well I won’t say that!” Lando says.

“Because you’re into me?” You provoke.

“What- No, wait, I mean, yes?” He chokes on his words, “Probably, I don’t know- maybe? I’m confused.”

“You just said 5 different answers in 2 seconds.” You chuckle.

He buries his face.

“I don’t know.” 

You feel bad for that now. You take a deep breath.

“I didn’t know either. You’ll figure it out, eventually.” You assure him while patting his back, “Take your time.”

“You don’t…” Lando hesitates, “It’s not going to be weird right?”

“No, never.” You say, “After all, I would know all about it!”

“Right, yea.” Lando looks at you, “It’s just been a tad bit confusing lately.”

“First off, don’t say ‘tad’, it sounds silly.” You joke, “Secondly, it’s going to be confusing, just give it all a minute to make sense.”

“You’re pretty.”

“I know-” You smirk, “Thank you.”

“Is it mutual?”

“Very much.”

“Oh.”

“Cool.”

That was… a lot more casual than expected. You and Lando lock eyes for a second and you smile which fills Lando with warmth as he smiles back.

God this is absolutely corny.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fandom #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #not beta read #mclaren #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x male reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fluff #lando norris x you #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 fluff #ln4 x male reader #lando norris x male reader

[foldingfittedsheets]

Joining the mattress querying - what recommendations, if any, do you have for pregnancy and mattresses? We’re planning to have another child, and the weight gain (70lbs, I don’t do pregnancy with grace) from our first kid absolutely trashed my side of the bed (which admittedly is from 2014 so it was eight years old at the time and is now ten). I want a new (larger - definitely time to go to a king with two kids, ye gods they kick) mattress prior to undergoing The Most Uncomfortable Year Ever again, but I don’t have any idea where to start. I’ll be hot, my joints will hurt, but I’ll be really heavy and not very mobile. And I don’t want the weight gain to wear in my side of the bed in ways that don’t work for not-pregnant me again. Thank you so much for looking at this, and I completely understand if you don’t have the energy to answer (or any thoughts on the matter).

I'll preface with I've never been pregnant, so keep that in mind. In my experience memory foam beds have greater resiliency under weight strain though. The downside is that some memory foam can run hot and most of it does impede your movement somewhat.

There's hybrid mattresses all memory foam top over springs that might work, they still have some bounce from coils to move, with more bounce back than traditional beds and can have cooling elements.

But first, waterproof protector. You're gonna sweat and they should just be on all the time but, fun fact, sweat is one the biggest factors in foam breaking down so you can get a cooling protector and also keep the bed safer while also cooling you down. I personally really like protect a bed, this is their cooling one. I like to get two so I can put one right back on when I wash it. Protectors should get washed about every other time you wash your sheets or every two weeks whichever is sooner.

There's cooling all foam beds, Tempurpedic's doesn't mess around but the feel of their beds isn't for everyone, and again it can make it harder to move around. I loved the hybrid Sealy mattress I had for a while too, and I'm generally very in favor of hybrid/foam beds but that feel might not be for you. Going and laying on a bed should always be the first step because everyone's comfort can vary so much.

The biggest and last thing is if you get a traditional bed quilted foam on top of coils and experience a pregnancy divot, 70lbs isn't actually a huge difference to the mattress permanently. It was probably more a matter of not wearing the foam down around you evenly, or sweating more and breaking it down if you didn't have a waterproof protector. Having a partner get up and walk on the foam around your sleep divot should help immensely to keep you out of a rut.

#ask ffs #I think pillows are supposed to help for pregnancy? #but not sure on what kind or how much or how to use them so good luck on that area #bed talk #mattress #advice

[dominimoonbeam]

New Rule

I've still got some asks in my inbox and a bunch of ideas rolling around, but this one is another mugging fic. I've already got the Gavin/FL home invasion fic and the Angel mugged fic. I think I'm working my way to a whole series of them...

This one is Damien/Huxley getting mugged by unempowered humans. <3 <3

tw: mugging, established relationship, banter during danger, cute dark?

New Rule

Damien wasn’t sure what he was watching, his gaze flicking between his boyfriend and the strangers in front of them.

Huxley was using his slow calm voice, his hands up.

The two unempowered humans were practically yelling, their energy on the opposite end of the spectrum and one of them holding a gun. A gun! It waved between Huxley and Damien.

“Okay, dude. No worries,” Huxley said, subtly stepping to the side. At first Damien thought he was just trying to get closer to him, but then he realized he was standing in front of him. What the absolute hell was going on?

“Give us your fucking phones!”

