#He is amazed by their meticulous craft

[aleebeesplats]

Vacay times😝

July 7th-National Park

Narr is wowed by their amazing writing!(Totally(Definitely))

TSP road trip by @/employee052

[hoshifighting]

Anklet Adorned

Preview: "You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he resumes his relentless pace. "You like it when I fuck you so hard that even your anklet can't stay quiet." he refers to the charms from the anklet he made for you, making little noises continuously synchronized with his thrusts.

Warnings: Smut, hard slutty smutty hard awesome sex, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, squirting, degradation, praising, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, fingering, messy sex, sloppy, chocking, crying, aftercare, doggy style and etc.

Word Count: 3.7k

This smut was created through a request, thank you anon, I LOVED writing this one! (click here to be sent to the request)

Joshua, with his deft fingers and boundless imagination, had a passion for crafting bracelets. Be it beads or strings, he could weave magic with his hands, creating intricate designs that sparkled with personality.

Every day, Joshua would surprise you with a new bracelet, each one a unique masterpiece that told a story. He'd fill you with joy as he slipped it onto your wrist, his eyes gleaming with pride and love. From vibrant colors to delicate patterns, each bracelet was a reflection of his affection for you.

What made Joshua's gesture even more endearing was his knack for matching the bracelets to your outfits. No matter how last-minute your wardrobe choices were, he always managed to craft a bracelet that perfectly complemented your look. His dedication and attention to detail never ceased to amaze you.

One Friday evening, as you curled up on the couch watching a movie, Joshua sat beside you, his fingers busy at work with his latest bracelet creation. You watched him intently, admiring his skill and dedication as he meticulously threaded beads together, lost in his own little world of creativity.

But then, just when you least expected it, Joshua leaned over and gently slipped something around your ankle. Startled, you looked down to see a delicate anklet adorned with an array of pretty charms dangling from it. Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected surprise.

"Surprise," Joshua whispered, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he admired his handiwork.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of warmth flood your heart. The anklet was exquisite, a perfect blend of elegance and whimsy, just like Joshua himself. Each charm seemed to hold a story of its own, and you couldn't wait to hear the tale behind this new creation.

Joshua adored the moments when your legs rested gently on his lap, your smooth skin inviting his touch. With tender affection, he would run his fingers along the length of your legs, reveling in the sensation of your warmth beneath his fingertips. But what captivated him most was the anklet adorning your ankle, its delicate charms dancing playfully against your skin.

As your legs lay draped across his lap, Joshua found himself mesmerized by the contrast of the anklet against your skin tone. The intricate charms seemed to come alive with each movement, casting dappled shadows across your legs as they swayed gently to the rhythm of your breathing.

"So, what do you want to do tonight, babe?" You ask.

"Hmm, I can think of a few ideas." Joshua trails his fingers along the curve of your thigh. "Well, we could keep watching this movie..." his hand ventures higher, teasingly brushing against the hem of your shorts, making you shiver at the touch, biting your lip. 

"Or we could find something... more entertaining." you suggest, brushing your thighs together sensually, immediately capturing his attention.

A slow grin spreads across Joshua's lips as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours. "I like the sound of that," he murmurs huskily, grabbing your thighs harder.

You find yourself lost in the moment, your breath catching in your throat as Joshua's lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue dances against yours, igniting a fiery passion that courses through your veins.

Before you realize it, Joshua is already on top of you, his weight pressing you into the soft cushions of the couch. With a gentle yet firm touch, he guides your legs to wrap around his waist, drawing you closer to him in a fervent embrace.

His hand finds its way to your throat, applying a slight pressure that sends shivers down your spine. It's a delicate balance of pleasure and restraint, a silent communication of lust between the two of you.

As you melt into his touch, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours and his hand on your throat, you feel a surge of desire coursing through your body. 

Desperately, your hands roam over the hems of Joshua's clothing, driven by a need to feel every inch of his skin against yours. With eager fingers, you fumble with buttons and zippers, determined to strip away any barrier between you and Joshua. 

Joshua chuckles at your needy antics, his eyes alight with amusement and desire as he watches you. Sensing your urgency, he reaches behind him, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

The sight of his toned torso, bathed in the soft glow of the room, steals your breath away. Muscles ripple beneath smooth skin, evidence of his strength and vitality. You drink in the sight hungrily, your heart racing with anticipation as you marvel at the beauty before you.

With a low grow, Joshua leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roam over your body, as he undresses you with skillful hands. Garment after garment falls away, discarded to the floor in a heap of forgotten fabric.

Lowering his head to meet your dripping pussy, until his gaze meets yours, Joshua captures the expression of excitement in your eyes. He latches his mouth onto your cunt, and you melt on the cushions. 

As Joshua's warm mouth works its magic on your cunt, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, you can't help but surrender to the sensations washing over you. With each flick of his tongue and gentle suckle on your clit, he brings you to the brink of ecstasy, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from your lips.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, you instinctively wrap your legs around his head, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the rapture of his touch. The charms of your anklet sway rhythmically against his back and he moans, as he feels the weight of your legs around him, Joshua's excitement grows, fueling his desire to please you even more. With a renewed sense of urgency, he redoubles his efforts.

His tongue slipped inside of your cunt, while he sucked you sloppy, you can feel the slick heat of your arousal dripping down your thighs.

As you feel the impending rush of your orgasm building to its peak, Joshua suddenly pulls his mouth away, leaving you panting and desperate for release. Your legs tremble around nothing, aching for the touch that was just tantalizingly close.

You whine in frustration, your body still thrumming with the echoes of pleasure, craving the exquisite release that eludes you. With a glistening chin and a cocky smirk, Joshua looks down at you, reveling in the sight of your desperate desire.

In moments like this, his softness gives way to a confident dominance, his cockiness taking charge as he watches you squirm and beg for more. He loves to see you in this state, your cries and pleads only fueling his desire to push you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

With a teasing glint in his eyes, Joshua leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers words of encouragement and promises of pleasure yet to come. 

"You're so close, aren't you, babe?"

"S-so close!" You protest, your voice tinged with need.

"That's the point," Joshua counters, his tone dripping with confidence. "I want to make you beg for it."

You groan, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing second. "Please," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joshua's smirk widens, his gaze darkening with desire as he watches you squirm beneath him. "That's it, baby," he murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. "Beg for me."

You bite your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. "Please," you whisper again, your voice thick with desire. "I need you."

With a satisfied grin, Joshua leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss. "I know you do," he whispers huskily. "And I'm going to make you feel so good."

"Don't stop now Josh, please…"

Joshua's smirk widens, his confidence palpable as he revels in your neediness. "Oh, I won't stop, sweetheart," he murmurs, his tone dripping with promise. "Tell me how badly you want to come."

You swallow hard, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and arousal at his command. "I want it so bad," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Joshua, I need to come."

"That's better," he says, his hand trailing teasingly along your thigh. "But not yet. I want to see you beg a little more."

You whine in frustration, but there's no denying the thrill that courses through you at his words. Despite the ache of desire that burns within you, you find yourself craving his dominance, eager to submit to his every whim.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Joshua leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizing kiss. "You're so beautiful when you beg, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I could watch you squirm all night."

Joshua tilts his head, his gaze fixed on the globs of arousal dripping from you. There's a hunger in his eyes, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reaches out, his fingers trailing through the slick wetness between your folds. You shiver at his touch, a low moan escaping your lips as he explores your arousal with a confident, knowing touch.

"You're so wet for me…" Despite the embarrassment that floods your cheeks, there's no denying the raw, primal thrill that courses through you at the sight of Joshua's arousal.

With a confident smirk, he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. "You like it when I make you this wet, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "You can't get enough of me, can you?"

As you lie there, too aroused to think, Joshua takes control with a firm yet gentle hand. With a deft movement, he turns you around, pressing your chest against the couch while raising your ass up for him to see. You whimper at the sudden change in position, your body trembling with anticipation and need.

"Look at you," he murmurs softly, his voice laced with desire and dominance. "All spread out for me like a good little slut."

His words cut through the haze of desire, sending a shiver down your spine as you feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal overwhelming your senses.

But even as you cry, you can't help but feel a sense of surrender wash over you, knowing that in this moment, Joshua's dominance is all-consuming. His soft degradation only serves to heighten your arousal, the delicate balance of pleasure and pain driving you to the edge of ecstasy.

As your tears wet the fabric of the couch beneath you, Joshua's expression softens, a hint of tenderness in his eyes as he coos at you. "That's it, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice gentle against your ear. "Let it all out for me. You know I love it when you're so responsive."

As Joshua's tip teases your entrance, you can feel your core ache with longing, craving his touch with an intensity that consumes you. Every teasing brush against your slick folds sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, heightening your arousal to dizzying heights.

His words send a shiver down your spine, your core fluttering in anticipation as you feel him slowly entering you. The sensation of him stretching you open, inch by delicious inch, is almost too much to bear, but you revel in the exquisite pleasure that courses through your veins.

With each slow, deliberate thrust, Joshua pushes deeper into you, his cock filling you completely as you cling to the couch beneath you, lost in a haze of ecstasy. Your walls clench around him, eager to be filled with every inch of his length as you surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.

As Joshua fills you completely, you're so tight around him that he can hardly move, every inch of his length enveloped by the delicious warmth of your core.  Joshua almost loses himself in the sensation, his breath hitching at the sheer intensity of your grip. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy, a sight that only serves to fuel his desire further.

"You're so tight, baby," he murmurs, his voice laced with awe and desire as he continues to move within you. "I can barely move... but I love it. I love how you grip me, how you take me so eagerly."

With a hard thrust, Joshua elicits a little sound from you, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he drives into you with unbridled force. But it's not just your reaction that catches his attention—it's the tinkling sound of the anklet adorning your ankle, its charms dancing. With each powerful thrust, the anklet chimes, a sweet melody that fills the room with the rhythm of your pleasure.

"Hmm, what's this?" Joshua muses, his cocky smirk widening as he hears the anklet chime with each of his powerful thrusts. "You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he resumes his relentless pace. "You like it when I fuck you so hard that even your anklet can't stay quiet."

You can only moan in response, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to slam into you, hitting your g'spot with precision each time. The combination of his cocky demeanor and the relentless stimulation has you teetering on the edge of ecstasy, your moans of pleasure growing louder with each passing moment.

As the knot tightens in your stomach, signaling the imminent arrival of your climax, Joshua senses the impending release building within you. With each thrust, he can feel the tension mounting, your body quivering with the promise of ecstasy.

He glances down, his eyes widening as he notices the telltale sign of your impending orgasm—a white ring forming at the base of his cock where it meets your slick heat. It's a visual confirmation of your impending release, a signal that drives him to push you even further towards the edge.

"I can feel you getting close, baby," Joshua murmurs, his voice husky with desire as he continues to pound into you. "I want you to come for me. I want to feel you clenching around me as you lose yourself in pleasure."

And then, with a guttural cry of release, it happens—the knot in your stomach unravels, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading through your body. Your walls clench around Joshua's cock, milking him for all he's worth as you ride out the waves of your climax.

With a primal hunger still burning in his eyes, Joshua shifts positions, laying you gently on your back. You gasp as the change in position heightens your anticipation, your body tingling with excitement as you await his next move.

Licking three of his fingers, Joshua smirks down at you before slowly sinking them inside of you. The sensation is electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you arch your back in response to the overwhelming sensitivity.

You moan softly as his fingers delve deeper, filling you completely and stretching you to your limits. The wet sounds of your arousal fill the air, mingling with the rhythmic swaying of the anklet adorning your ankle.

Your breath catches in your throat as Joshua curls all three of his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. With a high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you arch your back, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that threatens to consume you.

Joshua smirks triumphantly, his eyes alight with satisfaction as he watches you writhe beneath him, lost in a whirlwind of pleasure. He knows exactly how to push all your buttons, how to drive you wild with need, and he revels in the power he holds over you in this moment.

With one final, powerful thrust of his fingers, Joshua abuses your g'spot relentlessly, driving you over the edge into an explosive climax. You scream in ecstasy as the overwhelming pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing with the force of your release.

In an uncontrollable surge of pleasure, you squirt, your essence spraying out onto Joshua and the couch beneath you. The sensation is electrifying, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through every fiber of your being as you surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming bliss.

Joshua's eyes widen in surprise and delight as he feels you drenching him with your arousal. He revels in the feeling of your release, knowing that he's the one who pushed you to such dizzying heights of pleasure.

As Joshua feels the arousal surging through him at the sight of you squirting, a wicked idea forms in his mind. He can't help but wonder if you could do it again, this time around his cock. With a primal hunger burning in his eyes, he wastes no time in sliding his length inside you once more.

But as you feel him filling you effortlessly once again, you can't help but cry out, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. "I-I can't take it," you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his size.

But Joshua is quick to reassure you, his voice soft but commanding. "Yes, you can, baby," he murmurs, his hands gentle yet firm as he guides you through the discomfort. "You can take it. Trust me."

Joshua's voice is a husky whisper as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good, baby," he murmurs, his words sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. "I can feel you stretching open for me again, taking me so eagerly."

Despite the mess of white cream coating your pussy, Joshua's cock throbs inside you, pulsing with desire as he continues to drive himself deeper into your clenching warmth. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensation.

With each movement, the tightness of your grip around him only serves to heighten Joshua's arousal, driving him to push you even further towards the edge of ecstasy. He revels in the feeling of your slick walls clenching around him, milking him for all he's worth as you both surrender yourselves completely to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

As the intensity of your pleasure peaks, your nails dig deliciously into Joshua's back, leaving marks of desire in their wake. His cock buried deep inside your cunt, you feel every inch of him pulsating with need, driving you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy.

With each thrust, the anklet around your ankle sounds ever louder, a symphony of pleasure that fills the room as you ride the waves of your climax. Joshua can only moan in response, his own desire reaching a fever pitch as he feels you tightening around him, your walls gripping him with a desperate hunger.

Feeling the spray of your arousal drenching him and the couch beneath you, Joshua's cock throbs with anticipation, the sensation only serving to heighten his arousal. He can't help but groan in pleasure as he feels you cumming around him again.

Your throat is already sore from the screams of ecstasy that have torn from your lips, your hair clinging to your face in sweaty tendrils as you ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

With a guttural groan, Joshua releases himself inside of you, his hot seed filling you completely and adding to the mess already coating your pussy. The sensation of him pulsating within you sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body, driving you to the brink of oblivion once more, your vision turning completely black.

As your vision slowly returns, you find yourself enveloped in soft covers, the lingering haze of pleasure still clouding your mind. Confusion washes over you as you take in your surroundings, realizing that you're now clean and showered, the evidence of your passionate encounter with Joshua washed away.

Just as you begin to wonder how it all happened, Joshua appears suddenly in the doorway of the bedroom, a cloth draped casually over his shoulder. His eyes light up with a warm smile as he takes in the sight of you, peaceful and serene in the aftermath of sex.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he says with a gentle smile, crossing the room to sit beside you on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

You blink up at him, still trying to process everything that happened. "I... I don't know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "What happened? How did I get here?"

Joshua's smile widens as he reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "I took care of you," he explains softly. "After... everything that happened, I wanted to make sure you were okay. So I cleaned you up, gave you a shower, and tucked you into bed."

You smile gratefully at Joshua, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at his tender care. "Thank you for taking care of me," you say softly, your voice filled with appreciation.

Joshua returns your smile, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Of course, baby," he replies, his voice gentle. "I'll always be here for you."

Then, he adds with a chuckle, "Oh, and I took care of the couch too. It's all clean now."

Your smile falters for a moment as you gasp, a wave of mortification washing over you as you realize what he's referring to. For a moment, you had forgotten about the mess you made on the couch in the heat of passion.

"Oh no," you exclaim, feeling embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot..."

You feel a rush of relief flood through you as Joshua cuts you off with a reassuring smile, his warm hand squeezing yours gently. "It's all okay," he reassures you, his voice filled with understanding and love.

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling grateful for his understanding and support. "Thank you," you murmur, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you relax into his comforting embrace.

But then, Joshua's words catch you off guard, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he adds, "And you know what?" he adds, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You looked so hot while you squirted."

[absolutely-esme]

What do you mean he's not eldritch?

What if all of the members of the Bat Family other than Tim Drake were secretly eldritch abominations?

They all work very hard at pretending to be human, and they've even gotten pretty good at passing. They can even mostly avoid the uncanny valley when in their civilian identities. There was a heck of a learning curve, but they've gotten things figured out for the most part.

Enter: Tim Drake

Weird, poorly socialized, probably autistic Tim Drake

The Bats think they've encountered a fellow eldritch being in disguise, and one that seems like he could use some help blending in. Naturally, they're quick to welcome him into their fold. Jason is delighted to take his turn at being a big brother mentor.

It takes a comedically long time for anyone to realize something's up because there is an absurd amount of overlap between stuff you need to know for masking and stuff you need to know to pass as human.

Meanwhile, Tim is amazed that the Bats have apparently decided he's cool enough to hang out with. It's like something out of his daydreams. They even have good advice for him on problems he hadn't known how to ask about. They are so patient and understanding about it, too. They never get annoyed with him for not already knowing. They also seem to be okay with the bits of weirdness he can't change.

Just weird kid Tim getting bundled into an incredibly helpful and supportive found family of eldritch entities. They're all going to get a good grade in human-ing, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

...

I imagine the Bats are various different kinds of eldritch abominations because they're still adopted. They look wildly different when not in human form.

Bruce is a mass of... shadows? Smoke? Something dark and formless that shifts and flows in different ways depending on his mood.

Dick kind of looks like a pile of owls that is also somehow a single body.

Barbara is a spiral galaxy with stars that are also eyes somehow?

Jason is a solid-looking mass of muscle with six strong legs, a thick coat of shaggy hair, a mouth that opens much further along his body than it seems like it should, and even more teeth than you'd expect a mouth that size to have.

Stephanie Brown is kind of like an incredibly dense storm system with purple glitter.

Cassandra is a silhouette through which undiscovered nebulae can be seen. What she is a silhouette of depends on her mood.

Tim, they have only ever seen in his meticulously well-crafted human form. He's really good at that part even if he needed some help with the behavioral bits.

Damian is half human. Talia saw a mass of living darkness trying really hard to pretend to be a man and decided she was into that.

...

Dick: So, eye contact is actually pretty simple once you have the formula figured out. You need to cycle between looking at the other person and looking at something else at the appropriate frequency. If you look at them too much it will come across as staring. If you look away for too long they'll think you're not paying attention to them. You'll need to experiment to figure out the appropriate frequency.

Tim: *frets*

Jason: You don't have to look straight at their eyes, just in the general direction of their face.

Tim: Oh! I can do that!

...

I think Eldritch Bruce having history with the league of assassins in a markedly less inentional way than Canon would be funny. Like, you'd think an encounter between an eldritch abomination and a cult would be deliberate on someone's part, but no.

Bruce was still young and unskilled at differentiating between normal and abnormal human behavior.

[creamflix]

choso kamo x female reader; dark and 18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. (hentai) voice actor! choso. unethical and unhealthy emotional obsession. heavy self-projection. high themes of "sissyfication"/feminisation. — masterlist here ☆

pervert! pervert! pervert!

it was the only thing choso kamo heard in his head each time he walked into the recording studio, the neon “on air” sign casting a faint glow that only deepened the pit in his stomach.

no one would ever guess the kind of work he was doing. not him, with his quiet demeanor and that deep, velvety voice that could melt away stress.

but life had a twisted sense of humor.

he’d never imagined he’d end up here — voicing hentai, of all things. it was a living, one he’d stumbled into by accident, back when he’d first started in voice acting. his voice became his strength, and clients loved him for it. they kept calling him back, but as his range grew, so did the demands. soon, he wasn’t just voicing male characters.

they wanted him to voice female ones.

he’d spent hours perfecting the voice they wanted: the breathy lilt, the innocent pitch, the desperate squeals. he'd honed each one to sound so real, each gasp and moan meticulously crafted to match the fantasies of the scripts he read. the directors fawned over his skill, praised how well he could capture the essence of a woman’s voice, the high-pitched breaths, the soft whimpers. they couldn’t believe how convincing he was, and soon, he became one of the highest-paid in the industry.

but the darkest part, the secret he couldn’t even admit to himself?

every single time he lowered his voice, every time he softened his tone to mimic that innocent lilt, he was thinking of you.

he’d spent years with you — high school sweethearts, then college together. you’d been his everything, his anchor in a chaotic world, the only person he’d ever been vulnerable with.

but after graduation, life had different plans. one of those gradual, heart-wrenching separations, neither of you quite ready to say goodbye but too busy, too scared to fight to stay together.

even now, he remembered your voice with that same aching familiarity, and it haunted him, the way you used to tease him, the way you laughed. sometimes he’d catch himself in the studio, eyes shut, remembering how you’d sound in his ear, playful and warm, whispering little things to him as he drifted off.

“you don’t think you’re a little overprotective?” you’d say, laughing as he wrapped his arm around your waist possessively. “not that i’m complaining…”

god, he missed that. and maybe, he’d thought at first, he could use his memories of you to do this job, to draw on them for inspiration.

but somewhere along the line, it had become more than that.

every breathy moan, every soft whisper he crafted, he imagined it as you.

“choso?” the director’s voice crackled through his headset, bringing him back to the present. “we’re ready when you are.”

he took a deep breath, the script in front of him blurring as he tried to focus. it’s just a job, he told himself. just a job… but the way his heart raced said otherwise.

“right,” he answered, clearing his throat. he adjusted his posture, letting his shoulders relax, slipping into that softer, higher-pitched tone. he could almost imagine you here, standing beside him, watching with that familiar, mischievous smile. in his mind, he wasn’t voicing some random animated character. he was voicing you, every line carefully crafted to capture the way you’d speak.

he took another breath, closing his eyes as he started to read.

“ah… that… that feels so… amazing…”

the words left his lips in a barely-there whisper, his voice softening with a breathy lilt, just like he’d remembered you.

it was sick, he knew.

but with each line, he let himself get lost in the memory of you, imagining how you’d look, the little quirks in your voice, the way your cheeks would flush when you were embarrassed.

sometimes, he caught himself, heart racing, realizing just how filthy he was being — channeling you, letting his voice become an echo of who you’d been to him. the memory of you, the girl who’d been his world, the girl who was now probably laughing in someone else’s bed, teasing another man with that same voice, that same playful tone that haunted his dreams.

but the memory of you was all he had. five years had passed, and he didn’t know where you were now, whether you even remembered him. the thought of you moving on stung, but he could handle it. because in this twisted, hidden part of his life, he still had a piece of you.