Huxley nodded. “Sure, buddy.” He slowly pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Are you joking?” Damien asked. It was like he’d walked into a parallel dimensions. This could not be real!

“Dames…” Huxley said gently, not sounding worried really. It was the tone he used when he thought Damien should be nicer to people. But these were criminals! Human criminals aiming to mug them, two empowered humans.

Huxley started to hold his phone out and the second guy, the one without a gun, leaned out to snatch it.

"No!" Damien snapped, taking it first and shooting the human a reproachful glare.

Huxley turned sideways to look at Damien, one eyebrow raised pleadingly. “Dames…”

“Don’t Dames me! Why are you handing him your phone?”

“Hey meathead!” The one with the gun shouted, jabbing his gun in Huxley’s direction again. Oh, Damien was getting real fucking sick of that.

The temperature in the alley was rising. Damien knew it only because the humans were sweating.

“They probably need it more than we do. It’s okay,” Huxley said. “I’ll get a new one.”

“That’s not the point!”

The mugger took a step closer. “Give me your fucking shit or else—”

“Or else what?” Damien yelled back, really asking, outraged that this stranger was really threatening them—threatening Huxley.

Huxley put a hand on his side, seeming to have forgotten the muggers. “It’s okay,” he said again, trying to soothe him. “They don’t know better.”

“Fuck you!” the guy without the gun snapped over the shoulder of the one with the gun.

Damien glared at him. “You better watch that mouth…” he warned, watching heat bring out a bright red across the human’s skin.

“Dames… Let’s just let them go, okay?” Huxley smiled at him.

“Are you insane? I’m the one with the gun here,” the other human yelled, another step closer, that arm still out and his weapon pointed at Huxley.

“Covert, babe,” Huxley reminded gently.

Damien stared back at his boyfriend, trying really hard to let it go, to not let that absolute outrage of this stranger threatening his person…pulling a weapon on his person…ignite that inferno in his chest. When Huxley gently tugged his phone out of Damien’s hand, Damien let it go. He held Huxley’s gaze so as not to watch him toss it to the strangers. He held his gaze when he pulled out his wallet and tossed it too, all the while looking serene as ever.

“Now the rich boy’s shit too,” the guy with the gun said.

Huxley huffed a breath and broke eye contact to look at the stranger. “Buddy, you really have to walk away with the win before this goes to shit…”

The stranger shook his head and lunged forward, reaching out with his free hand to shove at Huxley’s chest.

He didn’t make contact though.

Damien was trying, he really was, but this was asking too much.

His magic rippled out when he pushed a shield around them, rebuffing that hand before it could touch Huxley. His Huxley. No. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

The guy stumbled back a step, face wrinkling in confusion.

Huxley exhaled a shallow laugh. “Just go, man.” When they didn’t, he added, “Do you feel your sneakers melting into the asphalt? It’s not the summer, dude. Time to run.”

Damien looked up at Huxley again. “You think I can handle giving them your stuff but not my own?”

Huxley’s expression softened. “That’s not what I meant…”

Damien’s heart squeezed. No, of course it wasn’t. “Oh.” He was okay handing his own stuff over, yes, but even Huxley had limits to his kindness.

The stranger reached for them again but not for Huxley this time. He aimed to grab at Damien’s shoulder, to pull him away or turn him maybe. He clearly didn’t like how casually they were taking this whole situation.

But Damien wasn’t looking at the situation anymore, he was looking at his partner and that soft expression of his when he’s trying to make Damien understand him when he’s not sure how to put it into words himself. And then that open, kind expression changed when the stranger reached for Damien.

He hadn’t seen Huxley look that serious, or that angry, since the inversion. The ground rolled, not exactly underfoot but outward from them, rolling the two guys off their feet, cracking the asphalt and toppling a garbage bin. Car alarms went off on the street and Huxley winced, turning to look at the humans he’d knocked over.

“Look at that, we broke covert,” Damien said, stepping over a deep crack in the ground to walk over to the muggers.

Huxley swore.

Damien rolled his hand at his side and heated the gun in the man’s hand until it glowed and he screamed, letting it go.

“Dames…”

He bent and picked up his boyfriend’s phone and wallet, pausing to shoot the confused and scared human one last warning glare. “Tell anyone about this, and I’ll find you.”

Huxley groaned. “Damien, really…”

He walked back to his partner and put his phone and wallet back into his pockets, where they belonged. “Okay, new rule.”

Huxley sighed, looking worried about the mess they’d made.

Weirdly, Damien couldn’t care less about covert. He took his hand and started walking again. This was a mess that could easily be fixed, but he doubted it needed to be. “New rule,” he said again when they turned a corner. “No letting things happen to you, that you wouldn’t let happen to me.”