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[rebelliousmuse]

Flirt Zone - M.S.

Warnings: masturbation (male), unprotected p in v (always use condoms).

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

Nick fumbled through his overflowing closet, muttering under his breath. Doja Cat acting as the soundtrack. This first visit to his house, though, took an unexpected turn.

The door swung open, revealing a guy who could've been a model for a cologne ad. Messy, dark hair tumbled across his forehead, partially obscuring the tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up sleeve. A smile played on his lips, showcasing a row of perfectly white teeth. He smelled like heaven. For a moment, you forgot you were looking for Nick. This was Matt, and he was breathtaking.

“Hey, you must be y/n,” he said. “Nick's running a fashion show apparently. Come on in.” He ushered you inside, followed by another guy with similar features, who introduced himself as Chris. The house mirrored Nick's personality – slightly chaotic but undeniably welcoming.

You reached Nick's room, the door swinging shut behind you as Matt and Chris disappeared down the hall. You sank onto the bed, letting out a breathless, “Holy shit.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and you bit your lip hard to try and suppress a goofy grin.

Nick whipped around, a mock look of disgust contorting his features. “Seriously, y/n?” he asked. “Which one stole your heart this time?”

“Matt, definitely,” You confessed, unable to hold back a giggle. “He smells amazing, that smile and those tattoos…” Your voice trailed off as you recalled his image.

Nick snorted. “Great, just what I need, my best friend developing a crush on my brother.”

“Hey, it's not my fault he looks like a rockstar who just stepped out of a cologne commercial!” You defended yourself, playfully nudging him. “Besides, more visits mean more opportunities for me to help you find the perfect outfit, right?”

Nick rolled his eyes dramatically. “Whatever, just don't drool all over my clothes while you're at it, okay?” He said, already rummaging through his t-shirts.

---

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and Nick's house became a second home. You'd sprawl on the living room floor, controllers clutched in hands, battling it out in the latest game. Sometimes, Matt and Chris would join in, their competitive streaks making things even more intense.

One afternoon, while Matt and you were arguing (playfully, of course) about who deserved the last slice of pizza, Nick blurted out, “Don't worry, y/n won't mind sharing with you, Matt. After all, she practically worships the ground you walk on!”

Your cheeks burned like you'd swallowed a fireball. “Nick!” You sputtered, mortified. But seeing the laughter sparkling in Matt's eyes, you took a deep breath. “Well,” You said, trying to sound casual, “You already know now, there's no point in hiding it.”

From then on, flirting became your game. You'd compliment his taste in music, playfully nudge him during movie nights, or tease him about his messy hair (which, secretly, you found incredibly endearing). Matt would mostly respond with a playful eye roll and a chuckle, but sometimes a blush would creep up his neck, and he'd resort to burying his face in his phone to avoid eye contact.

One afternoon, you brought the guys over to meet your other friends. “These are my two best friends,” you said, gesturing towards Nick and Chris, “Nick and Chris. And this one,” You added, turning to Matt, “is Matt.” You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile as you met his gaze. “Let's just say I’m… working on something here.”

The statement hung in the air, open to interpretation. My friends exchanged curious glances, while Matt's cheeks flushed a faint pink. He mumbled a greeting, his gaze flickering away from yours.

Every outing became a performance. Introductions were meticulously crafted. Nick and Chris received a casual wave and a quick name toss. But Matt, well, Matt was different. His introduction lingered, a hint of possessiveness lacing the words. It was a message not just for him, but for the girls who inevitably wandered into their orbit. A subtle marking of territory, a playful yet firm declaration: Matt, in your eyes, was something special, someone off-limits, especially to your closest circle. He was, quite simply, too good to share.

---

Today was sleepover night with Nick, a monthly tradition you cherished. You were putting the finishing touches on yourself, a breezy sundress swirling around your legs as you reached for your favourite bottle of Chanel perfume. A soft chime from your phone announced a text – Matt's message confirming they were outside. Grabbing your purse and a backpack overflowing with sleepover essentials, you dashed out the door, a hurried goodbye to your two barking dogs echoing behind you.

The familiar car idled in the driveway. Sliding into the backseat, you offered a bright "Hi!" that was met with a chorus of greetings from the three brothers. Nick, occupying the seat next to you turned with a grin. "Ready to raid the mall? We need to stock up on serious movie snacks for tonight." You couldn't help but smile back, nodding your head.

The rearview mirror offered a glimpse of Matt as you chatted with Nick. You caught his gaze flickering back in your direction a few times. Feeling a playful nudge of courage, you leaned forward. "Like the view?" you teased, "I know I do."

Your playful jab elicited chuckles from Chris in the front seat, while Nick snorted out a sarcastic, "Gross." But Matt's reaction was different. He rolled his eyes, in annoyance. "Did I ask?" he muttered.

Undeterred, you met his gaze with a smirk. "Damn, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," you countered. "Feeling a bit bratty, are we?" He shot you a mock-irritated look, his jaw clenching slightly. But before he could retort, you leaned in closer.

In a flirty whisper that tickled his ear, you murmured, "I like it." You accentuated the point by biting your lower lip. A blush crept up Matt's neck, his cheeks turning a faint pink. His gaze darted away momentarily, flustered by your bold move.

The mall bustled with activity as you navigated the aisles, gathering movie snacks and groceries for the triplets' house. You kept up a steady stream of chatter with Nick and Chris. However, you couldn't shake the feeling of Matt's gaze burning into you. Every now and then, you'd steal a glance in his direction, only to find him staring intently.

Finally, bags overflowing, you piled back into the car. Matt, focused on the road as he navigated the traffic.

Reaching the triplets' house, you helped Nick unload the snacks. As the boys ordered takeout for the evening, you retreated to a bathroom, taking a moment to prepare for a night of movies. Slipping into a comfy nightgown, you brushed your hair and applied a touch of lip gloss, a subconscious effort to feel put-together even for just a sleepover.

Nick soon appeared at the doorway, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ready for some movies?" he announced, gesturing for you to follow him. Settling onto Nick's bed, you grabbed a handful of popcorn as the movie started.

The movie was nearing its climax, you were thoroughly engrossed, practically glued to the screen alongside Nick. Then, that familiar pressure built in your bladder. Stifling a groan, you glanced around the room. Nick's bathroom door was ajar. Apparently, a recent "science experiment" for a video involving a rogue Mentos geyser had rendered it temporarily out of commission.

With a resigned sigh, you stood up, the sudden movement momentarily pulling Nick's attention away from the movie. "Bathroom break," you said apologetically, already heading for the hallway. There was a single bathroom close to Nick's bedroom. Reaching for the knob, going in to use the toilet. As you got out, passing outside Matt’s door, you heard a low, guttural groan sent a jolt through you. Concern washed over you, was Matt alright? Had he tripped and hurt himself? Before you could second-guess yourself, you threw open the door.

Your worried frown melted into stunned silence as your gaze fell upon Matt. He was sat with his back to you, his torso was bare. A gasp caught in your throat.

But it wasn't the sight of his bare chest that left you frozen. It was the expression on his face, a look of pure, transcendent pleasure etched across his features; his pants and boxers were down to his ankles as he ran his hand through his big dick. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration, and the low, guttural groans you'd heard earlier escaped his lips involuntarily with each rhythmic movement. He was completely lost in the moment, oblivious to the world around him – oblivious to you standing there, speechless and wide-eyed in the doorway. You bit your lower lip hard, feeling yourself getting soaked at the view of Matt jerking off.

A low involuntary moan escaped your lips before you could even register it. The unexpected sight sent a jolt of arousal through you. Matt's eyes snapped open at the sound, his face contorting in surprise. The rhythmic movement he'd been engaged in ceased abruptly, replaced by a frantic scramble to cover himself with the nearby towel.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" you stammered, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering heat. "I thought… I heard a noise and thought you were hurt."

"Don't you knock?" he finally managed.

Guilt gnawed at you. You hadn't meant to intrude on such a private moment. Yet, even as you mumbled another apology, your gaze couldn't help but linger on the outline of his hard cock beneath the towel, and the glimpse of toned abs and strong arms fuelled the fire simmering in your core.

"Do you need help?" you blurted out. Matt's jaw clenched, his eyes widening in further surprise. You took a step forward, only to realize he was frozen in place, speechless under the weight of your unexpected advances.

As you closed the distance, reaching out, you tentatively brushed a hand against the rough fabric of the towel taking it off him, sending a tremor through Matt's body as you began massaging his length.

Lifting yourself onto his lap, you straddled him. Hesitantly, his hands reached out, hovering at your waist before finding purchase on the soft skin of your ass.

A wave of heat flooded your senses. Leaning in, you trailed a line of kisses down his neck. He responded with a muffled groan, a low sound that vibrated against your lips. Emboldened, you captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, starting to make out with him as you grinded against him.

Pulling away, breathless, you nipped at his lower lip. With a boldness you never knew you possessed, you reached for your panties, putting them to the side. Maintaining eye contact, your hand grabbed his dick, pumping it a few times before placing it on your entrance and slowly lowering yourself to him, making both of you gasp. He was larger and thicker than you anticipated, a realization that momentarily stole your breath.

He cupped your waist, his fingers digging in as he began to make you move your hips. You followed his lead, moving in a slow way, adjusting little by little to his size. A moan escaped your lips as his tip brushed your g-spot deliciously, making you start to move faster, bouncing on his dick, as he responded with a deep grunt and breathless moans “That’s good, keep doing that” he ordered.

He began thrusting up, his hips meeting yours with a satisfying force that sent shivers down your spine. "So damn tight," he growled in your ear. You responded by digging your nails into his back, leaving a red trail on his bare skin. The sharp sensation seemed to ignite him further, and he abruptly shifted positions, taking control.

He was on top now, he moved impossibly fast and deep into you. The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin. You cried out with a mixture of pleasure and surprise, the intensity pushing you closer to the edge.

"Quiet, baby," he rasped. "The others will hear." Shame washed over you momentarily, replaced by a desperate need to silence the sounds escaping your lips.

"S-sorry, Ma-tt," you stammered, your breath hitching in your throat. He responded with a brief, urgent kiss.

You felt yourself teetering on the precipice, a knot of anticipation tightening in your stomach. The sounds you made grew louder, involuntary expressions of the pleasure coursing through you. He noticed with a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

"Your legs are shaking like crazy," he murmured in your ear. A desperate plea formed on your lips.

"Matt, I… I can't… please," you stammered with a mixture of need and vulnerability in your voice. He understood. A low growl escaped his throat, "Come on then, cum for me" he rasped. And then, in a glorious rush, it happened. The tension shattered, replaced by a wave of pure pleasure that washed over you both as you came all over his dick and you felt him paint your insides with his cum at the same time. You clung to each other, breaths mingling in the aftermath, hearts pounding in a shared rhythm.

He leaned in, peppering your cheeks and neck with soft, lingering kisses. You couldn't help but giggle, and Matt chuckled too. He leaned back, meeting your gaze once more. This time, the kiss he offered was different. It was slow and deliberate.

The afterglow was sweet, but reality beckoned. Nick must be wondering where you'd disappeared to. With a sigh, Matt reluctantly untangled himself from you. He offered a hand to help you sit up. He watched as you reached for your scattered panties.

Before you could leave, he surprised you by grabbing your waist and pulling you into a quick kiss. Finally, with a lingering look that spoke a thousand unspoken words, he released you. Stepping aside, he gestured towards the door. "Go," he said smiling at you.

A nervous giggle escaped your lips as you tried to tame your hair. Reaching for the doorknob, you braced yourself for the trek back to Nick's room. What on earth would you say? How long had it been? Opening the door a little bit, you peeked inside, expecting to find Nick glued to the movie, completely oblivious.

Instead, the sight that greeted you was far worse. Nick was sprawled across his bed, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. The movie had been paused. Before you could stammer out an apology, he spoke.

"Don't even try to make up an excuse for taking so long," Nick cut in. “Let's just say the walls in this house aren't exactly soundproof." He punctuated his statement with a theatrical gag.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "You heard everything?" you mumbled. Nick burst out laughing, "Oh, come on y/n, it sounded like a jungle safari!" he teased making you blush profusely.

[artists-ally]

what about Harvey when he’s jealous? His wife is attending an event at the firm with him, she’s wearing a nice dress and one of his rivals from another firm is oggling her and she dogdes his advances gracefully, but when they get home he’s bending her on the closest surface and chanting “mine” skxmcmdks

{Put it on Me} Reader x Harvey Specter

oh BOY have I been thinking about this tehe. Also, you are my soul source of Harvey inspiration pls pls pls keep the requests coming. I have such a hard time coming up with ideas on my on so getting to create something specific really helps. Enjoy loves!!! title from this song

Word Count: 3,375

Warnings: jealousy, minor dom/sub concepts, unprotected sex, flirty banter, Harvey being a possessive mf.

~~~~~~~

As I stepped around the corner of the hallway, Harvey was leaning against the kitchen island, hands braced on the counter, gaze very much pinned on my silhouette.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, gesturing to the gown I had picked out over the weekend. “I thought the green would match well with yours.”

Harvey’s eyes melted over my frame, scanning every inch as he just stood. Watching. “You… Yn, you look breathtaking. What do you say we skip the firm announcement and just stay in?”

I laughed, the sound of my heels echoing off the walls. “As much as that sounds like a great idea, we can’t exactly snub off the announcement of a merger.”

“You just have to be the buzzkill don’t you?” Harvey smiled, planting his hands on my hips. “I should have you locked up for how good you look.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to convince a jury I’ve committed a crime, not if I bat my lashes and give them that flirty smile that sent you crawling to the floor.”

His eyes narrowed, backing me against the island in a firm spin. “Let’s not forget who can make those same lashes flutter shut, either.”

Bastard.

Harvey was dressed well– he always was. Terribly and insufferably great at finding the perfect suit. It was a three piece; the vest and jacket were black, but he wore this green tie that went with my dress. He said that since this would be the first event we attended together as a married couple, he wanted everyone to know.

Endearing, and mildly possessive.

I loved it when he was possessive.

“Okay, Maverick, let’s get to the flightdeck before we run out of fuel,” I patted his chest, grabbing my clutch and slipping in my earrings.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you make Top Gun references?”

“Almost as many times as you’ve told me how much you love when I’m on my knees,” I whispered in his ear before heading to the door.

Harvey landed a firm smack on my ass, sending laughter tumbling out of me before we kissed and headed down to the limo waiting for us.

I looked up and out of the window, taking in the views of the towering skyscrapers. The venu was gorgeous; all sleek marble and intricate architecture. Who knew such a place existed in New York.

When we arrived, Harvey stepped out first, taking my hand and guiding me out. I clutched his bicep as we ascended the stairs, greeting the security guard in front of the glass doors.

“Ahh, Mr. and Mrs. Specter,” the guard greeted. “Welcome. Ms. Pearson and Mr. Litt are waiting for you inside, as well as the other guests.”

Harvey gave me a nod, and I gave him one back. “Thank you, sir.”

He opened the door for us, and the inside was just as meticulously crafted as the outside. It was stunning, truly stunning. They don’t make buildings like this anymore, and that makes me a little sad.

“Yn!” Donna called out, several heads turning in our direction. “Oh my god you look amazing!”

“I couldn’t say anything less about you, Donna. You look so good, that royal blue makes your hair look so awesome,” I smiled pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you too, Jessica. You look marvelous.”

“Thank you, Yn,” she smiled, accepting my hug. “Don’t you clean up nice, Harvey.”

He rolled his eyes, snagging a flute of champagne from a waiter on their way by. “I’ve been known to clean up every now and then.”

Conversation flowed easily between the small cluster I’ve been encompassed with. It is so nice to have such a tight knit group of people to not only call my friends, but my family. When Harvey first brought me around them, it had just been after a huge win against a firm enemy. Daniel Hardman, who I’ve come to know the full story about, had his ass handed to him. Afterwards, Harvey was far too proud to keep his mouth shut about us and insisted I needed to be a part of the celebration.

Donna was the first to meet me, and we shared one look and knew we were gonna be best friends. We made an incredible team. Especially when we teamed up against Harvey together.

Jessica was polite, but not nearly as friendly as Donna or Louis. Mike was nice, and so was Rachel, but they were too love struck, always off in their own little bubble.

Cuties.

Dinner was served just before eight and we dined, exchanging stories left and right. I got to hear about his days at the firm from their perspective, to which I get to tell them from mine. Wildly different, might I add.

The food was rich and decadent; a choice between a filet mignon or a salmon steak. I went with the filet mignon, it looked too good to pass up. Apparently everyone else agreed because our plates all looked identical when they came out.

More champagne and a belly full of great food later, Harvey and I found ourselves at the bar, ordering drinks for ourselves. Sure Harvey enjoyed the company of his co-workers, but even he needed a break from the people he saw every day. And so did I.

“If she comes back, order me an old fashioned for me my love?” Harvey said, kissing the back of my hand. “I just saw one of our investors walk in. I want to make sure he keeps investing.”

“I’ll make sure she puts in an extra cherry for you,” I winked, letting his lips fall onto mine.

“God I love you.”

With a lingering touch, he was off across the room, that classic Harvey Specter saunter to his gait. He looked so confident, so proud of all the work he had accomplished in his career. And he should be. Harvey has built an empire here in New York and has done more than earn his reputation.

It baffled me that underneath that ‘tough as nails’ attitude, was just someone who wanted to be loved and cherished as much as I had. I love Harvey, with every bit of my soul. He was so deserving of someone who truly loved him and not the amount of zeros in his bank account.

When we first met, I hadn’t known who he was, and he liked that very much. He told me he was a lawyer, a good one, but never specified which didn’t bother me really at all. It was complicated for a long while, but eventually I wore him down and he opened up. There weren’t any details of his life he didn’t share once that wall was broken down. When I met Donna for the first time, she thanked me for it. She said that I pulled that child-like behavior out of him and made him fall in love with being a lawyer all over again.

That made my heart swell with pride.

A gentle tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my memory of Harvey, and I met a pair of tempest blue eyes.

“Oh, hello,” I gave a polite smile, turning to face the man.

“Hello to you, too,” he smiled, eyes darting around my face. “I’m Travis.”

“Yn,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

“You know,” he rubbed his fingers over his chin, “Most people tend to just wear an outfit, but clearly you are going the extra mile by capturing everyone’s attention by simply sitting here.”

I hit my smile, “Well, that is kind of you to say.”

“And the earrings, they really bring the whole thing together. Did you do your hair yourself?”

“Yes,” I exclaimed, rather enthusiastically. “It looks a lot more complicated than it was. It genuinely only took me five or six minutes to do but it looks incredible, right?”

I swiveled in the bar stool, turning the back of my head to him. He blew out a low whistle and gave a light applause, “It looks amazing.”

“Are you here from the merger?” I asked, not recognizing this Tanner fellow.

“Oh, no I am merely here as a… a guest.” His eye had this glint to it when he took a sip of his clear drink. I could smell the vodka from here.

“Me too,” I said, turning my attention to the space around us. “Isn’t this place so cool? I love all the columns and pillars and- oh! Excuse me, can I get an old fashioned? With an extra cherry in it?”

“Of course,” the bartender nodded, walking away to start mixing the drink.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for whiskey kinda girl,” Travis said, resting his elbows on the counter beside me.

“Oh, I’m not it’s for-”

“Tanner.” Harvey’s voice slithered down my spine. He sounded so… so repulsed.

“Harvey,” Travis pushed to his full height. “Nice to see you here-”

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your name is Tanner?” I asked. Why would he lie to me?

“No, no my name is Travis. Tanner is my last name.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about what your last name is. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Woah, calm down Harvey. I’m just talking with this beautiful lady, no need to twist your panties. I was here first, you don’t get to swoop in here and steal my conversation,” Travis frowned, setting the glass down rather harshly on the counter.

“Hey Yn, isn’t that an 8 carat diamond?” Harvey stood directly behind me, sliding his fingers down my left arm, grabbing my wrist and facing it towards Travis.

“Uhh, yeah what’s going-”

“That's right, it is. Funny how I knew that, isn’t it Tanner? Well, that’s because I bought it for her. So how about you get the hell out of here and if I ever catch you trying to flirt with my wife again I will put you six feet in the fucking dirt, do you understand me?”

My eyes damn near fell out of my fucking skull. I knew Travis was being polite, or flirting I guess, but I wasn’t going to let anything come of it, of course.

Travis looked like he was going to be sick. He scurried off, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

Harvey dropped my hand and reached around me to grab his freshly crafted drink.

“Okay, hotshot, what was that all about?”

“Do you remember that shit-show of a case that we fought a few months ago, the one that got reopened after four years?” I nodded. “Yeah, that was him. And that's the asshole who tried to have me disbarred.”

Holy shit. “Oh, fuck Harvey. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he smiled faintly. “There’s no other reason he’s here tonight other than to piss me off.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” I said, standing up and taking his face in my hands. “Would you like to passionately make out in front of all these people just to make Travis Tanner mad?”

“Yes, yes I would like that very much,” Harvey grinned, linking his arm around my wait and pressing me close before sending a shiver down my spine with the force of his lips on mine.

“That guy is an asshole,” I said, needing a moment to catch my breath. Surely that did the trick, Travis was nowhere in sight. “You shouldn’t trust anyone with two first names, it’s weird.”

Harvey bellowed out a laugh, nodding his head over his shoulder. I could tell he wanted to leave, but I wouldn’t let him slink off without saying proper goodbyes to everyone that was worth an explanation as to where we fled to.

Donna didn’t need to see us leave, because I had a text on my phone with a bunch of eggplant and peace emoji’s with an accompanying message that said ‘GONNA BE SOME GOOD D TONIGHT GIRL’. She must’ve seen the whole interaction between Travis, Harvey and I.

All I sent back was a winky face.

By the time we got off the elevator, Harvey couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Not that I wanted him to, but we hadn’t even made it outside before his tongue was sweeping inside my mouth.

We pressed to the front door while jammed in the key, effortlessly unlocking it like he had done it a thousand times before. We crashed through, and Harvey wasted no time pinning me to the door.

“Mmm Harvey,” I whined into his mouth.

“Yes, pretty girl?” God damn did I love when he calls me that. “What do you need?”

“You, just you,” I looked at him through my lashes, watching that evil smirk wash over his features. Nothing could have stopped his hand clamping around my throat, pulling me off the door and into the kitchen. He hoisted me up onto the island and began to strip.

Harvey tossed his jacket onto the counter behind him, the tie was next. He made it painfully slow, doing nothing to hide his intentions of making it agonizing for me. I rolled my eyes, hands finding the buttons on his vest, flinging it over my shoulder.

“Needy,” he gripped my chin, crushing his mouth with mine. For a few minutes, or hours, we drank each other in. Restless hands and desperate pleas of need. Silk wrapped around my wrists, tight and commanding. I looked down and saw his tie around them, knotted in a figure eight and yanked until it burned.

“Harvey-”

“You’re mine. All. Mine. No one else has the right to do so much as think otherwise.” My core rippled with heat, eyes lulling shut at his words. “Aww, you like hearing that, don’t you? That I get to see you like this? All tied up? Such a pretty girl, Yn. I bet you’re such a mess for me already.”

He grabbed the fabric around my wrists and pulled me off the counter, flipping me over and forcing me to bend over. Harvey fisted up the hem of my skirt, quite literally tearing my thong off my hips.

I went to yell at him, but his finger dragged between my legs, and my spine shivered. “Fuck, Harvey…”

“You are a mess for me,” I could hear the possession in his voice. “Mmm, and you taste so sweet, Yn.”

I heard his fly unzip, the clang of his belt following after. My toes barely touched the ground as my forearms pressed against my ribs. I tried to scramble up a little so my hips fit with the edge of the counter, but Harvey just gripped the back of my hair and pulled me up.

He clicked his tongue, “Oh Yn, such a pretty thing you are. And I am going to have my way with you, and you’re gonna scream my name for the whole city to hear.”

I clenched my thighs together, pressing my forehead against the cool surface, though it quickly warmed with my breathing and panting. I felt the tip of his cock press against me, and his hips slowly met mine.

He pushed me further onto the counter, thankfully letting go of my hair before he pulled out.

Harvey’s hands on my hips were brutal; bruising my skin, commanding, feverish as they roamed my ass and thighs. Clawing marks.

“God Yn…” he sighed out, thrusting all the way back in, pulling my hips all the way flush with his. “Fuck you are so warm. So perfect for my cock.”

“Please,” I begged, wiggling my ass to entice him further.

“Please what, pretty girl? Come one, use your words.”

I shuddered around him, and he laughed at me. A cruel, wicked laugh as he stuffed himself further.

“Harder, I want- need it harder.”

“That’s my girl,” Harvey landed his palm on my ass, undoubtedly turning it bright red as he did it again. With one snap of his hips, and I knew I was gonna be ripped apart.

I didn’t know that much about Travis Tanner, but judging by the way this was going, Harvey really fucking hated the guy. If Harvey had any other enemies, maybe I should let them all flirt with me if it has the chance of turning into this.

My chest rammed across the counter, my thighs and pelvic bone rocking into the side of the island. It hurt, fuck did it hurt, but it made it so much better. Harvey’s brutal pace had him panting and groaning, cursing under his breath while he fisted his hand back in my hair.

I craned up, back aching with the force of his unyielding grip. It was hard to breathe, in the most soul fluttering way possible. It was such a euphoric feeling to be under his complete control.

“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy? Submitting to my every decision?”

“Yes Harvey,” I whimpered. Full on whimpered. “Fuck-”

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl, let it all out for me to hear.”

He threw my head down, hair swinging around my shoulders and falling in my face. I let my head go limp, moans pouring out of my mouth. His hips slammed into mine, brutal and ruthless. Every inch of my body was on fire, veins pumping blood widely through my limbs, making them tingle. My toes curled, knees knocking into the wood paneling over and over and over.

I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything, to get him to slow his pace. I writhed and cried out his name. I could hear it echo off the walls, and I knew our neighbors would be taping a complaint to our door by the morning.

“Fuck, baby, gonna cum,” he threw his head back, hips stuttering as he held on to my waist. “Fuck, Yn you are so fucking messy for me. Gonna fill you up.”

I squirmed when his finger brushed against my clit, chills spreading all down my arms and back. I felt tears prick my eyes. I hadn’t even realized how close I actually was to my release, and it slammed into me without any hint of a warning.

“Yeah, that's it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock,” Harvey’s voice was like a sin. Pure, raw, unfiltered sin.

His fingers circled and circled around, lighting my body and dragging out the waves of pleasure that rolled through me.

Harvey let out a string of curses, and his hips stilled. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down onto him, hips ramming in once-twice-three-four times before he stilled. He bent over me, heaving for a breath against the middle of my back.

I called his name several times, unable to keep still. My hands were going numb from the bindings, and my knees and hips ached.

With a big inhale, Harvey lifted off my body. His hands trailed all the way down my back to my exposed ass, pulling it apart. “Well, would you look at that. So messy, full of me…”

My pussy clenched around him, and I felt his release slide down the inside of my thigh. His finger dragged his back up and speared it into my skin.

“That’s right, pretty girl, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Say it.”

“I’m yours Harvey, all yours,” I plead, wallowing in the feeling of pure bliss. His hands were much more gentle this time around when he lowered me back to the ground.

That mouth of his most certainly wasn’t. Harvey forced his tongue in, practically shoving it down my throat. I choked, and he grinned like the devil.

“Yeah, that’s right, Yn. You’re all mine. All fucking mine.”

I stared up at him in a starry daze. My head was foggy, and my legs were weak. “God do I love it when you get like this.”

Harvey’s hand caressed my cheek, thumb sweeping under my eye to where I’m sure my makeup was smudged.

“And god do I love it when you let me worship you, fucking you exactly like you deserve to be. No one else could ever fuck you as good as I can. Right, pretty girl?”

I grinned, equally as devilish as him, “Right, Harvey.”