Huxley squeezed his hand gently. “Damien…”

Damien shook his head. “It’s a rule, okay? I don’t care if they’re unempowered. I’ll memory wipe them myself if I have to.”

Huxley glanced back toward the mouth of that dark alley. “Do you think we need to?”

Damien scoffed. “No.” He curled an arm around his boyfriend’s waist, tugging him against his side as they walked and enjoying the weight of his arm settling over his shoulders. It was a step closer to forgetting the sight of that gun pointed at him.

“You’re still warm…” Huxley pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna go skinny dipping in the river?”

Damien almost tripped over his own steps. “What?”

Huxley smiled and shrugged innocently. “You know. To cool off.”

Damien laughed darkly, knowing that if he got Huxley naked it would not help him cool off, no matter how cold the river was tonight. And Hux definitely knew it too. “Yeah. Okay,” he agreed, more than willing to pretend it would.

#fanfic #redactedverse #damien/huxley #mugging fic #cute dark #<3 #redacted asmr #dominimoonbeam

[spookwyrdie]

Sweet Spot {part 1}

{part 1}{part 2}{part 3}{part 4}{part 5}{part 6}

Baker Felix x Florist reader

summary: You're putting together the floral arrangements for your ex's wedding as a favor, forgetting how passive aggressive he can be about your love life. Fortunately for you, one of your best friend's in the world comes over to feed you sugar and make you a sweet offer to get back at your ex. genre: fluff, smut, angst if you squint // word count: 2.8k // warnings: adult dialogue, sexual themes, wet dream // a/n: Trying out something longer and fluffier this time! If you'd like to be on the taglist, reply to this post or send me an ask 🥰

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

You should have never agreed to do this. Your fingers were sore from wire wrapping all the different bouquets, one for each bridesmaid, the ring bearer’s pillow, and the flower girl. So far, you were only halfway done with the floral arch and hadn’t even gotten to start on the table settings yet. There were bits of torn leaves, crushed flower petals, and feathers strewn around your apartment, trying to deal with the last minute changes in aesthetic that the bride asked for.

 The shift from a classic summer bouquet to something more bohemian wasn’t impossible, but it was a challenge with the wedding a week away. It definitely wasn’t your favorite aesthetic in the world, but you were determined to make it work.

The question of why you had agreed to do this at a quarter of your normal fee was beginning to fester in your mind, especially for your ex’s wedding. 

You and Johnny were amicable, sure. Civil might be a better word for it. You didn’t have any leftover romantic feelings for the man - that ship had sailed ages ago. The main problem you had now with him is that he always seemed to be in competition with you, always trying to steal your thunder or diminish your accomplishments. It was always underhanded and passive aggressive and you didn’t have the energy to really push back.

Speaking of the devil, your phone pings with a text message.

❌J: hey y/n, just checking in about the florals. Jenny is freaking out and wants an update you: working on them now! [image attached]  ❌J: wow! Hard at work! Is this the bride’s bouquet? you: yep! Putting the finishing touches on it now’s ❌J: it looks really busy, are you sure this is what she asked for? you: yes. I promise I’m following her vision that we spoke about during our last consultation. ❌J okay! just making sure! I know some of these changes need a quick turn around. ❌J: oh also… ❌J: i wanted to chat with you about something you: ? ❌J: I know things have been a little rough in the dating department for you lately but you still officially have a plus one to the wedding, in case you wanted to bring your sister or someone! you: …thanks.  you: Don’t know where the idea that I’m struggling with dating came from, but I appreciate the plus one. ❌J: I had just heard through the grapevine is all. ❌J: there’s someone out there for everyone! You’ll find them eventually. ❌J: like me and Jenny! We were just made for each other 💕 you: okay, Johnny! Great chatting, I’ll get back to work now! 

You swipe out of the text thread and pinch your brow, the feeling of a building tension headache settling right between your eyes. His audacity is always bewildering, he can have such a sickeningly sweet tone while making sure to get a jab or two in to hurt you. 

Sure, you haven’t had a solid relationship since the two of you broke up, but he doesn’t have to rub your nose in it. The relationship ended amicably enough once you both graduated from college, realizing that the two of you were drifting apart as you pursued your respective careers. Staying civil made it easier to maintain the friend group, neither of you had any real reason to be upset with the other. That didn’t mean you were close, you still kept your distance.

 When he had gotten engaged, you were genuinely pleased for him, and a little relieved. Sometimes, when you’d run into each other at parties, he would make it a point to find you and tell you how well he was doing. You’d get the feeling that he was trying to showboat his accomplishments - he always wanted to tell you all about his successes, all the great things going on in his life. 