~~~~~

Reader's dress

Harvey's suit

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART II

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

⬅︎ PART I

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.6k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ this is a continuation of the original post as the overall word count exceeds the character limit on tumblr posts. this is not an official part 2, but rather the second half of the one shot.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Your vision blurs, head spins. Movements slow, you sit yourself up. The zip-ties, previously binding your wrists and ankles, have been removed. So have your platform ankle boots, fish-netted feet brushing against the fur of your coat. Willing your sight back, you screw your eyes tight, blinking until your vision finally clears to take in the room.

A masterpiece of modern elegance, the room is a blend of minimalist design that indulges comfort. It is expansive, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows to offer a panoramic view of the Crimson Heights skyline below. You shuffle yourself off the comfortable bed, eager to get a closer look. The red lights of the city twinkle back at you and cast a soft, ambient glow throughout the space. You’ve never seen the city from such a height, swallowing thickly.

In the reflection of the glass, beyond your haphazard image of dried tears and ruined lipstick, the bed you have only just climbed out of summons your attention.

Draped in the finest linens with a dark charcoal-grey duvet and plush pillows arranged neatly, it must be king-sized in order to fit  the extensive space of the room. The headboard is a stunning work of art in itself���made of dark walnut wood, with soft leather inlays that give the room a sleek, masculine impression. The bed sits on a low, streamlined platform, reinforcing the room's minimal yet luxurious aesthetic. And, on either side of the bed, are matching nightstands, both topped with geometric lamps that are made of brushed steel and frosted glass.

Your eyes fall to the polished, dark hardwood floors. A rich, handwoven wool rug in deep, muted tones lays over it, warming the room and offering texture underfoot. You catch the gleam of the recessed lighting overhead, installed in the high, coffered ceilings. You lift your gaze and take in each panel. An awed sigh leaves you at the sight of the meticulously crafted slots, indirect LED lighting embedded into the coves to cast a sophisticated, layered illumination.

Against one wall stands a sprawling built-in wardrobe. The seamless doors are made from smoked glass and brushed steel accents. And, to the left of the bed, a small seating area invites relaxation, consisting of a sleek leather armchair and a low-profile marble coffee table. A few books rest upon it, alongside a single crystal whiskey tumbler, hinting at quiet, contemplative moments probably spent here.

You wander further around the room, spotting a door that leads to the master ensuite bathroom in the corner. It’s visible through frosted glass sliding doors. You debate on going in, curious to see what breathtaking architecture it will offer.

But then the walls captivate your attention, or rather the art that hangs from them. Large intricate pieces, each one probably chosen for its muted palette and contemporary feel, enhance the understated luxury that defines the room. The only splash of colour comes from a vase of white orchids resting on a sleek dresser, their delicate petals standing out against the otherwise neutral tones.

You resist reaching a hand out and tracing rigid lines of dried paint.

“I don’t give a shit,” you hear Chris growl on the other side of the black door.

You stiffen.

This is his room, you realise. The heart-wrenching events of the night return to you in a fast wave, flooding you with the same shame and anger that plagued you in the van.

As quietly as you can, you rush back to the bed for your coat and dig through the pockets for your switchblade. However, both are empty of your belongings, not even your lipstick remains. If you really are left without a weapon, you know what you must do.

Scooping up your coat and boots, you make your way to the door. It was one thing to be caught tangled in a bright dressing room with witnesses. It’s another to be cornered alone in his room. If he has a view of the city this marvellous, he must be tightly connected to within Stray Kids. You cannot, will not, subject yet another gang to your reckless behaviour. It will be best for everyone if you just leave. Besides, Vinny is probably worried sick about you, having witnessed you kidnapped.

“Call him,” Chris orders, his loud voice a bit clearer as you open the door. “Tell him she’s safe.”

You look up and down the long corridor. It is just as exquisite as the bedroom. Grey walls, remarkable artwork that looks to be of Korean origins. The hardwood floors extend beyond the room too, covered by a narrow carpet of lavish Persian design.

The left side leads to a number of rooms, one of which has the door wide open. Warm light seeps into the hallway with the natural grace of the sun, momentarily disrupted by shifting shadows. You don’t need to hear his voice again to know Chris is in there, the oversized silhouette of his frame confirmation enough.

You feel a grin involuntarily spreading on your lips.

“Good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says behind you.

Turning, you meet an unfamiliar face. Features nearly feline, the indigo haired man stands on the other end of the hall, compromising your path to the exit. He crosses his arms over his chest, dragging his gaze over your frame, attention lingering on the coat and boots clutched to your chest.

“And we were worried you’d try to run,” he jokes, though his face is void of friendly notions.

That stern dryness of his tone, sharpness of his voice triggers a memory.

“Shut up,” he had hissed before informing you that Vinny was alive.

“That’s what you do, right?” he asks. “You’re a runner.”

You narrow your gaze. “You say that like it’s some secret.”

He flashes a knowing smirk, as if well aware of your secrets. What is more astonishing, however, is the way that suggestive grin resembles Chris’s. It lacks his charisma and cynicism, and that flicker of darkness, dimming whatever light might have snuck through with indications of loss and trauma. So while the one before you is a good copy, it is not perfect. Those onyx eyes gleam of playful interest, twinkling with subtle notions of hostility instead.

You wonder if he learned it from—

Chris says your name.

The speed in which you turn to answer his call is downright disgraceful. Shame heats your chest, spreading up to your cheeks. Your instincts scream at you to avoid his gaze, to focus on anything other than that teasing smile he’s trying to bite back, but you find yourself helpless, unable to tear yourself away.

He must have showered, the smears of lipstick and splattered blood gone. His hair is pushed back, displaying his forehead. And his handsome face is on the way to recovery. Though his bruises still look tender, the cut on his brow is all clean and bandaged. Leaning against the doorframe, he wears a black shirt, that still emphasises the large muscles of his biceps, and a pair of matching sweats. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to look just as good clothed as they do half-naked.

“Come’ere,” he beckons before tonguing his cheek. The twinkle in his gaze is enough indication that he knows you’ve been checking him out.

I need to go, you know you should say.

Your body has a mind of its own though, diminishing your voice, shackling your sanity and nudging you towards him. Completely compelled by the pull of his charm, you obey, only stopping once you’re pressed against his buff chest again and cranking your neck back to maintain his enamoured gaze.

“Let me get these out of your way,” he smiles, voice a mere notch above a whisper.

No, thank you. I have to go.

His fingers brush yours, prickling goosebumps along your arms.

You release your tight grip. He hands your things to the man you met in the hallway. Barrier of your belongings removed, you fully lean into him.

Grin widening, Chris cups your cheek and rubs his thumb against your chin. “You know, I resent the fact that you think I’m dramatic,” he mumbles, inches away from your lips. “I just like making statements.”

“And what statement were you planning on making by abducting me?”

His eyes darken, swirling with sinister intent. As if remembering he had an agenda beyond seducing you, Chris’s soft caress on your chin becomes a tight grip. He forces your lips onto a pucker, using his new hold to guide you into the room and shove you into the nearest chair.

You softly grunt upon the impact. Chris clenches his jaw to suppress a smirk. You know that you’re fighting your desire based on the fact that you do not deserve to have it fulfilled, being the treacherous person you are. But why is Chris suddenly shoving down his sexual urges? He didn’t have any qualms about using them to lure the truth out of you before.

The magnificent state of the office disrupts your thoughts. It maintains that same elegant, minimalistic aesthetic of his bedroom. Tall windows that offer views of the pier, gleaming hardwood floors decorated with luxurious, handwoven carpets of varying muted shades, all working together to become the backbone of comfort and professionalism within the room.

In front of you, Chris leans on the large, polished walnut desk. You notice a sleek laptop, and a few notepads and pens, all of which are neatly arranged. An ergonomic leather chair looms over the desk and you find that you are thankful he is not sitting on it, knowing you’d be incapable of enduring his scrutiny from such a position of power without wrestling the overwhelming urge to touch yourself.

In one corner, a small lounge area features a plush velvet sofa in a deep navy hue, flanked by a glass-top coffee table. A handful of his friends, including Seungmin and the icy-haired man from the dressing room, occupy the space. The other side, by the wall of windows, linger the remaining few, including the man who took the position of his coach in the recent match and the one you met in the hall.

The artwork in the office does not resemble that of his room, or even the corridor. It is more abstract, sometimes broken up by black and white photos of himself in the ring. He barely breaks a sweat in each photo, clenching hard around his mouth guard as he glares at his opponent. A championship belt is framed and pinned behind his desk too, under a collection of trophies and gold medals.

You wonder how many people have been invited here, blessed to witness the wonders held within these walls.

“I need to know everything,” Chris says, pulling your attention away from the layout of the room.

You furrow your brows. “I told you everything.”

Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “Word for word,” he clarifies, voice void of the softness it once cradled.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Disappointment lances around your heart, ensnaring your high-hopes like barbed wire. You thought he was making a statement of affectation or, at the very least, interest. You thought that his body was reacting to yours as well, that he felt your pain within a shared kiss, understood your damage within an exchanged breath. You thought that maybe he just wanted to see you again and didn’t know how, his efforts extreme but he is a Stray Kid after all.

You now understand the forced meeting for what it really is— an interrogation.

Told you so, a little voice in your head gloats. If you put up a fight and ran when I told you to, you wouldn't feel this way.

Sucking on the insides of your cheeks, brows knitted and eyes reverting to the floor, you shake your head and humorlessly laugh at your desperate short-sightedness. You’re no better than Aiden in the ring, flailing yourself around for a chance to be accepted somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps this is for the best. You were going to ruin his life at some point anyway, possessing the damned knack of cursing him with your existence as you had done with the others that have come before him, friends and lovers alike.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you begin your tale, thinking back to everything you overhear in the alleyway. You give him a detailed description of Mickey, his features and breaking voice as Andy threatened his life. In greater detail, you describe what Andy looks like, from his messy crew cut to the nasty scar on his forearm. You describe his voice and his manner of speaking, the jittery bounce in his step as he lets his impulsive thoughts win and presses a knife to Mickey’s throat.

Chris nods along. Every so often, one of his friends shifts their weight or adjusts their position in their seats. You notice a few of them captivated by the floor whenever you mention Mickey and you can’t stop yourself from wondering who he was to them before he was outed as a traitor. Was he merely Chris’s coach, or really part of his inner circle?

“And you?” Chris asks when you finish.

You shrug. “What about me?”

“What makes you a traitor?”

You didn’t think such a question would summon tears, not after how much time has lapsed since you last called Vince, Danni and Andrea your friends. Yet, your eyes water. Jaw clenched, you narrow your gaze at him. Insults perch on the tip of your tongue, prepared to fire upon your frustrated command, but your despair holds your vicious voice hostage.

Blinking, you look down at the expensive hardwood floors. Breathing deep, you muster enough courage to quietly answer, “Delusions.”

“I need details,” Chris clarifies. You can hear the annoyance drenched in each grunted word.

You look over your shoulder at his friends. Tense, they stare with carefully neutral features.

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

“The answer is no.”

Chris reaches behind him. He pulls out a black handgun, the letters SKZ scratched on the side of the barrel and aims it at you. “I think you should reconsider,” he says, chambering a bullet.

You cannot help smiling at the sound of the cocked gun, like a toy in his huge hand. You relax back in your seat, and tilt your head. Gesturing his hand upward, you advise, “Higher if you’re aiming for my head. You’ll only shatter my collarbone from this angle.”

Features flinching with confusion, Chris looks between you and his gun. He quirks his head to the side as he schools his expression once more, poking his tongue against his cheek.

“Are you stupid or suicidal?”

“A lot of people would argue both.”

The slightest impression of a smirk flickers on the corner of his lips. It's quite endearing, really—the way he tries so hard to stay focused, yet can't help but be distracted by your charms. You smirk for him instead, once miserable eyes now filled with playful defiance.

He takes a step closer, then another and another, until the cool barrel presses against the centre of your forehead. You try not to moan from the kiss of cold steel upon your skin, the proximity of his lips hovering over yours.

“Reconsider,” he orders in a whisper.

Sultry eyes, half-lidded and drowning in lust, you shake your head. Originally, shame shackled your truth. You didn’t want him nor his friends to lose respect for you, unsure if they even possess any for you at all. But now, all you want is to see how far he will go with his trigger, with you.

Chris moves the gun to your right temple, dragging the cold tip of the gun against your warm skin.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He peers down at you with a lust-ridden gaze that mirrors yours and leans on the arms of your chair. He slides the gun down your cheek, along your jawline then finally pushes it firmly under your chin.

Your eyes roll, head tilting back.

“How about now?” he whispers. His voice is deep, heavy with lust as he breaths over your face.

Voice as breathless and even weaker than his, you practically whine, “No.”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Seungmin mumble, “This is what I was telling you.”

“Shut up,” someone else replies in a quiet hiss. “I’m watching something.”

“It’s fine. Minho’s recording,” the one with the deepest voice reassures.

Chris pushes himself off the arm of the chair, uncocking his gun and removing it from your head.

You can’t help the dissatisfied sigh that escapes you at the loss of contact.

Turning to his friends, Chris demands, “Get out.”

“You’re ruining my footage,” Minho, the one you met in the hall, scolds, looking at Chris through his camera phone.

Chris merely points to the door. They sigh, grumbling protests as they shuffle out of the room. He shuts the door behind them and makes his way back to you.

“Listen,” he starts, wiping his nose with his wrist. He leans back against his desk again, meeting your gaze.

You press your thighs together at the sight of him all spread out along the edge of the grand desk.

He continues, snapping you out of your horny thoughts, “I want to fuck you senseless. I want you to take that little top off again and shove your tits in my face.”

Swallowing thickly, you sink into your chair, flushing at the confession.

“But before I ravish you,” he says, unable to fight off a smile, “I need to know what you did that made one of the most powerful families in Crimson Heights, levy such a steep price on your head.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s stupid, Chris,” you try to argue. “And childish.”

Gaze supplying tender understanding, Chris ever so sweetly encourages you to share with a gentle nod of his head. “Tell me everything,” he repeats, this time as a plea rather than demand.

Licking your lips, you confess, “And I don’t regret it. Before I tell you what happened, I need you to understand that I would do it again.”

At this, the compassion in his gaze wavers. Nonetheless, he sets the gun down and waits for you to begin.

You draw in a shaky breath, and upon the exhale, you explain, “Vince was flirting with me. I didn’t know it at the time, but at a certain point, it became obvious. He started to touch me more, and would find reasons to get me alone. We both lost someone ‘cause of overdoses and I guess it was a topic of bonding? I thought it was just as friends. He clearly had a different idea.”

Chris furrows his brows. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

A tight lipped smile momentarily tugs on the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Danni,” you confirm. “That’s how I met him. She was like my best friend. We accidentally met while knocking over the same liquor store. She wanted the booze and I wanted the cash. It worked out perfectly.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory. Chris allows a small smile to break through his assertive expression in response.

“Anyway, one night we were supposed to meet up by the pier. But, Danni wanted to stay in for the night, which she of course told us after we already got there, and she was Andrea’s ride so neither showed up. Vince and I got to talking about the people we lost— his was more recent than mine. I thought he just needed some more support. He looked devastated at the time.

But then he reached for my thigh. I didn’t push it off right away because I couldn’t believe he was touching me like that. And I guess he took that as a sign that I liked it. He moved his hand further up my leg and leaned in.” You pause to swallow your disgust, the memory panging your heart with anxiety.

Chris sharply exhales. “Please tell me you pushed him into the sea,” he says, tone laced with anger.

“I wish,” you dryly chuckle. “No, I went to shove his hand away, but Danni showed up after all, after Andrea begged her for the ride. She saw my hand over Vince’s and how close both were to my crotch and just lost her shit. I tried to explain but she hit me and I figured running home would be easier. And they followed me. They banged on my door all night, flip flopping between wanting to just talk to kill me. I waited until they were gone to run to Vinny’s.”

“So, she thought you were trying to fuck her boyfriend?” Chris asks, laughing at the obscurity. “Half the port is being gambled away because of some horny piece of shit and his stupid girlfriend?”

You can’t help smirking, yourself, the stupidity not at all lost on you. “No, that is just some context for why I…” You trail off, crossing one leg over another and taking another deep breath.

Chris raises a brow, only to hiss in pain.

“Careful,” you warn, earning a slight smile, before resuming your story.

“They went around the city slandering me. It got bad enough that certain gangs wouldn’t let me in their territory, worried I’d be more trouble than I was worth. At one point, I was confined to my apartment— Vinny suggested that laying low might help minimise the accusations. Everyday I spent alone, I would think about that night at the pier. I would wonder what Vince told them on their way to my apartment to make them so vile and murderous towards me. I knew both girls for nearly five years, and it killed me to know that in all that time, they really thought I was capable of such disgusting behaviour.