He got a great job at some law firm, a promotion and another promotion. Then he had met Jenny, they got engaged, and wasn’t it just so cute that their names were so similar? Jenny and Johnny, Johnny and Jenny! It became their whole personality as a couple and he’d corner you to tell you about how amazing she is and how he had never met anyone who just got him like she did. Every time you’d deal with this, you felt like he had poured corn syrup on you with how saccharine he sounded.

He’d hear about your ebb and flow of love and give you such a pitying look. “Oh you haven’t been dating? That’s too bad, there’s someone out there for everyone! Just look at me and Jenny!” Just throwing small digs in your direction that flew under the radar for most of your friends. 

But you knew. 

You knew he was always trying to make you feel like you had “lost” the break-up. 

~~~

A knock at the door brings you back to the present moment. 

“Y/n~! It’s me! Open up,” a deep voice lilts in a sing-song voice. 

You shake your head, trying to snap out of your shitty mood to answer the door. On your doorstep is one of the best things that came into your life with his ice blond hair, freckles, and a smile that could light up an entire room. Before you can say anything, Felix barges past you into your apartment, holding two paper bags with the bakery’s logo on it.

“I brought some new flavors for you to try, I’m experimenting for the springtime,” he says as he starts unpacking travel pastry boxes with different colored cakes inside.

“Ugh, please don't talk to me about weddings right now,” you sigh. He pauses his unpacking.

“What’s up? You sound like someone kicked your dog.” 

“I just had the most passive aggressive interaction with my ex, Johnny.”

You open the text thread to show him. 

“This is your ex?”

“Yep.”

“Damn, he’s not even being subtle about it.”

“Nope.”

The room is silent for a split second before Felix brightens up again. 

“Well fuck that, the flowers look great, despite the boho bad taste. Come try these new cake flavors I’ve been playing with! Sugar always cheers me up.”

You give him a small smile, he always knows exactly how to bring a little optimism into a shitty situation. “Sure Felix, what have you got for me?”

Soon, you have 4 plates and forks out for the different cake concoctions.

“I’ve been playing around with different florals and citrus for spring, so here we have a lavender cake with key lime frosting. Over here, we have an earl grey cake with lemon curd and lemon buttercream. Then we’ve got a vanilla cake with a pistachio filling and a rose buttercream. Finally we have a jasmine green tea cake with yuzu curd and a vanilla glaze,” Felix says, bouncing on his toes. 

“Okay, Mary Berry! They all sound delicious.”

“You have to be one hundred percent honest with me, I want actual feedback on these!” He grabs your shoulders and looks deep into your eyes, your heart skipping a beat briefly at his intensity. He looks so eager for you to try his different concoctions. Most couples weren’t looking for anything too extreme in the way of flavors, most opting for a basic white cake and buttercream, so you knew Felix loved to share the uncommon combinations he came up with.

They were all so beautiful, perfectly cut out and frosted with care. You picked up your fork enthusiastically.

“Fuck, Felix, that’s delicious,” you say, savoring the citrus flavors. Every single one you tried was more delicious than the last. Your favorite had to be the earl grey and lemon. “This one tastes like how a springtime tea party feels.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling into little crescent moons, his freckles stand out when he smiles so brightly.

“Thanks, it’s always nice when I get to play around with flavor,” he says, leaning back into his seat. As he stretches, his shirt rides up to reveal a small expanse of the bare skin where his hip meets his lower belly, the lean muscle definition standing out in the lamp light. You tear your eyes away when you realize you’ve been lingering your gaze on the scant inch of skin.

 “Oh my god, did tell you?” Felix blurts out suddenly. “I’ve been working with this couple for an upcoming wedding. Absolute nightmare. Terrible taste! Guess what they finally settled on for their flavor.”

“I don’t know, something basic I bet.”

“Fucking mint chocolate chip.”

“Mint chocolate??? For a cake???” You reel back in horror. What on earth kind of combo was that for a wedding cake?

“They insisted on it!” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “Well, the bride did. The groom was never at any of these sampling appointments. She was onher own and really pushing for something unique.”

“I guess it’s unique to make your guests hate you for your choice of cake flavor,” you say, grimacing at the thought of a mint chocolate cake. “Disgusting.”

“I feel bad for their wedding guests. That’s such a controversial flavor for ice cream, I can’t imagine how it’ll go down for the entire reception.”

You hum in agreement, picking up your fork and finishing off the last of your cake in one frosting heavy bite. 

“Y/n you’ve got a little-“ he reaches up, gently holding your chin. 

His gaze softens as he looks at your lips and you freeze in place. Your heart picks up speed, hammering in your chest, at this gentle touch. He doesn’t know that you have had a thing for him for years now, but you’ll never tell him. You love having him as a friend too much to ruin it, he’s the one spot of sunshine on dreary days. There’s no chance he’d reciprocate your feelings, he could literally date anyone the way strangers constantly fall in love with him at first glance.

But right now, he’s focused on your lips, his thumb brushing them carefully, swiping the bit of frosting that was left from your last bite.

“Oh my god!” You force out a laugh, pulling out of his grasp in embarrassment. Taking a napkin, you start furiously wiping your mouth. “Sorry! It was really good!”

“That’s the perfect kind of response to one of my baked goods!” He smiles, licking the frosting off of his thumb. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

Felix never seems to notice the effect he has on people, overwhelming charm, the magnetic pull he has on anyone within 10 ft of him. When the two of you worked at the old cafe together, you’d take a mental tally of the number of customers that would leave with hearts in their eyes after ordering coffee from him. You thought that after five years of friendship you could get used to it via exposure therapy, but his allure slams you in the chest all the time.  You try to keep yourself grounded in reality when he tugs at heartstrings like this - he does this with everyone so you try not to lose your head. But the way he’s looking at you now, leaning in close with fierce affection in his eyes, makes the delusion that he feels the same about you seem almost real.

You giggle nervously and move to tidy things up from the table after you two are done sampling. Felix leans against the counter, watching you, as you start washing the plates.

“I have an idea,” he says. “For your plus-one situation.”

“Okay, shoot.” 

“What if you take me as your date?”

“Be serious, Felix,” you chuckle.

“I am being serious, I clean up real good,” he says, grabbing at your waist playfully.

“Oh!” A fork slips out of your hand and clatters into the sink. “I mean- you don’t have to do that.”

“Nah, I’d like to! Think about it, it’d be perfect, Johnny has no idea who I am and I can brag you up while I’m there. Rub his nose in it for a change.”

“I-“

“Just think it over, no rush. I think it’d be real fun though!” 

You look at him blankly for a moment, your heart thumping in your chest again. “ Yeah, I’ll think it over.”

~~~

Your eyes are closed when you feel a pair of hands slink around your body, drawing you into a chest of hard, lean muscle. The scent like an apple orchard on a rainy autumn morning greets you, petrichor and wood mixed with something crisp and sweet, enveloping you in a sense of comfort. You look up to see who’s arms embrace you to find Felix hovering over you, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. You’re so close you could count the freckles on his cheeks and give a name to each one. He hums as he pulls you in closer, a deep resonance vibrating through his chest, warming you in more ways than one. 

Tell me it’s real, he says, almost silently.

It’s real, you reply. 

He leans down to capture your lips, pausing above you to nudge his nose against yours and smile. 

I’ve waited so long for this, he says as he finally presses his lips against yours softly. His movements are gentle but insistent, trying to communicate with you, speaking quietly of the years of yearning that have been building. Your skin sings with the way his hands splay on your lower back, pushing your pelvis into him as he presses his tongue against your lips, asking for permission. The kiss deepens and you fall further into him, molding yourself against him. Your hands wind their way into his hair, those ice blond strands wrapped up in your grasp.

A small tug has him detaching from your mouth in a gasp, arching into you ever so slightly as his eyes flutter shut. His fingers find purchase in your plush hips, gripping into you harshly as he yanks you even closer to his body, no space between your body and his. Your breasts press into him, feeling his every breath move against you. He groans at the feel of you before he wraps you up into another kiss, this one more fervent. The way your soft body fits against his so well has his tongue dancing with yours, surging into you then backing away, teasing you until your body feels like it’s on fire. 

You whimper into his mouth when he shifts, coaxing your feet apart to slot his thigh between your legs. He bears down on your hips, pressing your core against his flexed muscle. Liquid heat pools in your belly as he starts rocking against you, feeling his length against your hip, pleading for friction. His hands snake down to grab onto your ass, kneading into the thick flesh, controlling the pace of your grinding into him.

You feel that arousal building inside of you, the tension has you clenching while you rut your hips against him. You feel how wet your panties have become as they slide over your clit, your hips stuttering against him, nearing your peak. 

Felix, I’m- you start to say but he cuts you off with a kiss.

Come for me, y/n, he murmurs against your lips. I want all of you. I wanna feel you lose control.

His words have you moaning, your brow furrowing as your hips shake. He holds you steady as he bounces his leg slightly to add extra pressure. You gasp, feeling your muscles tighten.

Give it all to me, he whispers against your lips. It belongs to me.