I was seething alone for almost three months, replaying that day over and over. I thought about what I would have said if I stayed and fought back. I thought about kicking Vince right in his tiny balls and punching Danni in the face until all her teeth fell out. I came up with a new way to torment them every single day I was locked away.”

“What was your favourite?” Chris asks, the allure of a fond smile settling on his lips.

You carefully meet his gaze and answer, “Bullets. I thought about lining them up and shooting their brains out. I wanted to see them with half their face still intact, the rest splattered all across the pier.”

Chris shares your tranquil smile, falling silent to let you continue.

“At a certain point, I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe I finally found clarity— I don’t know,” you shake your head, sitting up in your seat. “I knew that Vince’s father owned a fleet of boats on the pier. ”

Realisation instantly sparkles in his big, brown eyes.

“I snuck out and studied the crew’s shift rotation for two weeks. I found out that by Christmas Eve, there would be a skeleton crew and no one would be on the boats. They were only planning on securing the perimeter. So I set my plan in motion. I syphoned some gas, stole a pack of matches and set them all on fire. I shouted my name as the crew rushed to put it all out. I wanted them to know it was me, the person they exiled, who burned them to the ground. I needed them to know it.

The weight of what I had just done didn’t hit me until I got home and realised I couldn’t stay there. So I packed up some essentials, and ran to Vinny’s instead. Turns out there was an astronomical amount of coke on those boats. The bounty was placed within the hour.”

Chris sucks in a breath as you finish. “I see,” he hums, reaching for his gun again. “Stand up.”

You eye the firearm. “Are you going to use that?”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Jaw tight, you uncross your legs and stand. You look up at his towering 6’9 frame from your 5’8 position. Hands moving on their own accord, you grip onto his shirt, right by his hips, and press yourself firmly against him.

His clothed erection pokes at your stomach. You wonder how long he has been throbbing for you. Which part of your story made him this hard? The shared rage against Vince’s sliminess? The festering resentment? The violence? The retribution? You noticed his posture remained still, expression plain, but his eyes gleamed with something like pride.

“You’re so pretty when you’re following orders,” he murmurs, luring your attention. Before you can answer, he fiercely jams the barrel of the gun against your cheek .

You cannot stop a loud, whiny moan from tearing through your throat. The moment that cool tip digs into your skin, your arousal pools, eyes roll back. Your grip on his hips tightens and toes curl into the soft carpet beneath you.

“No, no,” he tuts, applying more pressure. “Open your eyes.”

You obey.

Chris peers down at you over the bridge of his nose, desires casting shadows in those brown eyes at your compliance. He grinds the barrel further into your skin, tilting slightly to watch your face contort under its cold pressure.

You lean into it, maintaining his lust-lost gaze.

“Take off your shorts.”

Looping your thumbs into the waistband, you make a show of wiggling your hips to push off the tiny short-shorts. You kick them aside once they fall to the floor.

Chris first smirks at the swish of your hips, but then tongues his cheek in sexual frustration at the sight of your panty-less crotch.

“Laundry day,” you shrug, feigning innocence as you peer at him under your lashes.

“My new favourite day,” he smiles before cupping you.

Your hips grind into his hand, legs slightly spreading for his wide fingers. Knowing he wants you to maintain eye contact, you do your best not to roll them back at the light, slow friction. 

Voice already trembling, you moan, “Fuck.”

He puts some force into his languid ministrations as he opens his mouth and arches his brows, hinting at you to mirror his actions. The condescension of his expression makes your hips buckle, clit throbbing for more stimulation.

God, he’s so perfect.

If you continue, if you let him bed you, ravish you as he previously put it, you’ll eventually regret it. You’ll wish you left when you had the chance, or at least thought you did. You know you can’t stay here. Your heart already bursts with infatuation, wetness collecting at his meticulous attention. If you stay, you will end up hurt and disappointed, all alone again with nothing but a knock-off fur coat and switchblade to console you once everything is said and done. Or worse— he will be the one hurt, dying or dead, plagued by the curse of your reckless existence.

Right now, Chirs exudes success, reputation built on the brute force of his powerful fists and swift footwork. He has friends who respect him enough that he doesn’t need to repeat himself when he speaks. He has the support of the most nefarious gang in Crimson Heights, prepared to defend him, stand for him.

You can’t ruin that. In fact, you refuse to do so.

So why are you standing on your toes, leaning into his broad chest for stability and rolling your hips into his calloused hand? Why can’t you tell him to stop, instead echoing his movements as he silently requested?

The moment you part your lips, Chris slides the barrel into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the cool metal, the taste of gun powder bitter on your tongue, you loudly moan and eyes rolling back.

He tsks, pulling your head back down using his grip on the gun. “Eyes on me,” he reminds through gritted teeth.

Oh? Is it a performance he’s after?

You recall his words— I like to make a statement— and wonder if he is waiting for you to do the same thing.

Hollowing your cheeks, you pretend to suck on the barrel, careful not to swallow more fumes of explosive powder than humanly capable. You bob your head back and forward, enchanting him with your most innocently lustful eyes.

A certain darkness diminishes the sweet tenderness that often glimmers in his gaze, even when he is sinfully intrigued by your shameless desire. Once a chocolate brown, swirling with smug delight, now a deep umber, whirling with lethal ecstasy. He feels it— the power of a mighty gun, the weight of life and death confined within sleek, curved edges of a silver bullet.

Fear and pleasure collide in your gut, becoming a force of thrilling anxiety.

What if the safety isn’t on? What if he fires?

Your mind laps around the questions, hips desperately jutting into his palm, as you trebly whine around the gun.

Chris removes his arousal-glistening hand from your crotch to wrap it around your neck. You shiver at the slimy sensation of your excitement against your skin. He pulls out the gun with more force than necessary at the squeaky whine you sound upon the lost contact. Your hips, still desperate to chase a release, fidget against him, much to his sinister amusement.

Pointing the gun to your temple, he shuffles and shifts your position so your back faces the desk instead. Then he shoves you against it by the grip on your neck.

You stumble back with a breathless yelp, the tail of your spine ramming against the expensive wood. Upon the impact, body buzzing with signals of pain and pleasure alike, you choke out a gratified giggle.

The clatter of objects on the desk falling from the force of his shove, the sound of your stricken surprise, flashes fear in his gaze. But then the melody of your laughter tumbles and tunnels his vision with carnal hunger. A vicious smile stretches on his supple lips, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth, like a famished predator upon trapping its prey.

You lift yourself up onto his desk as he approaches, immediately spreading your legs as a way of welcome. He appreciates the gesture, sliding the barrel of the gun along your breasts and stomach, then down between your drenched folds. Chest to chest, lips on lips, you exchange hissing breaths and curses. You grip onto your shoulders as he wraps his free arm around your waist, hugging you firmly against him. He’s caged you in, his body too large to move around now, even if you wanted to (or so you tell yourself, while feverently rolling your hip in tandem with his wrist.)

Terror knots in your gut, right where your climax builds. You wonder if his finger is still on the trigger. If he gets too excited, if he loses his concentration, if he ever so slightly shifts his finge—

“Kinky, little whore,” he croaks, picking up the pace. He then mimics the pitches of your waver voice and mocks your pouty expression, cooing, “You like that, yeah? You like my gun rubbing against your wet cunt, baby girl? Hmm?”

The patronising tone is reason enough to tremble, nails piercing skin as your scratch along his strong shoulders. His filthy words and ravenous gaze, however, have you releasing your scarring grasp to pull off your shirt and arch your back.

An approving growl resonates from his chest, attention now trailing down to your bouncing breasts.

“Lean back.”

Heat floods your face, your neck, your chest. You place your hands behind you and do as you’re told while his arms slither from around your waist to grip onto your hip, firmly sinking his fingers into your supple curves. Heart rapturing from the amorous attention, you fight off a smile. And the darkness that once brewed in your lungs, twisting around your ribcage as you rue your existence, dwindles with every salacious stare.

Other men have been passionate, but hasty. Eager to chase their own highs, they merely used you as a means to a satisfying end. Their hands would only roam if they required a better grip on your hips and eyes mostly screwed shut while they thrusted to an unsteady pace. It was mediocre at best, often having to think of your own turn ons to not fake an orgasm.

Chris deliberately studies your features, instead. He sips on your bare body like he might die if he does not memorise every roll, curve and fold. More than that, he revels at the sight. He croaks throaty moans and hisses when your hips stutter against the gun, the stimulation momentarily confounding your senses.

Your insecurities wane, allowing confidence to flourish in their stead. Even your self-loathing cowers under the judgement of his wanton gaze. You suddenly cannot remember why you needed to leave before. You can’t understand how a thought like that could enter your mind. Never do you want to leave him.

“I feel you clenching,” he notes, voice raw with authority. “Do you want me to fill it up for you?”

Your breath hitches, body quivers. Gaze flitting down to his erection, brutally evident in his black sweats, you moan, “Fuck, yes!”

He smirks and you already know he won’t give himself up that easily.

“Beg.”

Voice tangled in deplorable desperation, you keenly plead, “Please, please, please fuck me! Pl-ease,” you take a moment to swallow thickly, hoping to compose yourself enough to continue. “I don’t th-think I can cum without you.”

His smirk widens at that.

You pick your next words carefully, voice wavering. “Only you could r-really make me fe-feel it in the m-mo-morning.”

Jaw flexed, he softly growls.

“P-pretty ple-ase?” you add with a pout.

He tongues his cheek, hiding a smile, but does not reach for his waistband.

You part your lips to beg more, prepared to offer your soul if that’s what it would take to feel him inside you. Instead, an ear-piercing shriek escapes.

“Oh, god!”

Your voice breaks, peaking at a near whistle from the abrupt sensation of the barrel pushing against your tight, needy walls. Jaw slack, you look down and watch as your core engulfs the gun, clenching tightly around the arousal slick metal. Even after being shoved against your clit for so long, it still feels cold.

Chris chuckles darkly as you breathlessly mewl, the sight of the gun disappearing in you all too erotic. “Is this what you wanted?” he taunts, raising a cocky brow. He hums in mocking agreement with your hurried nods.

Between the thrusting gun and his belittling behaviour, you’re not sure you possess the capabilities to endure him for much longer.

“Ch-chris,” you attempt to warn, risking a glance back down at that barrel ramming into you.

His finger is on the trigger, force powerful enough that even the slightest pressure could set the firearm off.

Your toes curl, nails claw against the rich wood of the desk. The continuous friction, steady, speedy and strong, encourages the coiling of electrified excitement deep in your gut.

So, so cl—

A devastated cry tears through your throat as the sudden loss of contact. Your eyes snap open (you don’t even remember screwing them shut), and you glare at him.

“You fucking asshole!” You seethe, pushing yourself up from your leaned back position. You obeyed every order, leaned into every touch and embraced every vicious word only to have your orgasm ruined.

Chris dismisses your icy eyes, slowly dragging his tongue over the barrel of the handgun. His eyes radiate sexual satisfaction as he savours your taste.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckles, offering you the tip of the gun, “Did you want to clean it up for me?”

You are not a violent person— not unintentionally anyway. So why do you wind your hand back and whip it against his cheek?

Chris moans upon impact, twisting his head with the slap, as if embracing it.

You gasp, hopping off the desk and clamping a hand over your mouth only to remove it seconds later to apologise.

“Chris, I’m—”

He advances towards you with a fierce groan. Seizing you by the waist, he forces you against him and latches onto your lips. His hands slide down to grip onto your rear, kneading fistfuls of your plump cheeks. Both hands suddenly release your ass to smack back down against it and squeeze.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck as your guilt disappears.

His tongue puts up more of a fight this time, but is nowhere as aggressive as the rest of his actions, half-heartedly wrestling yours simply to delight in the wet and warm sensation. He yields to your rhythm eventually, muttering against your lips, “Do it again.”

You rip yourself away in pure confusion, brows knotted. “What?” you heave, as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Hit me again,” he demands, voice rough and raspy.

Your gaze bounces around his healing wounds, remorse resurfacing.

Chris must have read the guilt on your face, endearingly tilting his head at your hesitation. “I’m a big boy,” he smirks. “I can take it.”

That breathy, throat voice and haughty tone seems to be enough of a trigger because you smack him again before you have a chance to second-guess yourself.

He moves with the hit again, groaning as he grinds his erection against your stomach. Sucking in a breath with a sharp hiss, Chris tosses the gun to the floor. You brace yourself for the firing round, shoulders shooting to your ears. However, the gun does not go off. You narrow your gaze to find the clip missing, wondering when the fuck he slipped it out and how he managed to do it so silently.

The shuffle of fabric redirects your attention back to Chris. You’ve been so absorbed by the fear of triggering the gun, you hadn’t realised he untangled himself from you to take his clothes off.

His torso is as glorious as you remember, buff, broad and boasting with robust strength. Then he pushes off his sweats and your jaw slackens. Your gaze first lingers around the three-lettered tattoo of his gang on his left hip. SKZ – the ‘K’ coloured red. Then, as he shoves the pants down, his cock monopolises your attention. You knew he would be wide, the impression of him alone previously leaving you shaken. But you did not expect him to be as long, easily measuring at around eight and a half inches.

Your bottom lip whimpers and a hand comes up to steady it as you gawk. Saliva dampens your fingers. You lick your lips, wipe your chin and tentatively sneak a glance at his face, hoping he didn’t catch you shamelessly drooling.

That smirk widens as your eyes meet. “I need to be inside you,” he pants before closing the distance between you with a tug of your body into his.

You can’t agree more, biting back your own smile as you cup his face. “I need to ride you,” you reply just as affectionately.

Dripping with dominance, you thought he would ignore your request and bend you over the desk. Instead, he back pedals towards the chair you originally sat on, and commandeers it.

The sight of his muscular thighs has you biting your lip. You seat yourself upon him, just like you did in the dressing room. You know you can just lift your hips, align his length and begin bouncing. However, as you gaze down at his staggering size, pre-cum oozing from the tip, the urge to spit on it overrides your thoughts. You gather saliva and splatter it over him, earning a croaky groan.

You moan through a bitten lip in reply.

Wrapping a hand around him, you gasp at the fact that your fingers are unable to meet. Your core dampens.

Chris spits down on his length too, rubbing your thighs as you jerk and twist your wrist.

“You’re really big,” you shyly comment, maintaining a sluggish pace.

Just as sincere a smile hovers over his lips before he presses them against yours again.

Emotion bursts through your chest, desire unable to remain restrained. In hurried movements, you release your hold on his cock and lift your hips to finally accept the fullness he offers.

Chris helps you, aligning himself for you to easily sink down. He wraps both beefy arms around your waist as you gasp into his mouth. The kiss momentarily breaks, noses smushing together amidst blissful hissing.

You rest your arms on his shoulders to hug his head close, fingers tangled in his hair. You tug on the ends as he pushes between your tight walls. You move slowly, thankful for his steady grasp on you, inching further downward only to rise back up a bit and do it again. Inch by inch, you find a way to accommodate his girth, all the while whining his name.

“Just let go,” he whispers. His hold on your waist tightens, referring to the concentrated control you’ve adopted. “I’ve got you, baby.”

His delicate tone unravels your composure. You relax into his touch and find that he really does have a good grasp on you. He maintains your slow movements, acknowledging that you still need time to adjust. You wonder if it was the lack of speed itself, the crumpling pleasure etching your features, or how you’re tensing oh-so tightly around him that tips him off. And as he lifts and lowers you upon him, groaning between shared breaths, you realise that it really doesn’t matter what the reason was.

Clarity settles— Chris tunnels his vision when it comes to you. Within a night, he has noted your sexual boldness, recklessness, and affinity for guns. He knows you like to be harshly handled, tightening his grip only to roughly release it. He lets you strike him back, knowing you like to act out and does not only encourage it, but embraces it. He observes your features, searching for particular indications of pleasure to focus on or circle back to when he thinks you can take it again. Beyond that, he provides a space for vulnerability that does not centre around pity but rather a shared rage.

As you look at him now, hissing moans through gritted teeth and quivering lips, you cannot help but allow his words to splinter your previous philosophy. Perhaps it is not your existence that is cursed, but rather the world. Perhaps Crimson Heights is the beckon for misfortune— a city of survivors and casualties. You do not cause death; you simply outrun it. And when catastrophe rumbles the foundation of your life, claiming your family or friends, you do not need to feel guilty. Life ebbs and flows, grips and lets go— just as Chris does when he unwraps his arms around your waist, to grip onto your hips.

“That’s my slutty little girl,” he praises before grazing your chin with his teeth. “Arch your— Yes! Lean into me.”

A frail whine is all you can muster as he becomes more daring with the pace, speeding up.

Breasts glued to his chest, your back arches the way he instructs and you feel the hammering of his heart against yours. You cup his face. Your thumb brushes over the bruises on his cheek.

“Y-you know ex-actly what I n-need,” you whimper, internally cringing at your lust laced stutter.

A prideful smile plays on his lips. His grip tightens with newfound confidence as he uses your encouragement to experiment with the possible indication of fully submerging himself into you.

The moment your cheeks smack against the muscles of his thighs, an ear-piercing scream rips from your throat, heavy with delirious delight. So deep, so fucking full, he reaches far to stretch you wide. You doubt that you’d be able to tighten around anything other than his length again, hole now completely adjusted for his cock only.

“Like that?” he questions, voice still swirling with mockery. “Is that what you needed?”

You quickly nod, unable to find your voice.

Chris lifts and drops your hips with renewed force, ordering, “Speak.”

“I like that!” You confirm. “I love that!”

Grunting and growling in satisfaction, Chris decides that your hips do not give him the best leverage as he grasps on your rear instead. His fingers sink into your voluptuous cheeks, surely marking your skin, as he guides the rolls and rises of your thrusts.

You squeal, throwing your head back at the waves of excitement lapping over you. “Yes, yes, yes,” you pant before looking back at him. “Is this how you like it?” you ask, gaining confidence with every shudder sigh he expels. “Does this drive you c-crazy?”

Chris breathes a chuckle, mumbling, “You most definitely do,” before pressing his lips to yours.

Euphoria envelopes you, coursing through your veins and rattling your bones. You immediately submit to his rhythm, already content with the warmth of his lips on yours and taste of his tongue. Satisfaction swells, throbbing your clit upon the build of your climax. As emotion shines through the cracks of your armour, delirious delight flourishes.

You break the kiss with a breathless giggle, allowing the pleasure to travel from your core though your limbs. The base of your spine, centre of your chest, tips of your fingers, toes and ears, your nerves dash and dance with a degree of joy you did not believe you were capable of ever feeling. You cannot help your laughter between breathless moans.

Chris, voice croaky and deep with lust, joins you. He playfully nips at the skin under your jaw then peppers the light sting with kisses, laughing all the while.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he revels in whisper.

Your giggles waver upon the sincere emotion flooding his eyes.

You clench. “Chri—”

“You feel so perfect around me,” he groans, cutting you off. “It’s like your body was made for me.”

Whimpering, all playful humour darkening within your bones into desperate ecstasy, you can’ help but squeeze tighter, the knots of your high becoming more and more undeniable.

Your voice rises in pitch as you moan,“Use me however you want.”

His hips snap up to meet yours with a dark, loud groan.

You jolt from the force, body shaking. Panting whines tumble from your lips as your grasp on his hair tightens. Over and over, he sinks you down on him as he rams himself into you, meeting you halfway. Your breasts bounce against him, only encouraging his aggressive speed as he shoves his face between the valley.

The brutality of the force, the pace is unbearable. Toes curling, core gripping, you stutter through your next intake of air. All at once, a wave of satisfaction crashes over you. Muscles tense, you stiffen with a shrill cry of his name and gush, gush, gush your release. Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as he wraps his arms around you to keep you upright.

As he did in the dressing room, Chris peers up at you from between your full breasts. He offers a pleased smile before leaning back against the chair. Now, with you laying on top of him as your orgasm ripples through you all— dazed and drooling, Chris grinds your hips down into his. His own muscles flex, skin flushing. Through gritted teeth, a deep moan emits from the base of his throat.

His cock twitches. His release shoots, warm and erratic, filling you so well, you already feel it smearing around your folds.

Face buried in the crook of his neck, you whine his name quietly at the sensation. “Fuck, yes,” you moan, circling your hips around his. “Fill me up just l-like that!”

You swear you feel another shot of his cum, the wet sloshes of arousal slick with every grind of hip on hip.

After watching Chris endure seven rounds of boxing, with his composure still intact and sweat barely breaking, you should have known better than to think that he was done with you. He doesn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. Still heaving, he stands.

You wrap yourself around him, holding on tight. Has he forgotten that he is still deep inside you or does he not care, simply eager to continue using you? You moan from the new angle all the same as he walks you back into his room.

“You don’t need a break, do you?” he asks after kicking the door shut behind him. He grips onto your waist and rips you off his torso with a forceful shove. “Hmm? No break?” he teases.

A cross between a grunt and whine fills the room as you land on his bed with a little bounce. Before you can reply, he yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You yelp your pleased surprise, unable to fight back a giggle as he turns you over on your stomach. He pulls your hips up to roughly guide you into a downward dog position. Knees on the bed’s edge, face smushed into the soft duvet, your backside is now perfectly exposed for him.

His tongue slips between your folds, lapping the mess of your mixed climaxes with a deep-chested growl. The vibrations resonate upon every overwhelmed nerve ending around your core. You cannot deny the wiggle of your hips and strained mewls of distress from the overstimulation.

“Stay still,” Chris orders, voice muffled. His hot breath, the tenor of his voice all directed towards your overused hole, only further your squirms.

You want more of him, need more, but the unrelenting stimulation of his lapping tongue, slurping and groaning, makes you tremble. You find yourself attempting to crawl away from his mouth only to be harshly pulled back.

Chris wraps his arms under and around your thighs, locking you in place.

“Just where do you think you’re going, darling?”

You whine incoherently.

He mocks you, pitching his voice and mimicking your unstable syllables.

Your desire pools at your core all over again, eyes water. “Too much,” you whimper into your fist, overwhelmed by the all too desperate yearning to stop yet still continue. “Its—”

Chris groans, cutting you off. “We taste so good, baby,” he murmurs against your heat. “This might be the closest I get to heaven.” He then pulls himself away long enough to look at you over the full curve of your cheeks. “Wanna try?” he asks with a smug smirk, face glistening from the smear of your combined orgasms.

You flush, nodding.

He dives back in to slurp on your sex. Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and gently, despite the rough grasp, pulls your back towards his chest. You tilt your head back for him, parting your lips. He smiles at how quickly you’ve caught onto his intentions and spits the cum into your mouth.