His voice sounds distant as you feel yourself coming to the edge. 

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. You find yourself in bed, thrusting pitifully against your pillow, your heart racing and your skin flush with arousal. As you start to pull yourself out of the dream you were so wrapped up in, your orgasm shatters through you, moaning into the dark of your room. Your legs shake as your core muscles flutter, throbbing at the thought of Felix’s mouth on yours. As you start to come down from your high and settle into reality, you can feel your own pulse in your clit, your legs tangled in your sheets with a pillow between your legs, forehead glistening with sweat. 

It felt so real, like you could actually feel the ghost of his hands on your ass rocking you against his body, his groans ricocheting in your chest. You haven’t had a dream like that in ages, it was so vivid. You wanted it to be real so badly.

That settles it. You reach for your phone, the light piercing through the darkness, staring at the clock that reads 4:26 AM. Opening your messaging app, you type out a quick text and hit send.

you: okay Felix, let’s do it. Will you be my plus one?

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #felix x reader #felix smut #stray kids fanfic

[ripplestitchskein]

To be a bit clearer about my issue with the tweet that I talked about in this post as I was posting in the car on the way home (I was not driving but had to do it fast because I get super motion sick) and have had some time to expand a bit:

If we’re talking about the general concept “Stolas set the parameters of the initial sexual transaction thus rooting their relationship in sex from the start and because Blitz is too self loathing and willfully blind to see the desired parameters have changed it is Stolas who made their relationship all about sex in large part because Blitz was never going to be in a healthy enough space to be the one to change it” then yes I agree with the sentiment.

Stolas could have simply said “I’ll let you use the grimoire in exchange for a date” instead of jumping straight to sexual relationship and they could have gotten to know each other first, maybe one date for each Full Moon*. So yes, he did make it this way, he set the terms. At the start of the show.

(*Side note: This would be a super cute fanfic premise tbh and if the show did something like that, where they need to exchange something and say “Hey, how about we make a deal to go on a date on the Full Moon” it would be a really fucking adorable way to reconcile them *starry eyes*. Just think about how much that would slap. The narrative circle of that would be *chef’s kiss*. )

My problem with the framing of “Stolas started it that way in Murder Family, was super over the top horny for a few episodes, now he must suffer the consequences despite the fact that he has been trying to change their dynamic since Blitz expressed how he felt in Ozzie’s” is that, the events of The Circus completely recontextualize the deal we see made and Stolas’s behavior.

We, the audience, didn’t know in S1 that Blitz initiated the whole thing and that Stolas was just mirroring that energy, so I am extremely understanding of this perception pre-S2. Even up until Western Energy, but by Oops we have enough evidence to show Stolas has been trying, Blitz is just refusing. So Stolas didn’t “make it this way” for where the characters are NOW. Not in a “It is Blitz’s fault” taking sides in the divorce way, but in a “This is about character growth or the deliberate lack of it within the story” way.

My big issue with the tweet now, and didn’t learn until I read the tags of a lovely person is that is apparently from an individual who actually works on the show. And that is….kinda concerning to me. A bit.

The idea that Stolas’s efforts count for nothing because he set the initial deal and behaved badly at the start, that we the audience should still see the current dynamic as “Stolas making everything sexual” is a problem 8 episodes into the 2nd season. We have many examples of him not doing that any longer, he has changed, we the audience have been shown that change. Why is it still being framed this way by the actual creative team?

I don’t know how animation production works, so I’m not sure if the people who work as animators are given the whole picture or not. I don’t even know they are fans necessarily, or if they get their individual parts to work on and that’s it. I have zero background info on how these meetings are conducted. I am not coming from a position of authority in this regard.

Setting aside the dismissal of Stolas’s character growth this season. framing it this way undermines the journey Blitz is on too. At this point in the story he is refusing to acknowledge Stolas’s earnest attempts, his willful ignorance is not a funny gag but a reflection of his character and state of mind. It is implied his own trauma and self loathing make him unable to believe what has being explicitly told to him. This confrontation is the tipping point for further development in one direction or another. His choice now is to continue to ignore it and lose Stolas entirely or to try and work through it in some way. By implying Stolas is the one who created thier current situation way back in S1 implies Blitz’s ignorance of Stolas’s feelings is not because of character’s motivations and his own choices to ignore it but simply because it was that way at the start and it is immutable. Stolas said “sex for book please” and “jelly sandwiches” and Blitz was just “I’m just doing what he said he wanted, now he’s coming out of nowhere with this feelings stuff” when a huge part of showing the audience that it is Blitz’s self loathing driving the conflicts in his life is that he refuses to believe the truth of the situation which is it wasn’t Stolas making it all about sex at all. That Stolas has been trying and Blitz keeps shutting it down because of his issues.

That just seems like a crucial part of what we’re doing here? Yes Stolas creates the situation in S1 but he went out of his way to do the opposite in S2.

Obviously this individual’s qualifications for interpretation, being an actual employee, trump my “I’ve watched it a bunch and obsess over it constantly” credentials by a long shot. But my concern is to have a meeting of people responsible for creating the show reflect this sentiment after what we’ve seen in S2 so far is just a little baffling to me?

Either those attempts by Stolas portrayed on screen and the change in his behavior towards Blitz after he realizes his feelings are meaningless in the face of first impressions being everything to both Blitz and the audience. If that is the case I’m not sure why they would be included if the end result interpretation is still “Stolas horny. Made it all about sex. The end.”

Or, I am misreading something, either the tweet itself or the canon text. This is very possible, tweets being an imperfect communication tool and myself being an imperfect person. But as I stated in the original post, if we’re accounting for what is shown on screen as being how we should interpret the characters, Stolas has been trying for months to shift gears and Blitz is the one who continues to frame it as “just sex”. So I just find the tweet completely out of touch with the narrative we’re consuming.

#stolitz #long post #helluva boss

[kinkley-are-adorkable-flirts]

I'm apparently obsessed with goofy proposal stories.

*********************

Tommy is baking in the kitchen. “Honey, can I use you for that lightning brain of yours, my slutty little human calculator? How many tablespoons is 8 teaspoons?”

Evan purrs at the thought of being used by Tommy. “2 2/3, or 2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons.”

He wraps arm around Tommy’s waste from behind, the other reaching to cup his bulge. “Speaking of 2 tablespoons…”

Tommy: “I don’t know whether to be turned on or insulted. Tablespoons? Really?” He still turns to kiss Evan

Evan blushes and tries to redirect. “Well, speak of fraction conversions, when we get married it will be a 3/4 gay marriage since you’re gay and I’m bi.”

Tommy blinks, trying to figure out which piece of information to prioritize addressing first while simultaneously trying to show his confusing without making Evan panic. “Baby, I… you...”

“OMG did I do that thing again where I thought we had a conversation but it was just me prepping or reminding myself in my head? Have I not actually proposed yet? I rehearsed it so many times in my head I must have thought…”

Tommy helps Evan pause and reset like no one else can. “No, I feel like that’s something I’d remember. Do you need a moment?”

Evan nods, grabs a spatula, holds it in front of Tommy’s face and says “bzzzt, memory of the last 5 minutes erased.”

He races to the bedroom to his hiding spot to realize… he also forgot to pickup the ring in his excitement.

Dejected, he walks back into the kitchen, staring at the ground to find Tommy on one knee, holding an open ring box... but not HIS box.

"Evan, you came to me in a hurricane, both literally and figuratively. I've been looking to settle for years, but had given up hope. Then you came into my life, bringing this chaotic, manic, menacing energy that I never thought I wanted, but you made me realize I NEED it. You made me realize that I'm not looking to settle, I want to commit, commit to loving you with all of my being. I want to be the first one you see when you wake up in the ER... because I've accepted that's a thing... and I want you to always be the first I see. I want... I want it all, though I suspect you feel the same." Tommy reaches in his pocket and pulls out a second box, Evan's box.

"How did you...?"

"You filled out the order form like it was a medical form and put "In case of emergency, contact my Tommy. They said they even questioned you and you said you were sure. When I went to pickup MY ring for YOU, they asked me if you were ok because you hadn't picked it up. I actually kinda love that it's automatic for you now to put me as an emergency contact, even with a jeweler... Look at me, going into an Evan Buckley patented tangent. Right down the rabbit hole."

Evan blushes and joins him on the floor, taking his hands. "The look on your face after we had moved in together, but you weren't the one called crushed me, so I guess it's become second nature. I'll follow you down the rabbit hole any day, and there's no one I'd rather have following me. So we're doing this then?"

"Never a doubt in my mind... Can we revisit the 3/4 gay married thing though?"

Evan's blush deepens "ugh just shut me up, you fool." and they kiss. ****************** A few days later they have an informal engagement celebration and are telling their family about the proposal, receiving multiple laughs, chuckles, head shakes, eye rolls, and "only you two"s. They are laughing with them, but look at each other mildly horrified when asked if either ever "technically" asked one another to marry them. Tommy starts to laugh though. "I guess that's the missing 1/4 of the gay marriage" and Evan groans and hides his face.

They settled on a date quickly and emailed out save the dates (save a tree too!) - March 4 (3/4) of course.