Your pussy quivers upon the bittersweet taste, eyes fluttering shut. You moan your delight upon swallowing.

Chris takes the advantage of your proximity, stealing another quick kiss before using the grip on your hair to shove you back onto the mattress. He adjusts the position of your hips again but does not dive down between your folds this time. Instead, he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and spreads them apart.

You hear the throaty gathering of salvia and then the splatter of spit before feeling the warmth of it upon your tightest hole. Heat scorches your skin with humiliation from his laughter when you clench.

You part your lips to say his name, ask what he’s doing when his tongue reappears, circling your hole. A breathless gasp sounds instead.

Chris transfers more of your wetness to your tensing hole, scooping the cum with his finger and rubbing it against you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes as you whimper and wiggle in his grasp. “Relax, babygirl. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You lean back into him upon his soothing tone. You’ve never touched yourself there, never let anyone else do the same, certain they would only hurt you. From the way Chris takes his time however, you can tell he knows what he’s doing.

“You have the cutest fucking asshole,” he chuckles before spitting over it again.

Gratification tickles the darkness looming in your chest, allowing you to giggle in response and push yourself back against his finger.

“I mean it,” he says, misunderstanding your acceptance for teasing protest. His fingers then glide between your folds, down to your clit. He twirls the pad of his middle finger around the bundle of nerves, then spreads the folds as if to take a better look at your cum-leaking hole.“You have the prettiest pussy too,” he groans before his tongue dives, reaching farther inside than you expected.

Pride blossoms, boastfully overpowering all your emotions and triggering a loud, moan of approval. “Please don’t stop,” you beg while attempting to writhe out of his grasp.

Chris pulls himself away long enough to laugh at your conflicting movements. He quietly hums, content with himself, as he smacks each cheek halfheartedly, like you made a joke and he’s nudging you because of the wit and humour. You can’t help joining him, wiggling your hips in his hands with every slap.

There have been times where you felt at ease, perhaps even happy under setting suns and sneaky nights on the roof with your foster siblings. Watching a fusion of magenta and maroon cascade in the sky, as the sun disappears behind the Crimson Heights horizon, has been the image you conjure on cold, lonely nights between nightmares and distant gunshots. But being here with Chris, bent over and exposed from angles no one else has ever witnessed, absolute contentment engulfs you. Like a warm, tender hug, his patient presence nurtures your soul and caresses your darkness. And it feels natural as if the universe conspired to ensure that you do have at least one moment of true happiness amongst the death and betrayal.

He brushes your hair from your face, pulling you from your thoughts. You shyly meet his gaze to which he smirks. His hand then trails from the naps of your neck to the base of your spine, drawing you away from the memory of your trauma.

“Stay with me, yeah,” he coos.

You nod.

Is it your sudden silence? Is that what indicated that you’ve let your mind wander off? Though, you do remember moaning between giggles. Maybe you had a distant look in your eyes. Maybe you stopped responding to his touch. Does it even matter? Because whatever it was, whatever you did, he saw it.

He sees you.

Chris kisses each cheek before spreading them again. You feel his tongue on your heat, swirling once, twice then dragging up. You moan loudly, pushing yourself further into him. But his tongue does not return to your needy pussy. Instead, he circles the edge of your tightest hole.

You clench, whimpering.

He licks, chuckling.

His hands rub your cheeks, silently soothing your tense muscles. You try to lean into his calm, but the feeling of his warm tongue twirling around the rim of your hole is much too stimulating to ignore.

“More please,” you find yourself whining, fisting the sheets beneath you. “I-I need more.”

Chris presses a wet kiss upon your puckering hole before replying, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You draw in a long breath and release it.

He gives it another kiss, spit on it then orders, “Again. Take your time with it, baby.”

The pet name prickles your skin with goosebumps, face flushed as you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

You can’t see him with his face between your cheeks, but you swear he’s smirking as he praises, “Good girl.”

A giggle was meant to be your only reply. Instead, his tongue pushes through your hole and you moan in a voice so unlike yourself, so innocent and weak.

“Daddy!”

Chris growls, tightening his grip on your rear with one hand, while the other harshly rubs your dripping core. Slobbering, slurping, he bobs his head, in and out, up and down, shoving his tongue between your tense walls. His fingers are relentless, playing with your clit in quick, forceful waves only to abandon the bundle of nerves all together. He pushes them into your pussy instead. Three long fingers draw in and out of you to the rhythm of his tongue.

Moans meek and breathy, you writhe under his onslaught of pleasure. That pet name is on the tip of your tongue again, but you refrain from using it, clenching your teeth instead. You’ve never called anyone that and have even judged the people you know who have said shit like that during sex.

It feels so right when thinking about Chris, when feeling his tongue attempt to breach through your tight hole. If anyone was to embody that mindset of a Daddy, it would be Christopher Bahng. Chris with his tall, towering frame. Chris with his commanding voice. Chris with his charismatic confidence.

“Daddy,” you whine again despite your futile attempts.

He hums in question, tone oh-so condescending. Your nerves burn from the wetness of his tongue, the pace of his harsh fingers. You thrash into the sheets, further smothering your face in the soft duvet and screaming out your pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Your voice is muffled, hips ramming back against him with every plea.

Chris merely moans in reply, as if delighted by the sinful taste of you. He continues his dual stimulation, insatiable tongue bouncing in and out of your untested hole. His fingers curl, over and over and over right where you need him most.

Turning your head to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress again, you gasp for air and cry out your new favourite name, “Daddy! Fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

His breath staggers as you hear him chuckle, but you don’t care. He can laugh himself hoarse if he wants. You just need him to continue, your orgasm building all over again. Toes curling, eyes rolling, you quake and claw at the sheets, desperate to get a hold of yourself.

However, Chris, upon feeling you clench particularly tightly around his fingers, pulls himself away.

A sexually frustrated sob tumbles out of you at the all too sudden loss of contact. Your orgasm falters at the lack of stimulation. Once again, he has dangled you over the edge. Fury surges through you, propping yourself up on your elbows and glaring over your shoulder at him.

“Why do— Ah!”

Chris grips onto your hips, pushes himself back into your core. He rams his hips into yours, holding enough force to knock you off your elbows, cutting you off.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of you,” he groans, voice husky and deep.

You whimper in response, all words actively being fucked out of you. No one can even stand you, yet he ploughs into you, eager and deliberate, and still craves more of you. That realisation alone could coax another bone-bending orgasm out of you.

Apart from the first, initial thrust, you do not feel his hips smack against yours again. Instead, Chris restraints himself, offering moderate, yet fast thrusts. He still reaches deep, still stretches you out oh so deliciously, but you can tell he’s holding back.

And it ignites your veins with anger. You refuse to have him spoil yet another orgasm rattle you into calling him ‘daddy,’ only to then half-heartedly fuck you.

“Please fuck me,” you beg before echoing a version of his previous words. “I’m a big girl, Daddy. I can take it.”

Chris growls lowly under his breath. “You’ll get hurt,” he warns.

You cannot fight back your smile. “Good.”

The impact of his thrust upon your reassurance is so powerful, the bed shifts forward. You hiccup his name and hiss at the sting of skin on skin. Vigorous momentum grows with every mighty thrust of his hips. You feel your entire body jiggle, shaking with the squeaking bed.

“You have no idea,” he begins, breathlessly growling, “how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

He has no idea how many times you’ve been told the opposite.

“Show me how beautiful you think I am.”

His cock twitches. You swear you feel it quiver deep inside you.

A gasp so erotic, so pornographic escapes you at the sudden sensation. Clenching, you’re eager to feel it again, to feel him release his warm, thick arousal, especially so soon. You’re already giddy with pride, preparing to tease and mock him for becoming undone upon a few simple words.

Instead, Chris pulls himself out with a croaky groan. He’s heaving, breathes staggering as he swallows thickly. “Move up to the pillows, baby. Lay back for me.”

You slowly push yourself up, sitting down on your ankles. Just as breathless, you peer at him over your shoulder. His hair is tousled, face glistening with your excitement as he slowly jerks himself to the sight of you so messy and dirty.

“Was it something I said?” you ask in your most innocent voice.

Chris tightens his jaw.

A shiver dances along your spine at his silence. You give him one last once over, shamelessly letting your gaze linger around his erection, before leisurely crawling towards the pillows. Your legs already ache. You feel it most around your thighs and hips, bones stiffen and muscles tight from the exposing angle.

The fluffy pillows and duvet melt around your sweaty skin, engulfing you in a cocoon of comfort. Your eyes flutter shut, embracing the chill of the cool silks. The sheets in your tiny apartment are scratchy and rough, and prior to laying here, you had thought it was the most comfortable fabric a thrift store could sell, which is why you stole them.

The bed dips. You open your eyes to watch as Chris crawls over you, spreading your legs to welcome him. His face hovers over yours. You cup his cheeks, grazing your thumb over his lips.

He lowly groans. His nose brushes yours as he leans down for a kiss. You think it was meant to be quick, just a tiny peck before he buries himself in you again. But the taste of your lips proves to be intoxicating, or perhaps he felt the spark you did when your lips touched. He indulges in another kiss, then another. Even one longer than the last, Chris eventually integrates his tongue and forces you to taste yourself.

Heaven, hell, the worlds collide. Purely sinful, his tongue subjects you to his pace, swirling around yours slowly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants you to savour the bittersweet taste of your orgasms and holes.

Your lips part with a wet smack, breasts heaving. Chris pushes himself back to sit on his ankles. He lets his attention trail down your curves, ogling your rolls and fullness. He pants like a dog, mouth agape and saliva leaking from the corners at the mere sight of you.

People tend to either discard or objectify you. One look at your figure and you are either invisible, disgusting, or a drunken mistake that awakens a shameful desire for fuller frames. Your mother told you it would happen when she noted your curves for the first time. She told you that you’d be nothing in a bigger body, that no one will want to be seen with you. A part of you always wondered if that’s why she opted for heroin, knowing she too had curves and rolls at one point in her life. 

It doesn’t really matter because the sentiment snared your consciousness. You noticed how many people ignored your presence the moment you walked into a room or the sudden distaste of those who did happen to acknowledge you. Every wrinkled nose, every avoided gaze only reinforced your mother’s philosophy.

And here Chris sits, bare and breathless, leering over your naked body. Ravenous, lascivious, he devours every full inch of you, eyes drowning in lust. You suddenly cannot recall the words your mother once spat, the dejected feelings that bruised your pride when you walked into a room. All you know now is Chris— obsessive, gluttonous, shameless Chris and his insatiable appetite for everything that you are.

He blinks repeatedly, as if pulling himself out of his thoughts. You bite your lip and wonder what you must look like, staring back at him. You know your liner is smudged and lipstick smeared. You know your hair is a tangled mess around you. You know your skin gleams of sweat, hot to the touch from the exhilaration of submitting to him. You know your core is a mess of spit and cum.

Chris reaches behind you. The sweaty scent of leather, sandalwood and amber secretes from the pits of his arms hovering inches away from your nose. You inhale deeply through your nose and wet your lips. Chris’s attention flickers down at the sound of your heavy sighs. You flush under the subject of that knowing smirk.

“Lift your hips for me?” He asks, voice deep and delicate.

You do as you’re told and he slides one of his plush pillows under you. The new angle provides better support to your lower back. You shift yourself further into his comfortable mattress with a pleased sigh.

“Better, yeah?” Teasing amusement twinkles in his eyes, brows quirked as he tries to fight off a prideful smile.

You suppress your own, and nod. “Are you going to fuck me now?” you ask, exaggerating the breathlessness of your feminine voice.

His eyes darken.

Perhaps, you proudly think to yourself as he takes your bait, if he is desperate enough, he’ll finally let me cum.

Chris traces the span of your shoulders, down to the fullness of your breasts and the curves of your waist. He drags his hands over your stomach and trails his eyes to your pelvis. He traces the lines along your heat only to redirect his callous fingers to your thigh before he can reach the place you need him most.

You clench, hips instinctively rolling forward. You mentally curse at your desperateness, your ploy to rile him up into a lustful rage crumbling as your body betrays you.

He barely even smirks, as if expecting your body to react to his touch like that. “I was fucking you,” he corrects, taking his hard, throbbing cock into his big hand.

You watch as he thumbs his tip and the space between his brows creases. Swallowing a moan, you wiggle in place and bite your lip. Your nerves impatiently buzz through your veins, and you resist the urge to arch your back to their desperate will.

He continues to slowly jerk himself as he watches you stiffen only to squirm seconds later. “Now,” he starts, leaning over you. He aligns himself, tonguing his cheek. Tip teasing your clenching core, he whispers, “I am going to ruin you.”

The weight of the crude promise resonates deep in your gut, gathering your arousal at the entrance of your needy heat. You grip onto his shoulders, features already crumpled in desperate pleasure, and dig your nails into his smooth, pale skin.

You gasp a whine as he emits a throaty groan, pushing in, in, in. You begin to understand the purpose of the pillow beyond simply comfort. The leverage of your hips provides a new angle to explore, his length shoving its way to your most sensitive spot. And he does not even allot time to adjust as he first did in his office, moving quickly to bottom himself out in you. His weighty balls rest against your rear, burning your face with the thought of sucking them. You finally give into your body, too needy to continue to police its movements, and arch your back into his chest.

Chris, hands on either side of your head, grabs your wrists and pins them above you. He growls as his thrusts take off. The force of his hips continuously shifts the bed forward. The headboard slaps against the wall, the pounding of wood on plaster so loud, it almost drowns out your squealing moans. Even the mattress whines, springs shrieking under the rhythmic bounce of your colliding bodies. Perhaps the closest rival to the noise of the bed, however, is the sharp slap of skin on skin. Your rear and thighs tremble from the powerful smacks, sensitive skin stinging all too exquisitely.

Pain highlights pleasure. In addition to the sting of his skin on yours, the tight grip of his strong hands around your wrists, aches from joint to bone. Tears gather in your eyes, the friction of his pulsating erection against your wet, tense walls all the more sweeter in light of the consistent pain.

A series of hissing profanities leave his full lips and you open your eyes to find he is drunk on the sight of your erotic features. Your tears slide down along your temples as a sob hiccups through your throat, clashing with the moans you shamelessly release.

His vicious dominance falters. Letting go of your wrists, Chris leans himself down on his elbows and affectionately nestles his nose against yours. You like the softness of his touches, the tenderness of his most mundane gestures, like the brush of nose on nose or the exchange of heavy breaths.

However, you were promised ruin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you question, voice harsh even with breaking into a whine near the end.

Chris furrows his brows. Something about your tone triggers even more might behind his thrusts. It takes everything in you to not arrogantly laugh at how quickly he  shifts from ferocity to concern to anger.

You push against his shoulders. Chris yields to your silent request, flexing his jaw and knitting his brows in quiet confusion. His hips do not hesitate once, though. They continue to forcefully shake your body, breasts and rolls bouncing with the bed.

Once Chris is leaning on his hands again, you strike him across the face.

“Mmm, fuck,” he groans, voice hushed and husky. Dark fury engulfs his features as he snaps his attention back on you.

You slap him again, and again, and again until your hand radiates heat, nerves stinging from the impact. His cheek is a bright red, jaw tight as he looks down at you.

You lift your other hand to smack him only to have him seize both your hands with one hand. You yelp at the swift motion and attempt to break free. You figure it wouldn’t be too hard, considering he is only using one hand to pin both of yours, but find that one hand is all he needs. Your wrists barely budge from their place over your head.

“My turn,” he purrs, red-stained face bright with amusement.

You clench your jaw, steeling yourself for the impact of his hand against your face, only to feel it upon your right breast. You curve yourself further into him with a loud, whiny gasp. Your nipple stings, coaxing tears as he does it again and again. He gives the left one the same amount of attention, smacking against the heavy curves over and over.

Core tightening with want around his cock and breasts burning with a feverish ache, you wail, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Your voice breaks, sobs of incessant pleasure overwhelming you. He’s so, so big and so, so ruthless. You barely catch your breath with every thrust, let alone every slap of your breast or pinch of your nipple. He clamps your taut nub between his thumb and the edge of forefinger to squeeze and twist. You fall into a state of devilish delight, embracing the pain like a warm hug.

Chris, perhaps growing tired or just wanting to be closer, releases his grip on your shoulders and gives your chest a break. He falls back on his elbows and catches your lips in his. He swallows your sobs, your uncontrollable moans as he ram-ram-rams into you. The strength behind his thrust is ever so prominent, even his heavy balls smack against your rear, the pain watering your mouth.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mutters against your lips in hushed tones. The depth of his voice slithers along your spine.

You keenly nod, tears splitting freely from your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!” you whine between tumbling sobs. “P-please?”

He rests some of his weight on you, stunting your breathing. You now wheeze through moans and pants.

“Please what?”

His voice is a cacophony of primal growls and feral snarls, resonating against your chest right down to the marrow of your bones.

A whine of a syllable begins and falters under the combined weight of his frame and relentless hips. His dominance may demand your reply, but still shackles your voice, your very consciousness with every brutal thrust.

“Use your fucking words, you little slut or I swear to God, you won’t cum for the rest of the night!”

His threat sends a tremor through your entire being. But that voice, that croaky, hissing voice of pure power, curls your toes and rolls your eyes back. You clench tightly, forcing your orgasm back.

“Dad-dy!” You scream, voice breaking mid-way through into hysterical sobs, body overpowered by pain and pleasure alike.

A gratifying groan grumbles from the depths of his gut and you cannot hold yourself back any longer. Your muscles stiffen, legs lifting high to the ceiling with pointed toes and nails scratching at his biceps. Your jaw clenches, bouncing body trembling as a ripple of your release rushes over you.

Chris falls over you, his full weight now crushing you as he too tenses all over. The suffocation only heightens your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy now swelling into typhoons of rapturous bliss. Your mind spins, vision dims and sound muffles as you finally release around him.

Your lungs fight for air, the restriction becoming all too fatal. You swat at his biceps, attempting to gasp for air as you catch distant throaty groans between deliberate, harsh thrusts.

It takes him a handful of seconds, but Chris eventually realises his mistake, rushing to hold himself up on his elbows again.

You gasp upon the first breath of air, heaving as you eagerly consume mouthfuls of oxygen.

Chris mutters quiet apologies, voice nearly wavering as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and peppers the soft skin with tender kisses. He’s careful about dispersing his weight on you, even as his muscles tremble from the struggle of holding himself up. He shifts his balance to his knees as his thrusts decrease in speed and power eventually stopping all together.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your mind floats as your orgasm continues to cascade over your consciousness. Your limbs fall limp onto the mattress, full chest heaving with heavy pants and whines. It’s not until Chris pulls himself out that you finally feel your combined cum leak out of you again and you realise he came too, probably when he lost his balance and fell on top of you.

You feel the bed dip beside you, but cannot hear anything beyond the rush of blood in your ears. If you try hard enough, you might be able to catch the muffled squeak of the mattress, or the creak of the wooden frame. However, transcending into a state of pure euphoric bliss, all thoughts swirling around a phantom boxer and his towering build, you cannot dwell on the sounds of the fading world around you.

Rough hands delicately caress your face. A trail of kisses start on your lips. Full, plush lips move down your neck, collarbone, valley of your breasts, stomach, left thigh down to the knee, then back up to the right thigh down to the knee. They take their time with every press against your sweat-slick skin, each one just as wet and tender as the last.

There is another shift beside you and strong arms pull you into their embrace. You allow them to cradle you into a buff chest. The distant pound of a hammering heart beats to the same fast pace as yours. Those strong hands brush your hair back as they pet your head.

You’re not sure how long you laid there or when you made it into the bath, sitting between two muscular thighs as those calloused, yet gentle hands lathered shampoo into your hair.

The warm water grounds you back into the present. You squint your eyes open to a dark wood slatted ceiling, finding that your head is tilted back as a detachable shower head washes the shampoo out of your hair. You take a moment to inhale deeply, letting the notes of vanilla sandalwood remind you of where you are.

The water shuts off, the steel shower head returns to its place on your right, and you right your head to take a look around the bathroom. Spacious, the room radiates sophistication and calmness. Walls clad in dark grey and black, polished chrome fixtures, and a deep, freestanding bathtub, room enough for two, you cannot help but feel a sense of luxurious serenity. The lights are hidden behind the crevices of the room, warm and soft in their illumination. You wonder if he purposely designed the room to reel himself back to reality after a match.

Chris clears his throat, the sound soft and subtle as if he is worried he might scare you.

The possible implication furrows your brows. You peek at him over your shoulder before twisting your torso to face him.

“Are you…” he trails off, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright?”

You’re not sure how to decipher his hesitation or the oddly shameful look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you reply.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Are you hurt?”

The question finally registers the faded red of his cheeks where you slapped him and the pink lines along his biceps. You swallow thickly as remorse tightens your chest.

“Are you?”

A ghost of a smirk hovers over his lips. He leans forward to comb some conditioner through your hair.

“I’ve never been better.”

“What…happened?”

You chew on the inside of your cheeks. You know what led up to this moment, but cannot fully place what happened between your orgasm and the bath. Your past sexual endeavours usually remain in one position and location. Chris has moved you between three rooms now, his office, bedroom, and bathroom, and tested your endurance in multiple positions in a single night.

Did you pass out? Were you sleeping?

“Have you heard of subspace?” Chris continues upon the furrow of your brows. “After sex, when some people in more submissive positions orgasm, they might get put into a certain euphoric headspace. You might not feel pain or even be in your body. Some people completely pass out,” he explains before reaching for the shower head again. Tapping the bottom of your chin with a single finger, he gestures for you to tilt your head back again. “Others,” he continues as he watches your hair, “are conscious but unresponsive.”

“Like I was?”you ask, eyes fluttering shut to prevent the sting of soap.

He hums in confirmation. “Do you remember anything?”

You shrug. “You were kissing me,” you pause, swallowing thickly, “and then I remember feeling you hug me.”

“Do you remember saying anything?”

Your eyes shoot open. Moving your head away from the spray, you meet his gaze again.

He bites back a sheepish grin.

“If you’re messing with me,” you begin, gritting your teeth. “I’ll—”

“Save your cute threats,” he teases, cutting you off. He rinses the last of the conditioner out of your hair, adding, “I’ll tell you what you said.”

You nervously gnaw on your lip waiting for him to continue. When he turns off the shower head and puts it back in its spot, you think he would finally say something. Instead, he pumps some body soap into a washcloth and lathers it up.