Down the Rabbit Hole - Ruby_Daiquiri - 9-1-1 (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

#911 show #the weewoo show #adorable idiots #kinkley adorkable flirts #i keep writing proposals #i keep turning two liners into full stories #buck x tommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #buck and tommy #bucktommy #3/4 gay married

[bizkitsnuggets]

08 — THE PLAGUE

m.list

────────────────────────────────

“You liar!” The brunet angrily cornered Mattsun with a red face. He couldn't believe it! Mattsun had tricked him about getting McDonald's and instead drove him to some place. Tooru quickly noticed that the “place” was Night Shift's practice location.

Mattsun only smirked before responding, “Too bad, should've checked the GPS then.” He shrugged, making the red in Tooru’s face a darker shade. The brunet groaned in annoyance. Out of all the places Mattsun could've taken him, here…?

He clearly wasn't having it, but Mattsun was the only one with a car, and calling a cab on this busy road didn't seem ideal or realistic. Tooru knew he had no other choice but to stay in that place for a few more hours before he could go home.

“C’mon, UFO nut, what's so bad about watching the group practice? They sound good!” Mattsun broke the odd silence.

Tooru closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “It's not the music, Mattsun. It's her.” He emphazised the word ‘her’, hinting who he meant to Mattsun. The brunet sighed, he really didn’t want to deal with YN. Tooru simply didn’t have the energy left, as he had spilled his milk tea all over his sweater and his professor pestering him to mark his student’s work.

The red on his face had faded away and was now replaced with an annoyed expression from just remembering the not-so-pleasing morning he had.

Mattsun clicked his tongue and flicked the brunet’s forehead, “You’re actually an idiot. She’s not gonna kill you just because you like aliens.” Tooru whined in respond, he’s fully aware he’s being childish about this whole situation. There’s no one else to blame but him. Still, he doesn’t want to cave into reality and believe he is in the wrong and instead continue his overgrowing hatred for poor YN.

And he knows that even if he bribed or begged Mattsun to take him home, it won’t work. Matsukawa is a strong man with a strong mentality. He doesn’t fall for silly tricks or antics especially if it’s from Tooru. Maybe if the brunet turned into a certain candy-colored vocalist, Mattsun would agree to drive him home…

Tooru crossed his arms and pouted like a sulky toddler, “You owe me mcodnalds on the way home.”

Upon entering the place, most of the band members were either cleaning or tuning their instruments. Unsuprsingly, Iwaizumi was also present. He never misses a group practice or performance, ‘I guess he’s a big fan of them’. Tooru thought as he rolled his eyes.

Mattsun and the brunet greeted everyone as if it was an objective in a video game to talk to every person present. But, as they were approaching their last target, YN, Tooru had noticed a vibrant colored keychain hanging from her jeans. Oh, how Tooru was hating himself for deciding to not wear his glasses today. Mattsun thought he looked stupid squinting his eyes like that would make a difference. Upon a closer inspection, the alien obsseded brunet realized YN’s keychain was the limited edition toy story alien keychain.

He winded his eyes in pure disbelief, a new mix of emotions started consuming him. Tooru wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, excitement, shock, or even relief.

Was he intrigued? Very much so.

Will he stop being an ass to YN? No.

Mattsun greeted the bass player as she was busy wiping dirt off of her precious bass. She looked up at him and smiled, “Hey! Glad to see Makki’s boyfriend again.” YN teased as Mattsun’s face turned into a dark shade of red. The girl shifted her gaze to the unusually quiet Tooru. He wasn’t even looking at her, his eyes were everywhere but her own.

Despite that, she still made sure to acknowledge him. Tooru responded by glaring at her and then giving her an obvious fake smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you want to let them know that you don’t vibe with them.

And that deceiving smile of his didn’t go unnoticed by Iwaizumi and Makki who were watching the scene unfold. Fortunately for YN, she never picked up his expression and returned a cheeky smile. Which earned a low “ugh,” from the brunet.

────────────────────────────────

notes:

iwa doesn't have a car so he rides a motorcycle instead

tanaka and bokuto were at the dog park when they had practice

in the end, mattsun treated tooru to kfc instead of mcdonalds

do you guys believe in aliens?

taglist: @this-is-me-lolol @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @kettlepop @causenessus @neeksnicoboytoy @does-directions @rinheartshyunlix @nnnyxie @bae-ashlynn @iluv-ace @k0z3me @eyes-ofhell @sereniteav @phoenix-eclipses @whosramiel

#haikyuu #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #college au #twitter au #band au #tooru oikawa #hq oikawa #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #fluff #oikawa x female reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa #alien