“Well?”

“I never said I would tell you now,” he chuckles.

You splash water at his chest, oh so tempted to scoop more directed at his face but decide against it when you catch that dark, daring gleam in his eyes.

“You’re an asshol—,” you mutter, cutting yourself off before a moan slips as the cloth scrubs against your skin.

Chris smirks, features unamused as if he’s used to this sort of reaction. How many other women has he washed in here after a particularly rigorous night?

The question fosters a flame of envy, and sears through the flesh of your heart.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. You try to ignore the way he dips between the valley of your chest, then circles under to rub and squeeze the soap around your breasts. Your body betrays you again, however, back arching into his touch.

Chris furrows his brows. “I fucked you senseless and you expect me not to take care of you?”

You blink, baffled by not only his tone, but his words. Your cheeks burn at the realisation that he did indeed thrust every last one of your senses out of you. What’s more peculiar is that, even after all that, he didn’t kill you. He didn’t cram you into a cab and send you on your way, high on your orgasm and unable to fight back.

“I lied to you,” you dryly chuckle. “I told you I was commissioned.”

His smirk widens, hinting that he might still believe that after what just happened in his office and bedroom.

You roll your eyes. “I- You’re a Stray Kid,” you try again. “Isn’t killing what you do?”

Chris scrubs down your shoulders and back, then your arm, lifting it up as he replies, “Yes.”

A shaky breath escapes you as he drags the soapy cloth across the pit of your arm.

“You saved my life,” he adds, moving onto your other arm. “I had a rat in my gang and you helped identify it.”

Your spine stiffens.

His gang?

Chris flashes you a cautious look under his brows, tonguing his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “You’re the leader of Stray Kids?”

Chris nods, submerging the cloth under the warm bath water to drag it along your thighs.

Does he want to have sex again? Is that why he’s keeping you alive? You don’t really mind, you just need to know because his hands are dangerously close to the apex of your thighs and he is telling you information you do not need to know and, in fact, have no right to know. It’s the kind of information that can possibly remove the bounty on your head.

“You once told me information you didn’t need to,” Chris explains as he gently cleans the previous mess he made between your legs.

Curling in your lips, you suppress a moan.

“You didn’t need to tell me your name, but you did. So I’m telling you something I don’t need to as an act of good faith.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I tend to get religious on top of the right woman.”

You press your legs together, squishing his hand.

He laughs, scorching your chest and cheeks with embarrassment.

You push his hand away from your core with an annoyed huff. You don’t have time for this. Though you are not in pain, your body is still exhausted. You just want to get back in his comfortable sheets and finally sleep this enough night off, if not go to your own bed.

“Do you want to go again?” you suddenly ask. “Is that what all this is about?”

Chris quirks a brow. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

A submissive, desperate part of you whines at his belittling tone and implication. If you wanted to, you most definitely could endure another round. However, you catch its outrage before it can make itself known beyond the knotting of your brows.

“So what then?” you ask.

Chis wrings out the cloth and tosses it aside. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone. You saved my life. I’m going to save yours,” he states matter-a-factly. “You are now under Stray Kids protection. You will have round-the-clock surveillance and train to learn to defend yourself properly against threats should your security fail.”

You blink.

Protection?

You remember thinking of Chris as your protector when he was touching you, but even then, riddled with lust, you knew it was only a fantasy. You are not worthy of protection. You are barely worthy of friendship. You almost lost Vinny. How can he really think you are worth saving?

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Right,” he nods, tone descending in depth as his gaze sharpens. “Because I will be protecting you against the bounty.”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“It’s my life.”

Chris casts you a look of sarcastic confusion. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re eager to end it,” he practically sneers.

You tuck your chin into your chest, averting his stern glare. “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into,” you mutter as a means of warning.

I’m damaged. I’m broken. I am not a life saver.

“A life for a life— That is the rule of the city,” Chris reaffirms. “You saved mine. I am saving yours.”

You fall silent. Keeping your attention locked on the black, marble floors, you let him wash all the soap off. You are not going to argue with the leader of Stray Kids, not tonight anyway, not as exhaustion is slowly claiming you, one limb at a time. 

Fuck it— If he wants to fulfill this delusional debt of his then that is his problem. You warned him. You tried to fight this. When he eventually realises that you are more trouble than you are worth, you will gladly laugh and tell him you told him so.

“My bed or the spare’s?” he suddenly asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed or the one in the spare bedroom?”

“Um,” you start as Chris grabs a towel. “Am I allowed to go home?”

“Of course,” he nods, “ I can get Seungmin and Felix to take you.”

You wonder which one is Felix before tentatively meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to sleep in your bed?”

Chris suppresses a little smile with a bite of his lip. His eyes do not gleam with their causal mischief or amusement, rather a hint of adoration— if you squint. “I would sleep better if you did,” he confesses, voice dropping an octave.

And so you find yourself in one of his shirts, the fabric barely brushing over the full curve of your rear, under layers of soft, silk sheets. Behind you, Chris wraps a strong arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart against your back, feel how it echoes the race of your own.

You want him, want this so badly you can feel the aching desire deep within your bones. But the fear of shattering his world, of absorbing him and everything that matters to him into your vortex of ruin, shackles you in place.The red lights of Crimson Heights illuminate the room. As you watch the city, his steady breath fans against the nape of your neck. Mind exhausted, body slowly aching, you allow yourself to lean into him just this once and shut your eyes.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Happy Easter

Summary: You are three weeks from your due date, but the thought of you and Natasha missing Easter at the Barton’s farmhouse in Iowa was simply inconceivable. What will you do if your little bundle of joy makes an early, unexpected entrance?

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Natasha x reader, Avengers x reader (platonic).

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: Happy belated Easter! I wanted to post this fic on Easter, but there wasn't enough time. This is part 3 of Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas! I recommend reading those stories first, but it can be read as a stand-alone story as well. This was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy it! 

"Does anyone know where the purple egg dye is?" you inquired, scanning the table as you addressed the Barton kids. "I could have sworn we had two cups of every color." Cooper and Lila were fully engrossed in the Easter egg decorating contest, meticulously crafting their designs, while Nate seemed to relish in using every color available on the table. "Oh, it's on the counter.”

You were just about to rise from the kitchen table, no easy feat at this stage of your pregnancy. It felt like yesterday when you surprised Natasha with your pregnancy at Thanksgiving in front of her family and announced to the team that they would all be aunts and uncles at Tony’s annual Christmas party. Your due date was three weeks away, but missing Easter with Clint’s family in Iowa was out of the question.

“Don’t get up, Y/N. I got it!” Nat said as she jumped up to grab the paper cup of purple egg dye behind you.

"Thanks, sweetheart," you said as Nat placed the cup on the table.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked as she gently caressed your cheek. "Maybe you should take a break?”

“Nat, I promise I’m okay. Come sit back down and color some Easter eggs with us,” you replied, trying to put your wife at ease. 

Natasha was looking forward to Easter, too, but she was more focused on you and the final weeks of your pregnancy. Dr. Cho had given you the green light to go, with the condition that you'd have daily check-ins by phone and go on bed rest as soon as you returned home.

"Auntie Nat, look at this!" Nate proudly showed off an egg with The Black Widow symbol on it.

"Look, Auntie Nat," you echoed with a smile.

"This is amazing! Maybe I should have you design my next suit instead of Stark," she said.

"Shall we start the judging?" Clint asked as he entered the room with Laura.

"Yep, all set," Cooper confirmed.

"Just a sec," Lila said, focused on decorating her egg. "There, done."

"Where are Yelena and Kate?" Laura asked.

"We're coming!" came a shout from the living room.

"It's not a Fabergé egg, you two, come on!" Nat yelled.

"Tada!" Kate exclaimed, revealing a beautiful purple egg with green and orange stripes.

You whispered to your wife, "So that's where all the purple dye went.”

You placed your egg on the table with all the others. Pink and blue with red polka dots. Symbolic of your current anticipation over the impending arrival of your bundle of joy. You and Nat both agreed you wanted to be surprised.

“Hmmm, this is going to be a tough decision,” Clint said, stroking his chin. “As you all know, you will be judged on creativity, technique, and presentation.”

Walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table, you couldn’t help but giggle at his mock seriousness. 

“Allow me to confer with my fellow judge,” he said. After a few moments of hushed whispers with Laura, Clint returned to the group. “We thank you all for your participation. You all decorated beautiful Easter eggs. The competition was tough this year, but one egg stands head and shoulders above the rest,” pausing for dramatic effect. “The 2024 Barton Easter Egg Decorating Champion is Nathaniel Barton!” 

You shouldn't have spent so much time on the sketches!” Yelena said, slapping Kate on the arm. 

“Yes!!” Nathaniel cheered. 

“You are hereby awarded this Lindt Milk Chocolate Gold Bunny,” his father said, handing him the gold-wrapped chocolate as big as his head.

“That you will share with the rest of the family and not eat in one sitting,” Laura added.

“Aww!” Nathaniel whined. 

*^~^*

You spent the evening on the porch, surrounded by the laughter of the kids playing on the lush green lawn as the sun set over the farm. Laura served her delicious homemade Lemonade as you shared stories and reminisced about old times. The air was filled with nostalgia so vivid that you could almost reach out and touch it. Natasha sat next to you, holding your hand gently, her calloused touch a reminder of the strength and resilience she had acquired through years of training.

You were taken by surprise as you felt the baby begin to kick.

"Wow!" You exclaimed as you gently placed your hand on your belly.

All eyes turned to you. Though unspoken, everyone shared the same nervous anticipation as your wife for the approaching due date.

"Are you alright, malyshka?" Nat asked, her eyes filled with concern as she squeezed your hand.

"I'm okay. The baby is kicking. Here, feel." You said as you took her hand and gently guided it to your stomach, trying to find the right spot. 

“Oh,” Nat squeaked. “I’ll never get used to that feeling.”

“Move aside, sestra; I want to feel my little plemyannitsa or plemyannik.” (Niece or nephew).

Yelena playfully bumped her sister out of the way with her hip and eagerly reached to touch your stomach.

"Wow, that's amazing!" she cried out. "Hey there, little one. I'm Aunt Yelena, and I will spoil you rotten!"

"Have you two settled on a name yet?" Kate inquired.

"No," you sighed. "We just can't seem to agree. Since we both want to be surprised, it's been twice as hard to come up with two names."

"Don't worry, you'll know when you see the little bundle of joy," Laura reassured.

"This wouldn't be an issue if either of you were open to any of the names I've suggested," Yelena added with a grin.

“Yelena is not an option,” Natasha frustratedly replied.

“What about—“ 

“Neither is Alaska! That isn’t even a name!” Your wife is exasperated.

“It could be!” Yelena said. “What about—“

“Or Wolfgang!” Nat interrupted.

“You lack all originality, sestra,” Yelena berated.

^*~*^

The soft glow of the table lamp reflected off your glasses as you delved into the pages of your latest beloved read. You placed your bookmark between the pages at the sound of your wife closing the bathroom door and crawling into bed beside you.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Helen today?" Nat asked as she helped me fluff up my pregnancy pillow.

"Yeah, I did. She was glad to hear that the swelling in my ankles went down and suggested taking a warm bath to help with the discomfort," you replied, shifting to get comfortable against the pillow.

"Mmm, a warm bath does sound amazing," Natasha hummed as she settled down on her side, facing me.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d be joining me?” You said softly, with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Of course I would, detka,” leaning over and kissing your baby bump. 

You gently squeezed Nat's hand, feeling a wave of anticipation as your due date drew near. Thoughts of what your baby would look like and who they would become filled your mind. Would they inherit Nat's fiery red hair, or perhaps have your Y/E/C eyes? The anticipation was almost overwhelming, but knowing that Natasha was by your side made it all feel possible.

"Are you looking forward to the Easter egg hunt tomorrow?" You asked, pulling yourself out of your daydream.

Nat giggled, "You make it sound like I'm the one participating."

"Well, you might as well be. I can never tell who's more excited, you or the kids," you replied.

Natasha glanced down at our intertwined hands and then back up at you. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

"I think it's because holidays in my childhood weren’t real. We filled the photo album with fake pictures and empty boxes. But this," looking around at the small details of Clint and Laura’s farmhouse, "Is real, and I’ve always done my best to help ensure that Cooper, Lila, and Nate have everything I didn’t. A carefree childhood filled with love," Natasha explained.

"You’ve done a wonderful job with Clint’s kids, Nat. They love you so much, and I know you’ll be just as amazing with our little one," you said, doing your best to reassure her. “Goodnight, Natasha,” kissing her lips. 

“I hope you're right, detka,” Nat said, kissing your lips in return and laying a hand on your stomach. “Goodnight, malen'kiy (little one).

*^~^*

The following day, you awoke to the sun shining through the window and a soft breeze that caused the curtains to dance gently on the wind. Your back was aching, and you were tired, but you were determined to make it through today. You slipped into the most comfortable maternity outfit you had. Natasha helped you with your shoes, and you both went downstairs to the kitchen. 

“Happy Easter, you two!” Clint said upon seeing you two enter the kitchen. 

You sat down at the kitchen table as Laura placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of you and Nat, along with two glasses of orange juice. The kids were already eating and arguing over who would find the most Easter eggs this afternoon. 

Yelena and Kate walked in a few moments later, clad in bathrobes and their hair disheveled. 

“Against the idea of showering and dressing before breakfast, were you?” Natasha asked.

“Kate Bishop kept me up all night with her snoring, and Lucky and Fanny woke me up by sitting on my face,” Yelena mumbled as she flopped beside you. 

“Hey, that’s how dogs shows affection,” Kate interjected.

“So, I should consider your snoring a Valentine?” Yelena deadpanned. 

After breakfast, the kids ran upstairs to prepare for the Easter egg hunt while Clint got a head start on hiding the eggs. Nathaniel insisted Nat accompany him to help find his Easter basket, but she hesitated to leave you.

“Go ahead, babe. I’m fine.” Motioning for her to follow her namesake. 

“So, how are you really feeling?” Laura asked, now that Nat was no longer in the room. 

You let out a deep sigh, “Tired and sore,” resting your head in your hands. “But this quality time with you all means so much to both of us. I can make it one more day before going on bed rest.”

Laura rubbed her hand softly on your back, “Why don’t you sit in the family room with Kate and Yelena until the fun starts.” 

“Okay, that’s a good idea. Make sure Yelena and Kate haven’t snuck into the Easter candy,” you laughed. 

Laura helped you to your feet and then began to clear the table. As you started to walk, you felt a minor twinging pain in your stomach. You winced but thought nothing of it. With the amount of shifting the baby was doing these days, you had every spasm and cramp in the book. Unfortunately for you, you were in a house full of spies, and Laura picked up your discomfort. She made a mental note to watch you as the day progressed.

*^~^*

"Look, there's one!" Cooper exclaimed, pointing at the leather seat of the tractor in the front yard. He dashed towards it, but Lila beat him by a step. "Ha! Slowpoke," she teased.

From your spot on the porch, you glanced over and saw my wife hoisting Nathaniel onto her shoulders to carefully grab an Easter egg from the crook of an old sycamore tree. 

After about 15 minutes, everyone's baskets were full of eggs. Now came the fun of opening them all. You watched as all three kids dug into their baskets, opening the eggs to find mini Hershey bars, M&M's, jelly beans, or starbursts.

Nathaniel walked over to you and placed an Orange Starburst in your hand. "Here, Aunt Y/N. I know the Orange ones are your favorite."

"Aww, thank you, Nate," you said, kissing his forehead.

As you were about to open the soft toffy candy, a sharp contraction cut through my stomach. “Aaah!” you reached for your stomach as you bent over at the knees. Much stronger than anything you had felt before.

Natasha rushed to your side. “Y/N?! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Reaching for your hand.

"I don’t know," you grunted.

Natasha's voice quivered with anxiety as she tried to rationalize the situation. "This—this can’t be it. We’re still three weeks out," she said, her mind racing with worry. "Maybe it’s just false labor."

That was the moment when your water broke. "Oh God—" you took a sharp breath as another contraction hit.

"Okay, not false labor," Nat conceded.

"It’s okay, Y/N," Laura reassured you calmly, gently taking your hand. "Most first births are a long labor. But we’re going to get you inside, okay?"

You felt a surge of panic. "What? No, no. I can't have the baby here. I'm not ready. We had a birth plan; I don't have my overnight bag!" you started to ramble, the anxiety rising in your voice.

"You're not boarding a Quinjet now. “I'm going to call Helen,” Clint said as he started to run inside.

"What's wrong with Aunt Y/N?” Nathaniel asked.

"Nothing, sweetheart, but the baby is coming a little bit earlier than we thought," Laura said calmly as she and your wife Nat gently guided you up the steps and into the warm and welcoming embrace of the house.

"Cooper and Lila, please grab a soft, warm blanket and clean towels from the linen closet?" Laura called out to the older children, her voice steady and reassuring.

I'l boil some water and tear up some sheets!" Kate announced frantically.

"This isn't Little House on the Prairie," Yelena quipped. She looked at you and Natasha with a warm yet nervous smile. "I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

"I thought you said this was a long process?" you managed to say between deep breaths, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Yes, but there's nothing wrong with being prepared, honey," Laura replied with a comforting smile, her hands steady as she and Nat helped you onto the bed.

Natasha gently grasped your hand and locked eyes with you. "Y/N, look at me," she said reassuringly. “You’re okay, and I'm right here with you. Let's take a deep breath together.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow Natahsa's lead. The air came out shakily as it moved around the sharp pain of the contraction.

"Do you remember your Lamaze breathing?" Nat asked, her voice calm and reassuring.

"I think so," you replied, trying to focus on the breathing technique you had practiced during the prenatal classes.

*^~^*

Contractions came and went over the next few hours. You were thankful that childbirth was part of the first aid classes all SHIELD recruits were required to take. Otherwise, the prospect of giving birth in a farmhouse in the middle of Iowa would have been more terrifying than it already was. 

You heard the front door open and the screen shut behind it as footsteps hurriedly approached the bedroom. When you saw Dr. Cho, you just about burst into tears. 

Helen! Oh, thank goodness," you exclaimed just as another contraction began, your face twisted in agony.

"Y/N," Helen responded, rushing to your side and gently pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your eyes. "Clint and Laura briefed me. They said that you're handling this wonderfully. Let me take a moment to set up, and then we'll check your dilation progress.”

Okay," you managed to say, catching your breath. "Where's Bruce?"

He's in Kamar-Taj with Wong. Something about ten rings? I'm not entirely sure, but don't worry, both of you," she reassured, meeting your and Natasha’s fatigued and apprehensive gazes. "I have a backup.”

Thor strode into the room, effortlessly carrying a collection of Helen's equipment that seemed as light as a feather in his hands.

"Thor? What are you doing here?" Natasha asked, clearly puzzled.

Thor glanced at your wife, then at you, then at Laura, and then at Helen.

"Hello, everyone," he said shyly. "I was, uh, Helen and I—Dr. Cho. She invited me for Easter, and we were enjoying a nice glass of Asgardian Mead when—"

"When Clint called," Helen finished. "Anyway, he's here to help, right?"

"Of course," Thor replied. "I've never witnessed a human birth before, but I've been present for the births of many Gods and am well-versed in many newborn blessings."

You and Natasha locked eyes, your nervousness quickly replaced with gratitude as you realized the significance of having another close friend by your side during this pivotal moment in your lives.

Natasha expressed her gratitude to Thor, finally breaking the silence. "We're both thankful that you're here," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. 

You nodded in agreement, silently acknowledging the sentiment.

"It's my pleasure, ladies," Thor replied warmly.

“Thor, can you bring the rest of my equipment in from the Quinjet while I check to see how far Y/N is dilated?” Helen asked.

“Sure, and do either of you need anything? He asked.

Some ice chips would be great, you said in a tired voice. “Thank you.”

“Water,” Natasha said.

Shortly after Thor departed, Yelena entered, engaging in small talk as they crossed paths in the hallway. "What's the God of muscles doing here?" she inquired.

"It's a long story," Helen responded.

"I spoke with Melina. She and Alexi are en route and should arrive by morning. At least, I think that's what she said. It was hard to hear her over Alexi's ecstatic screams in the background."

"Okay, Y/N, you've done most of the hard work in my absence. You're just about at 10 centimeters. It’s time to start pushing. You two are going to parents soon," Helen announced with a smile.

“Oh my God,” you said, looking over at Natasha. 

“Hey,” your wife said, running her hand through your hair, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you said.

*^~^*

“Push. Push, just a little more! Come on, push for five seconds. 5…4…” Helen counted down.

Gasping for air, you exclaimed, '3-2-1 oh!!' as you fought to catch your breath.

Thor gently wiped away the sweat from your forehead with a cloth.

“You're doing great, Y/N. The next contraction should be coming in about twenty seconds," Helen encouraged, glancing at the monitor. 

“I can’t,” you cried. “I can’t push anymore, I can’t.”

Natasha reassured you, "Yes, you can, Y/N. You're so close," she reached out and firmly took hold of your hand.

“Oh God, twenty seconds, my ass!” You shouted.

Natasha screamed in pain and fell to her knees beside you as you squeezed her hand. “Fuck, detka!”

"Here, Lady Y/N," Thor said, taking her hand in his, "Give my hand a good squeeze; you won't hurt me. And when you reminisce on this moment, you will remember that a God has faith in you. You can do this!" Thor's voice was solid and reassuring, his eyes filled with genuine belief in your strength.

Your eyes shone with tears as you held Thor's hand tightly, feeling the strength in his grip while Natasha enveloped you, her arm supporting your back.

I can see the baby's head. Are you ready to push one more time, honey?” Helen asked, “Here we go, on three: 1... 2... 3!”

You let out a final scream and then collapsed back onto the pillows, trying to catch your breath. As the room fell silent, the innocent cries of your and Natasha’s baby filled the air.

"It's a boy!" Helen exclaimed with joy.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Natasha, who was also crying. It was more emotion than you had ever seen Natasha show before.

Helen held up your son for both of you to admire. His little head was adorned with the beginnings of red hair. 

"He's absolutely perfect," Nat exclaimed with a radiant smile as she affectionately kissed your temple.

Thor carefully cut the umbilical cord, and then Helen gently passed the newborn over to Laura, who began to clean him up. 

Overwhelmed with emotion, you exclaimed, "He's so tiny! Where'd he go?"

Natasha reassured you, "It's okay. They're just wrapping him up," as she wiped away her tears. Concerned for the baby's well-being, you cautioned, "Okay, well, be careful with him. He's really tiny!”

Moments later, Laura tenderly announced, "Here he is," and placed your precious son on your bare chest, swathed in a soft blanket.

"Hi, baby boy," you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I know you."

As your voice reached his ears, his little Y/E/C irises opened, revealing a world of innocence and wonder.

At that moment, gazing at your son, you experienced a love so profound it felt as though your heart had been laid bare.

Natasha tenderly kissed his head and softly murmured, “Dobro pozhalovat' v mir, moy malen'kiy mal'chik.” (Welcome to the world, my little boy).

We’ll give you a few minutes," Helen said with a reassuring smile as she closed the door behind her. In the serene stillness that followed, the only sound was the gentle cooing of your precious newborn son.

“I can't believe he's finally here,” you said.

"I know. He’s so beautiful," Natasha said, her gaze fixed on the newborn.

"It looks like he’s going to take after his Mama," you chuckled, running your hand over the delicate red hairs sprouting from his scalp.

"Yes, but look at his eyes—sparkling Y/E/C like yours. Wow," Nat said.

You remarked, "I guess this narrows the names down, then."

Nat sighed in relief, "Thank goodness I don't have to explain to my sister why we didn't choose Yelena."

Looking into your wife's eyes, you asked, "So what do you think?"

*^~^*

A short while later, a gentle knock on the door signaled Helen's arrival as she peeked inside. "Hey, you three. I need to conduct a few routine tests, and there are some eager people outside who can't wait to meet your son."

"Please, come on in, everyone," you welcomed them.

You couldn't hold back the tears as you witnessed the heartfelt expressions on their faces as they laid eyes on your baby boy. It was as if he instantly captivated them, just as you were when you first saw him.

"Oh, my goodness," Laura exclaimed as Clint enveloped Natasha tightly. Tears glistened in his eyes as he held his best friend close.

"He's beautiful, Natasha," Yelena said, her eyes brimming with tears. "Privet, malen'kiy plemyannik," she whispered (hello, my little nephew).

"He's so cute, Y/N! Oh my gosh," Kate exclaimed as your son wrapped his tiny hand around your finger.

"He is lovely," Thor added, his voice filled with warmth. "Strong and brave, like his mothers."

Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel gathered around you, admiring the newborn in your arms.

"Everyone," Natasha began, her hand resting lovingly on your back. "We have someone special we'd like you to meet.”

“This is Nikolai Odison Romanoff," you announced with a proud smile.

"Nikolai! What a beautiful first name," Clint exclaimed, wiping his eyes. "It suits him perfectly."

"Oh, my, Odison," Thor said wide-eyed. "Ladies, this is an honor fit for someone else. I wasn't even supposed to be here, I—" 

"But you were, Thor. You were here when I needed someone the most," you said, looking at him with gratitude. "We'll never forget what you did for us."

The God of Thunder exhaled, visibly touched by your kind words. "I'm truly honored, Y/N. Thank you," he said, kissing your cheek.

Excuse me, ladies," Helen said, "May I borrow him for a moment? We'll be right back.”

Nikolai began to cry at the loss of contact with you, and the sound tugged at both your and Natasha's heartstrings. "It's okay, little one. It's okay," Helen soothed him. 

Then, looking up at your wife, you added, "There is something else we wanted to ask. 

“Clint and Laura, we would be honored if you would be Nikolai’s godparents,” Natasha said.

“Of course!” Clint declared.

“Nothing would make us happier,” Laura added.”

The couple hugged you both in appreciation as Helen returned with Nikolai. 

“You have a healthy little boy on your hands! Born March 31st, 2024 at 7:23pm. He weighs five pounds and eight ounces and measures 16.5 inches long," she said as she gently placed your son in Natasha’s arms. "He's a bit small, but that is because he was impatient and arrived a bit early," Helen explained with a warm smile. "Nothing to worry about.”

Natasha cradled the baby in her arms, swaying gently back and forth as a soft yawn slipped from his tiny lips.

“We’ll spend the night here, but I want to bring Mom and Nikolai back to the compound tomorrow. I want to perform a thorough examination in my lab before sending you all home.” Helen explained.

"Of course, whatever you think is best," you agreed.

Natasha nodded in approval before a sudden realization struck her. "Oh, Mom and Dad! They're on their way here."

"They can join us if you'd like," Helen suggested.

"That would be great," you said. "Right, Nat?"

"Yeah, great," Natasha said, her mind racing as she tried to imagine the chaos of the Quinjet flight home with Alexi and Melina.

Yelena couldn't help but burst into laughter, fully aware of what her sister was thinking, until Kate elbowed her in the ribs.

"We'll leave you all to get some rest," Helen said. "I'll be outside if you need anything, and I'll be back in a little while to help you with breastfeeding him.”

"Thank you, Helen, and all of you, for everything," you said, feeling the exhaustion and emotions of the day overwhelming you as tears began to fall.

After exchanging warm embraces, everyone exited the room, leaving you and Natasha in peaceful solitude with your precious newborn son, savoring the tender moment.

Natasha gently settled Nikolai in Nathaniel's bassinet, a family heirloom lovingly retrieved from storage by Clint and Laura. As your little one drifted into a peaceful slumber, you both couldn't help but marvel at the miracle of life, watching his tiny chest rise and fall with each breath. It was a moment you never wanted to forget.

“Rest, detka. I'll take care of Nikolai," Nat offered, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

"I can stay up; it's fine. You should rest," you insisted, determined to take responsibility.

"Y/N, you've just brought new life into the world. You deserve to rest for the rest of your life," Nat chuckled, her eyes filled with affection and concern.

She settled beside you on the bed and enveloped you in a comforting embrace.

"Look at your face," Nat suddenly remarked, her expression softening with genuine admiration.

"I must look a mess," you replied, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

"No, Y/N, you look absolutely beautiful," Nat insisted, her words filled with sincerity. "I've never seen your face more radiant than it is right now.

Natasha's soft lips met yours in a tender kiss, and in that moment, you felt the truth of her words resonate deep within you.

*^~^*

The following day, Laura prepared a delicious breakfast and brought it to you and Natasha in bed. Both of you had barely gotten any sleep with Nikolai waking up every couple of hours. Despite feeling utterly exhausted, you didn't mind one bit. This weariness stemmed from the joy of caring for your precious newborn son on his very first night.

Twenty minutes later, the tranquil moment was interrupted by familiar voices outside. Natasha gently pulled the curtain back to glimpse her parents making their way up the front porch steps.

Yelena strode into the room with her arms folded and a mischievous smile on her lips. "Brace yourselves," she teased, "The grandparents have arrived.”

"Where's my little guy?" Alexi eagerly shouted as he entered the room.

"Shh!" Natasha hushed him with a grin, motioning to Nikolai nestled in her arms. "Oh, look at him!" Alexi whispered in awe. 

"Mom, Dad, this is Nikolai,” Nat said, wiping a tear from her eye.

"He's beautiful, Natalia," Melina murmured.

"May I hold him? I washed my hands," Alexi asked eagerly.

"Of course," you replied, carefully passing the baby to Alexi. The sight of the mighty Red Guardian tenderly cradling your newborn son made you smile.

"Hello, Nikolai. I'm your dedushka," Alexi said affectionately. "You're so adorable; yes, you are."

As he spoke, Nikolai slowly opened his eyes, and you could have sworn you saw your father-in-law's heart swell with love. 

Alexi gently placed the baby in Melina’s arms. Your mother-in-law had always been a complex and enigmatic figure. She was one of the longest-tenured widows, and her resilience made her one of the strongest women in your eyes. As she cradled your newborn son in her arms, a single tear traced its way down her cheek, revealing a depth of emotion and vulnerability that you had never seen before.

Yelena inched toward you and whispered, “He won them over faster than you did.” 

*^~^*

The next morning, Thor joined in to assist with packing while Clint hurried to the store to purchase an infant car seat for Nikolai. You were a family of two when you arrived, and you were leaving a family of three.

After a swift diaper change, Natasha placed your precious bundle of joy in his carrier. "Time to head home, Nik," you said, taking his tiny hand in yours. 

You bid farewell to everyone and securely placed Nikolai's carrier beside you on the Quinjet.

Nat smiled as she prepared the Quinjet for takeoff. Your first Quinjet ride," she said. "You're already an overachiever, moy sladkiy mal'chik" (my sweet little boy).

Your phone suddenly vibrates with a flurry of notifications.

"The team group chat is blowing up, sweetheart," showing Natasha your phone.

Nick Fury: Congratulations on the arrival of your precious son, Nikolai! It's heartwarming to see the Avengers family welcoming the newest member. Everyone at SHIELD looks forward to meeting him and supporting you and Natasha.

Steve Rogers: Hey, Y/N and Nat, huge congratulations! I'm so excited to meet Nikolai, the newest addition to our Avenger family. 🎖️

Wanda Maximoff: Congratulations to you both! All those cliches, those things you hear about having a baby and motherhood—all of them are true. Motherhood is the most beautiful things you will ever experience. I’ll drop off some food for you both in the morning. 🥰

Clint Barton: Hey, Y/N! Make sure Nikolai is securely fastened in his infant carrier. I hope he sleeps the whole way back. If he gets fussy, ask FRIDAY to turn on the cabin pressure stabilization. It's a feature I insisted Stark add to the Quinjet after SHIELD found out I had kids. You're welcome. 😏

Laura Barton: I know things didn't go as planned, but I'm grateful we could share in your special day, Y/N. Nikolai is absolutely beautiful! Please let Nat know that I'll give her a call tomorrow. 😊

Tony Stark: Rushman! Y/L/N! Congratulations on the arrival of your precious son. Nikolai will bring you endless joy and fulfillment and become your favorite reason to lose sleep for the rest of your lives. 😉

Pepper Stark: Congratulations, you two! I'm so happy for you and Nat. I can only imagine how incredible it must feel to look into Nikolai's eyes and feel like everything is right in the world. Please don't hesitate to reach out if there's anything I can do to help. Sending lots of love! ❤️

Bruce Banner: I'm truly sorry I couldn't be there; I’m thrilled for you and Natasha. I can't wait to meet Nikolai! 💚

Maria Hill: Congratulations, Y/N and Nat, on the arrival of baby Nikolai Odison! I can't wait to meet the little bundle of joy and see those tiny fingers and toes. The name Nikolai Odison Romanoff is absolutely beautiful. I spoke with Thor this morning, and the honor deeply moved him. 🥹

Thor Odinson: I am incredibly grateful to have been present for the birth of your son, Nikolai Odison Romanoff. Your decision to include me in this momentous occasion is a great honor, and I want to assure you that I will always be there to support and care for all of you. The arrival of Nikolai is a joyous event, and I am committed to being a steadfast presence in his life. ⚡

Peter Parker: Y/N! Congratulations on the arrival of Nikolai! I'm so thrilled for you and Nat. What does he look like? Does he have your hair or Natasha’s? What color are his eyes? I'm already thinking about all the adventures we'll have with him. I'm going to text Nat right now. I can't wait to meet him! 💙

Yelena Belova: Give my little nephew a kiss and hug from me. Also, heads up - Mom and Dad are considering staying with you for eight weeks to help care for Nikolai. Happy Parenting! 😂

Kate Bishop: Yelena is sitting next to me, and she can't stop laughing, so I'm going to assume that everything is going well. Please give Nikolai a kiss and hug from me! 🩵

*^~^*

You and Natasha stood together at the front of the Quinjet, the hum of the engines surrounding you as the aircraft soared safely through the sky. 

“Nikolai is sound asleep. I don't think your parents have taken their eyes off our son since they got here,” turning around to see Melina and Alexi lovingly admiring their grandson. 

Nat lovingly reached for your hand. “Our son,” she repeated with a big smile.

Nat took her place in the pilot's seat and turned off the autopilot as you settled in beside her.

"Come on, Y/N. Let’s go home.”

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Concert with a Twist

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n eagerly anticipates attending a Taylor Swift concert in Vienna with her husband, Toto Wolff. Their plans are disrupted by the concert's cancellation. Toto arranges a surprise for her.

Warnings: non

One shot Masterlist

Don't be shy to ask me for a One Shot I would be happy to write it.

______________________________________________________________

The anticipation was electric. Y/n had been eagerly counting down the days until Taylor Swift’s concert in Vienna. As a long-time fan of the pop star, the concert was a dream come true. Toto Wolff, her husband, had agreed to join her despite not being particularly interested in the pop star himself. His primary goal was to see Y/n happy, and he had been looking forward to their trip to Vienna, which would also serve as a chance to visit his children, Benedict and Rosa, from his first marriage.

Vienna was a special place for Toto. The trip was intended to be a blend of personal and professional—a visit to Vienna’s historic sites, quality time with family, and a glamorous concert experience.

In the days leading up to the concert, Y/n’s excitement was palpable. She spent hours curating the perfect outfit, envisioning herself amidst the crowd, singing along to her favorite songs. She had chosen a stunning ensemble for the evening: a shimmering silver dress that hugged her figure perfectly, complemented by elegant high-heeled sandals. Her accessories included delicate silver jewelry that sparkled under the light, and she planned to carry a chic clutch that completed her sophisticated look.

The dress was a statement piece, reflecting her love for Taylor Swift’s bold and glamorous style. As she laid out her outfit on the bed, she could almost feel the energy of the concert night. She imagined herself dancing and singing along with thousands of other fans, the music filling the air and the lights creating a magical atmosphere.

Two days before their departure from Monaco, disaster struck. The news shattered their excitement. A credible terror plot targeting the concert venue was uncovered. Authorities canceled the event for security reasons. Y/n’s heart sank as she processed the news; the concert she had been dreaming of was suddenly out of reach.

Toto noticed Y/n’s distress and took her hands in his. "I’m so sorry, Y/n. I know how much this meant to you."

Y/n forced a smile, her eyes misty. "I just can’t believe it. I was so looking forward to this."

Toto, seeing her disappointment, felt a pang of guilt. He had agreed to the trip mainly to support her excitement for the concert, but now that it was canceled, he felt a stronger resolve to make their trip memorable. The Vienna visit was important for him as well, but he knew the concert was a significant part for Y/n.

"How about we still make the most of our time in Vienna?" Toto suggested, trying to sound upbeat. "We can focus on visiting Benedict and Rosa, spending time together, and exploring the city. And we’ll find a way to make it special for you."

Y/n looked at him, her curiosity piqued. "What do you have in mind?"

Toto just smiled mysteriously. "You’ll see. Trust me."

The day of what would have been the concert arrived. Y/n and Toto met up with Benedict and Rosa, who were excited to see them. Benedict and Rosa had always seen Y/n as a good friend and mother figure, and their relationship was warm and affectionate.

They decided to make the most of their time together and explore the city. The morning began with a visit to Schönbrunn Palace. The baroque architecture and meticulously landscaped gardens were breathtaking. Y/n tried to immerse herself in the beauty around her, but the thought of the canceled concert lingered in the back of her mind. Toto, Benedict, and Rosa noticed her occasional distraction and made a concerted effort to keep her spirits high.

"Y/n, look at this!" Benedict called out, pointing to an ornate fountain. "Isn’t it amazing? The craftsmanship is incredible."

Y/n smiled and joined him, appreciating his effort to engage her. "It’s beautiful. I’ve always loved the details in these old structures."

Rosa linked arms with Y/n as they strolled through the gardens. "How about we grab some coffee and cake at a local café? Vienna is famous for its coffee houses, and I know just the place."

Y/n nodded, grateful for the distraction. "That sounds lovely, Rosa. I’d like that."

They spent the afternoon at Café Central, enjoying delicious pastries and rich coffee. The atmosphere was lively, with the hum of conversation and the clinking of porcelain. Y/n felt a bit more at ease, the warmth of the café and the company of Toto’s children providing comfort.

As the day turned to evening, they visited the Prater, Vienna’s famous amusement park. The giant Ferris wheel offered stunning views of the city, and the playful environment helped lift Y/n’s mood further. They laughed and joked, Toto’s arm around Y/n’s shoulders as they strolled through the park.

Throughout the day, Y/n did her best to hide her disappointment about the concert. She didn’t want to dampen the family’s spirits, but Toto knew her well enough to see through her facade. He decided it was time to unveil his surprise.

That evening, Y/n decided to wear her concert outfit, determined to make the best of the situation. As she slipped into her shimmering silver dress and fastened her high-heeled sandals, she felt a glimmer of the excitement she had felt before. She styled her hair in loose waves and put on her silver jewelry, adding a touch of glamour to the night.

Toto had been secretive about his plans, and Y/n’s curiosity grew as he led her through the hotel. When they reached the ballroom of the Hotel, Toto opened the door, and Y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

The room had been transformed into a cozy, elegant space. Soft lighting and a beautifully set table created a romantic ambiance. But what really caught Y/n’s attention was the grand piano in the corner and the microphone stand beside it. A pianist and singer stood ready, their instruments and setup perfectly arranged.

When the first notes of "Love Story" played, Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise. She turned to Toto, her eyes shining. "Toto, what is this?"

Toto smiled, taking her hands. "Since we can’t go to the concert, I brought a bit of the concert to us."

Y/n’s heart swelled with emotion. She was speechless as the singer began to perform heartfelt renditions of Taylor Swift’s hits. The intimate setting and Toto’s thoughtful gesture filled her with overwhelming gratitude and love.

As they sat down to enjoy the music, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a wave of happiness wash over her. She danced with Toto, laughing and singing along to the songs that had been the soundtrack to so many of her moments. The private concert turned into a magical evening, filled with love and joy.

After the performance, Y/n turned to Toto, tears of happiness in her eyes. "This is incredible, Toto. I don’t even know how to thank you."

Toto pulled her close, his voice soft. "Seeing you happy is all the thanks I need."

Y/n, still feeling the magic of the evening, leaned in and kissed him deeply. "You always know how to make everything perfect," she whispered against his lips.

They spent the rest of the night talking, reminiscing, and cherishing their time together. The evening had been a heartfelt gesture that Y/n would remember forever.

As they finally went to bed, Y/n snuggled close to Toto. "Thank you for making this trip so special. I love you."

Toto kissed her forehead. "I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll always do whatever it takes to see you smile."

[whoistartaglia]

can genshin men cook?

after a long day of work, what do you come home to: the aroma of dinner cooking in the oven or the smoke detector blaring and a kitchen on fire…?

diluc is so house husband that you would ideally come home to a warm meal set on the dining room table, except for the occasions when he overcooks the food. it’s not his fault, really. blame the pyro god who gave diluc his vision, that may or may not flare up when he’s trying to slowly roast some chicken and vegetables over an open flame. one second everything is fine, the next the chicken is blackened and some of the vegetables have been reduced to ash.

if childe is cooking you a family recipe or a traditional snezhayan dish, then you know you’re coming home to a delicious smelling kitchen and fresh flowers set on the table. childe considers it an act of appreciation and love, cooking his home favorites for you. he puts care in his cooking, and has practice from from feeding his younger siblings growing up. the dishes always turn out amazing and you’ll get him blushing from head to toe if you ask him to show you how to make it.

kaeya is more of a takeout kind of guy. that’s not to say he won’t cook for you if you ask—there are at least a handful of dishes and recipes he knows how to make, and pretty damn well, too. but if he’s also coming home from a long day at work, he’ll probably order something from a local tavern or restaurant, and bring it home. kaeya always remembers to order your favorite, and the takeout food is always set out on the table when you get home. and of course, he always takes care to order your favorite meal, which he knows like the back of his own hand.

xiao won’t burn down the kitchen, but he might get close. he doesn’t have a whole lot of mortal food he enjoys, and so doesn’t have much experience in cooking human food. xiao does try his best for you, though, because he wants you to come home to a nice dinner and relaxing evening. so if xiao happens to start a kitchen fire or set off the smoke alarms, he makes sure to handle it before you get home. you won’t even smell the remnants of the fire in the air, thanks to xiao’s anemo powers.

itto is also very house husband, but when it comes to other things, like building or renovating or practicing fighting moves in the backyard. while he can cook, it’s always a gamble whether you’re coming home to a kitchen half-burnt or an actual living fire. he swears he has it under control. he reassures you everything is fine, and to his credit, he does manage to put out the fire(s) and get something edible on the table. itto will also be very proud of his work, and you agree with his “raw, sheer talent” even as your fork is covered in ash and the burnt remains of some poor grocery store food.

ayato has personal chefs and the meals you come home to are always perfect. how could they not be, when crafted by the finest cooks in inazuma? if you actually request ayato himself to cook for you, he’ll do so happily. he’s a very meticulous, methodical cook—chopping vegetables precisely, using measuring cups and spoons for amounts people usually eyeball, and waiting until the stove or oven is at the perfect temperature before use. his meals turn out amazing—more than the private chefs, because this one is homecooked from the heart.

zhongli definitely has extensive knowledge of cooking and old recipes from liyue, and makes warm, delicious homecooked meals for you… but you still come home to a messy, smoking kitchen once in a while. you’re kind of relieved at that, since it shows that, for all his godly powers and extensive wisdom, zhongli still has his moments. so you laugh as you extinguish the fire even as zhongli is apologizing profusely. though if you suggest to go to your favorite restaurant, zhongli will refuse—he’s gonna start again from scratch, because a meal is what you requested of him, and a meal is what he will deliever.

wriothesley will set the kitchen on fire and say it’s on purpose—and most of the time, it is. his cool calculations melt away when he’s in the kitchen, as once pristine counters become rather messy, and the organized pantry and fridge, disorganized. wriothesley claims it’s because this is how he works best on the kitchen, and you suppose that’s true given his cooking style, which is picking out ingredients, throwing them together, and hoping for something tasty. it’s unfair, really, how good he is at cooking without trying. the kitchen is an embodiment of a hot mess.

[mystardustmelodyyy]

@remotewatch HQ’s Election Countdown Day 6: Law Students

Hand to god, it began purely as an academic partnership. Splitting note-taking responsibilities and checking each other’s work, that sort of thing. Sure, Jack was absurdly pretty, but the addictive spike in positive instructor feedback after you’d been reviewing each other’s writing for a bit had much more to do with it. When you started fucking after your study sessions, then before, then doing as much as you could before the ten minute break timer went off between subject blocs, it was pretty easy to justify. Literally getting fucked to sleep six nights a week made it nigh impossible to stay up worrying about what concepts would screw you over on an exam. The more time you spent letting Jack’s tongue lave over you and the longer you let him say he needed to coax you on his fingers before stretching you out over his dick like taffy, the more you struggled to worry about much of anything.

If you had to put a date on it, Halloween was around when you realized a change was going to be necessary.

The whole night had actually been going swimmingly: an Anything But Human dress code for your friends’ potluck was by far the least contrived of the season, and you’d started designing your honeybee costume the second you got wind of it. At your request that he please select a corporeal, non political costume for one party, Jack grabbed some wire, pliers, and black yarn from your craft basket and whipped up a cat ear headband to match the first all black outfit his eyes landed on before he’d headed over.

You, on the other hand, spent the last hour leading up to the party thoroughly saturating two powder puffs in gold spray glitter for your behind the knee curbiculae, leaving him to meticulously glue gold rhinestone smatterings to the black velvet of your dress and taking care to push his head back whenever it dipped too close to the fresh E6000.

Things only started to go south when you had to bend down to draw on Jack’s whiskers with your eyeliner. His patience lasted almost long enough for you to reapply your lipstick and kiss the tip of his nose pink before one finger was curling under your swooping low, gold marabou-trimmed neckline.

“I’m glad I didn’t let you talk me into going commando with a catsuit-“ he murmured, nuzzling his nose over your chest “it would be a real problem when you look this good.”

Soon enough, your legs were hooked securely over his shoulders and any lingering stressors were steadily eroded away with each full-weighted, eyelid-fluttering thrust of Jack’s hips.

When you eventually get out the door, it’s already sunset, and the fading daylight reveals comically dense patches of your pollen glitter reaching from Jack’s shoulders clear down to his navel. That good for nothing spray adhesive hadn’t held shit in place; you’d be amazed to discover any sparkle left behind your knees the way he’s bathed in it.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! We look like a couple of perverts, and we’re late!” you frantically swat at his chest trying to clear some of the glitter, only working it deeper into the weave of his sweater.

“We’ll fit right in!”

“No, I’m serious! We really need to set some ground rules or something because this is getting ridiculous.”

✨✨✨✨✨

I’m sure you’ve all seen these by now 🤭. I know we talk a lot of the Harris Walz campaign specifically but Jack makes a good point- there are so many other candidates and propositions on your ballot that are just as important. For example, it is vital for us to secure as many GOP seats as possible. Vote.org has a great feature where you can enter your information and get a preview of your ballot to prep for when you vote for real.

Stay informed and stay mobilized, my beautiful heauxs! 👏🏽🩵💋

[lockburn-castle]

the city of love

synopsis in which dokyeom proposes to yn in Paris pairing nonidol!lee dokyeom x gn!reader genre fluff warnings dk being anxious, a small part about cabarets, terms of endearment/petnames, kisses, reader wears a dress, that's all i can think of (do let me know if theres more) word count 1.9k

playlist cant help falling in love marry you

notes: been loving romcoms for a while and decided to write this story based on what id like my proposal to look like HAHAHA hope yall like it !! p.s. 10 things i hate about you is one of my favourites <3 do give me more ideas for fics in the cmmts or send me an ask !!

As Dokyeom paced around the room, his mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. The suitcase in front of him was half-packed, clothes neatly folded, but his thoughts were anything but organized. The idea of proposing to you filled him with both excitement and anxiety. He glanced at the bag of balloons he’d slipped into his luggage, a reminder of the grand plan he had meticulously crafted for a few months now.

“What if they don’t say yes, hyung?” Dokyeom fretted, pacing around their room as he packed for the trip with Y/N. His phone was on speaker, and he were calling the group for some last-minute advice.

“Have you seen the way they look at you?” Seungkwan’s voice came through, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m pretty sure they’ll say yes.”

“If they say no, can I steal them from you?” Dino joked with a laugh. “They make amazing cookies.”

“Not helping,” Dokyeom mumbled, nervously folding another shirt into their suitcase.

Dokyeom's fingers brushed the edge of the velvet ring box, its weight a tangible symbol of his hopes and fears. “I just hope everything goes smoothly. What if all this effort is for nothing? They might leave me.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” Jeonghan advised gently. “Remember to have fun. Trust the plan. Everything will fall into place if it’s meant to be.”

“And don’t forget to pack the ring,” S.Coups chimed in with a grin that Dokyeom could practically hear.

Dokyeom took a deep breath, nodding even though no one could see him. “Alright, I think I’m all packed. Let’s hope everything goes according to plan.” He muttered the last part.

Everything had gone surprisingly well so far. You and Dokyeom had talked about this trip to Paris for years, but something always got in the way. Now, finally, both of you were able to take a seven-day leave and make it happen. The city felt like something out of a dream — timeless, and full of hidden wonders.

On the first day, after landing in Paris, you both felt the excitement settle in as you headed straight to the Louvre. The enormous layout of the museum took your breath away as you went inside, surrounded by art from all around the world. Walking hand in hand, you wove through the maze of halls, pausing at famous works like the Mona Lisa and Winged Victory of Samothrace.

When you reached the sculpture Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, you both stood in awe. The way the marble figures intertwined seemed almost too lifelike, as if they were frozen in a moment of affection. You couldn’t help but admire the way the light bounced off the smooth stone, highlighting every detail. Dokyeom’s arm hugged your waist as you both took in the beauty and history surrounding you.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You whispered, eyes fixed on the sculpture.

Dokyeom nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, but you know what’s even more beautiful?” He turned to look at you, his smile widening.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him gently. “You’re such a cheeseball.”

“I mean it, though,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “I still can’t believe we’re here. Together.”

In that moment, surrounded by art and history, everything felt perfectly right.

You spent more time at the Louvre than planned, snapping tons of photos for Instagram and for your own memories.

On the second day, you and Dokyeom decided to explore the Montmartre, starting with the stunning Sacré-Cœur Basilica. The white domes stood out against the sky, offering an amazing view of Paris below. Inside, the intricate mosaics shimmered in the light, creating a serene atmosphere as you took in the stunning architecture.

After leaving the Basilica, you strolled through the nearby Place du Tertre, a lively square filled with the buzz of street artists and their easels. You and Dokyeom sat down to get your portraits done, soaking in the lively atmosphere. The atmosphere was vibrant, with the sounds of sketching, laughter, and conversations blending together into a perfect Montmartre experience.

After a delicious lunch at a little café, you both headed to the Musée d'Orsay. There, you found yourself captivated by masterpieces from artists like Van Gogh and Monet. Each painting seemed to pull you into its world, and the museum’s elegant interior only enhanced the experience. The two of you wandered through the halls, taking in every detail of the beautiful works of art.

As evening approached, your excitement began to build. You were about to experience the legendary Moulin Rouge, a cabaret show in Paris you’d heard so much about. Dokyeom, always full of surprises, had secretly bought tickets for the famous venue. As you arrived, the bright lights, vibrant costumes, and captivating performances whisked you away to a world of entertainment you had only dreamed of. Checking "watching a cabaret show" off your bucket list felt even more magical than you had imagined.

By the third day, you decided to slow things down, spending the afternoon at the Champ de Mars for a picnic, with the Eiffel Tower looming gracefully above. You both laughed as you watched tourists pose dramatically in front of the landmark, feeling content in your own world together. Later, you took a scenic cruise along the Seine River, the water shimmering in the late afternoon light.

The two of you returned to the hotel room early to prepare for a special dinner at the Eiffel Tower, a night you had anticipated with excitement. You had chosen a stunning white Chanel mini dress, its chic simplicity accentuated by black off-shoulder sleeves that framed your shoulders gracefully. A delicate ribbon, adorned with a Chanel camellia, cinched the waist, adding a touch of timeless elegance. The soft glow of the evening light made the fabric shimmer subtly as you moved.

Dokyeom had chosen a new suit to complement your outfit. His classic black and white suit was impeccably tailored, with a simple yet elegant Chanel brooch pinned to the lapel.

“I had to pick out a new suit to match you, you know,” he said with a playful smile. “And I didn’t want to risk being turned away because of the dress code.”

“I'm glad though. You look handsome as always.”

After taking some photos on the balcony, you headed out to the restaurant. As you were about to leave, Dokyeom asked you to wait outside while he spoke with the concierge.

You were puzzled by the request, but when he returned, he explained that he had arranged for extra towels and soap to be delivered to your room. You didn’t think much of it and continued your way to the dinner venue.

The both of you indulged in a long-awaited culinary experience at Le Jules Verne, a restaurant you had been eager to visit ever since seeing it in Murder Mystery 2. Dining high above Paris with panoramic views of the city, the experience was as unforgettable as you had hoped. The sophisticated atmosphere and exquisite cuisine made it a perfect end to a delightful day — or so you thought.

Back at the hotel, Dokyeom asked you to close your eyes. He gently guided you into the room, covering your eyes with his hands.

“Close your eyes.”

“What are you up to? Don’t do anything silly; this dress is expensive!” you chided, knowing he might do something playful.

“Relax, I’m not doing anything stupid. Are they closed?”

“Yes, kyeom, they are. What’s going on?”

“Keep them closed. I’ll let go now.”

He removed his hands, and you heard him shuffling things around. “Okay, you can open them now.”

You slowly opened your eyes and took in the breathtaking scene before you. Rose petals were delicately scattered from the entrance of the hotel room, leading to a heart-shaped arrangement in the center, where Dokyeom stood, enveloped in a sea of petals. He held a bouquet of roses, their vibrant colors contrasting beautifully with the soft light of the room. Silver balloons floated on the windows, their reflective letters spelling out “Marry Me?” Your heart raced as you took in every detail, feeling a wave of emotion swell within you.

As you stepped further into the room, Dokyeom moved to stand within the heart of petals, his eyes full of love and nervous anticipation. He handed you the bouquet, his hands trembling slightly, then knelt down with a deep breath, pulling out a ring box. Your breath hitched as you saw the ring — its diamond gleamed with a brilliance that seemed to capture all the warmth and love in the room, shimmering with every flicker of light.

“Dokyeom…”

“Y/N, love, these five years with you have been the most incredible of my life. You’ve been my rock through every high and low, my constant when everything else was uncertain. I can’t imagine a future without you, and I want to continue building that future together. I want to create more memories with you, face every challenge side by side, and share every joy. My love for you is beyond words. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you nodded, your voice choked with emotion. “Yes, of course I will. I love you so much.” You extended your left hand, and with a gentle, reverent touch, he slid the ring onto your finger. The moment felt suspended in time, the diamond’s brilliance reflecting your shared happiness and the promise of a future together.

“Okay, thank God, because my heart was pounding and my knees were killing me,” he joked, making you laugh as you admired the ring.

“I had it custom-made.”

“Really? It’s perfect,” you said, turning your hand to catch the light. The ring’s elegant design and intricate details made it feel even more special. “I love it.”

“Yeah. I thought you’d like it more this way. I had fun designing it and made sure to include all the details you love,” he said, as you admired the diamond sparkling in the moonlight.

“Thank you, Dokyeom. This has been absolutely amazing.” You looked at him and gave him a kiss.

“Let’s take some pictures!” you said, grabbing your camera.

That night, after posting some photos on Instagram, your phone buzzed incessantly with congratulations and likes. But you barely noticed, wrapped up in the comfort of late-night snacks and your favorite movies, nestled beside your new fiancé.

“By the way, how did you pull off that incredible surprise?” you asked, gazing at Dokyeom with curiosity.

“Well, the concierge is a secret weapon,” Dokyeom said with a mischievous grin. “They’re like fairy godparents for tonight. I think they were so charmed by the proposal that they didn’t charge me a thing. They said it was the sweetest thing they’d ever seen — except maybe the time a couple asked them to help with a proposal on a gondola in Venice. ”

You laughed softly, feeling a rush of warmth and affection. “I love you, Dokyeom,” you said, your voice soft as you gazed into his eyes.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied. He gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, a gesture that made your heart swell even more.

In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the room and the cozy comfort of each other’s presence, everything felt perfect.

You had always thought people exaggerated when they called Paris the city of love. But experiencing it firsthand, you couldn’t agree more.

[romirola]

Headcanons for the Shaw Pack’s Favorite Activities at a Renaissance Fair

Last weekend, I went to my first Renaissance Fair and had a blast! So many things to do, performances to see, food to eat, and impromptu character interactions to share with actors/fair-goers. My only reasonable next step is to think about the Shaw Pack attending and enjoying a Ren Fair, too. Yes, they all dress up. (Pss- So did I! A censored Ren Fair Romi pic is below the cut. Alt txt included.)

David: Attending the blacksmith demonstration. David is fascinated by solid craftsmanship, and blacksmith work is the epitome of craft. David listens intently, learning all about the historical and cultural significance of the art-science hybrid as the blacksmith molds a blade before David’s eyes. 

Angel: Dragon-egg painting. Angel leans into the fantasy elements of the fair, despite David’s grumbling that there’s nothing Renaissance about dragons. Angel meticulously paints a gorgeous dragon egg that could’ve been professionally made, all while conversing in-character with the dragon-wrangler who staffed the egg-painting station. The dragon-wrangler assures Angel that the dragon will “hatch” will grow into a majestic beast who will be loyal and loving, eternally grateful for the care they showed when the dragon was merely an egg. 

Asher: The bawdy poetry reading. Asher wasn’t super thrilled to discover he read the map wrong and showed up to the bawdy poet’s performance instead of the public shaming scene, but as soon as the poet performed the first poem, he was hooked. Asher couldn’t help but laugh, not only because of the content of the poems, but because of the animated way the poet recited the words, moved about the stage, and even engaged with the audience. 

Babe: Getting chosen to participate in the juggling show. The only thing that amazed Babe more than the performers juggling all sorts of objects (some dangerous, some silly) as they performed acrobatic feats was when the performers invited them on stage to “help” with their next trick of spinning plates. To their surprise and delight, Babe was able to do exactly as the juggler instructed and keep the plate spinning. They took a bow as they audience cheered, Asher screaming over everyone as he celebrated his mate.  

Milo: Ringing the bell at the strongman game. The game is notoriously rigged, but Milo was up to the challenge. As soon as the bell rang out, a few character actors came over to congratulate him and decree him to the strongest man in all the village. They chanted his name and, upon hearing the commotion, the fair’s Queen made her way over to Milo to knight him as Sir Milo the Strong. She also bestowed upon him a handful of food vouchers, which Milo shared with the rest of the pack so they could all feast on all the food the fair had to offer. 

Sweetheart: Watching the jousting tournament. Sweetheart loves how jousting is a blend of so many things they love: theatre, violence, and competition. They cheer as loudly as they can for the knight who fights for their section of the field, eyes glued to the combat. After the joust, even though their knight lost, they made their way to the fence to tell him he fought bravely and that he’d always be a champion in their heart. The knight was so moved by their admission, he let them pet his horse.   

Darling: Watching the falconry show. Darling was in awe as the birds zipped and flew through the air, all while showing off how precise their tracking and hunting skills are. All of the birds of prey were rehabilitated rescues from the wild, which only made Darling respect and support these birds’ message of wildlife conservation and preservation even more. 

Sam: Touring the dungeon museum. Sam was oddly comforted by the fact that no matter how many centuries passed, there were a few universals of humanity that transcended time. Although pain and torture were a constant obsession with humanity, Sam figured, that meant comfort and healing were, too. For as long as there had been people to inflict pain, there were people who eased pain. That thought inspires him.

[missholloween]

The only characters that sing (and in a way, twist) the Great Astronomical Discoveries motif during TGMH apart from the Stratfords are Benjamin and John. And let me tell you, I love what they do with it.

Benjamin's take comes first, during Benjamin's Appartment/The Radiance. After days of listening to the Stratfords talk about their hoax, of seeing how they meticulously crafted their stories and the world clamor them, Benjamin has finally given up and is ready to betray the Stratfords. So, he invites Margaret to his appartment to reveal their hoax. Benjamin uses the same language he's learned from the Stratfords, and so, the great astronomical discoveries motif starts playing.

For the first time in the album, it's not a victorious melody: it doesn't sound grandious anymore, it doesn't have any build up, it's just Benjamin and a piano. Curt Mega's performance is really sober, as he's trying to cover up his own emotions. He only fails to do so in "to advance their own career", where he bitterly laughs, losing the beat for a second. Although a bass and another string section join for the climax they quickly go away, as Margaret also joins the sad melody. Even if Great Astronomical Discoveries brought the Stratfords fame and renown, it has also deceived and hurt many. It is satisfying to hear two of its victims sing it then.

That's also why, in John's Choice, it's Herschel's time to speak, we are expecting something similar to happen. The music stops, all the characters await, and Herschel starts to talk... And the melody is More Than This. It's subtle, and one may not notice it on their first listening or if they're not that familiar with the soundtrack. But then there's a crescendo, and John starts singing Great Astronomical Discoveries.

The passion, the energy, the love that comes from John's voice (in another amazing performance by Curt) blows away both the audience and the characters that were there. He has the same accompaniment as Rose and Samuel did, but there's a key difference: there's no harmonies. And it doesn't matter, because really, what a chilling performance. There's also something very poetic about John taking the Stratford's position and being in control of his story after all the hoax.

TL;DR I love the Great Astronomical Discoveries and everything Matt does with it in part 3 of TGMH. Curt totally kills it every time he sings it in any way <3

[freyyzu]

i do not know if you are taking requests or not ,, so im sorry for requesting if you are not and just ignore this please 😭💗💗💗

but if you are,,is it possible to have the demon brothers finding a breath taking sculpture of them in mcs room made by their hands ( sculptors are just *chefs kiss* ) maybe the bros weren't sure about confessing but this was the final straw?

SCULPTURES

There's a sculpture sitting on your desk and it looks an awful lot like him.

a/n; sorry this took me ages anon, i have no excuse aksjdh though, i was unsatisfied with how i wrote this so i had to restart like four times...

Lucifer is taken aback

throughout all his years of living he’s seen many portraits and sculptures of the like that try to replicate his beauty. many failed, many succeeded, and he can say for certain as he looks at the one atop your desk right now, that you have succeeded.

maybe it’s the lovesick part of him talking, perhaps he was just in awe at how incredibly skilled you are at your hobby, but there’s no denying the fact that his heartbeat has sped up and that he was more entranced by your work of him than he ever has been with the delicately crafted portraits from the celestial realm.

lucifer had always been on the fence about his feelings. he had many responsibilities under his belt, and there were other factors at play — excuses, every single one of them. perhaps finding your sculpture was just the thing he needed as the final push to tell you how he feels already.

Mammon feels his brain stop working

as soon as he spots the sculpture of him just plainly in the middle of your desk he gets mildly annoyed. of course he knew you were working on something, but never did he think it was going to be him.

it’s pretty. he’s never been a person to really care for the fine arts but when it’s of him, and when it was carefully and so meticulously crafted by you of all people, he can’t help but admire it more. a part of him wonders why you didn’t just ask for him to be your model — it’s literally his job! and then it hits him.

he’s a mess for the next couple days every time he runs into you. his ears are red, and he stutters over the most basic of words until eventually he just lets it out that he had found your sculpture of him when he came to visit and it was making him embarrassed because he’s been in love with you for so long and now you just had to go and make it worse. don’t tell him you left it out on purpose, he’s sure to blow a fuse.

Leviathan near breaks it

it wasn’t on purpose! and he catches it just as it’s about to fall, so crisis avoided! but now there’s another problem, and that’s him. him - who is so red in the face he fears he might actually explode within the next few seconds.

levi’s love for figurines is practically unmatched, meaning when he found out about your skills he was over the moon in learning more about it, maybe commission something from you… but he certainly didn’t expect you to sculpt him of all people! he carefully places the stone back on the table exactly where he finds it and scampers out of your room faster than one could blink.

don’t come into his room for the next year, normie! he means it! because if you come in then he’s going to for sure say something he’ll regret if you don’t feel the same way. maybe… you should help him a little bit with that?

Satan is at a loss for words

there are a number of things that he could say right now to vocalize his amazement at your skill and how deeply touched he feels, but all the words that he wants to say seemingly die in his throat.

he can’t help but admire your work forlonger than necessary, the fear that you might come back and see that he had found your work be damned. in fact, he would prefer that you came back in at that moment so he could tell you straight away what amazing work you’ve done.

he grabs your hand the next time you have alone time together. a smile graces his lips, casually brining up just how you really outdid yourself this time with your new piece. the flush that paints your cheeks is enough to make him spill his feelings right then and there.

Asmodeus can’t help but swoon

the curl of his bangs, the length of his nails, the flutter of his lashes — somehow you’ve managed to capture it all in your sculpture. he can’t even imagine how much time and effort (not to mention skill) this must have taken you, and he wants nothing more than to tell you just how fantastic of a job you’ve done!

it was entirely accidental that he had seen the sculpture, but then again it was hard to miss when it was just smack in the middle of your desk. with his curiosity piqued, asmo gives it a glance and immediately gasps upon seeing a beautifully constructed pose of him carved out in stone.

he doesn’t hide the fact that he saw your ‘little’ project at all. the next time you’re in your room he barges in with glee to smother you with appreciation, his confession spilling out the middle of it all. would you like to get a live look at all the features you couldn’t craft by memory? he’ll let you see those and more if you’re up for it.

Beelzebub thought you got it commissioned

unlike the rest of the brothers, he doesn’t come into your room often without permission, and unless you mention that you have a hobby in sculpting it doesn’t cross his mind at all that you’re the person who crafted it. it’s only when he sees the tools neatly tucked away in a corner does it really settle in that you’re the artist.

art isn’t something that has a place in beel’s heart, but even he can admire how much time you’ve put into this. there were days where you hadn’t shown up on time for breakfast and other times where you completely skipped dinner. He was worried about whether or not you were getting enough energy, but at least now he knew the reason behind it all.

his confession is purely accidental. he finds you the next day to tell you he hopes that now that you’re done with your sculpture that you’ll stop skipping meals. he likes you too much to see you possibly faint because of him. oh, and of course he appreciates that you care for him so much you would even sculpt him! it was really well done.

Belphegor thinks his eyes are deceiving him

he comes by your room practically every other day for a nap when the attic just isn’t doing it anymore, so how had he never noticed that you were making something like this?

his finger traces the grooves of the structure, admiring how there were no nicks or rough areas, all while trying to wrap his head around that fact that it was really him. it takes him a bit to remember you could come back any time now, so he makes himself comfortable on your bed as he always does.

when you do come back to your room a while later he invites you to cuddle like he hadn’t just walked in to the surprise you were planning to give him. that doesn’t matter though, if you want to sculpt him more after this he’s all the more willing to let you as long as you tell him why you picked him of all people. he thinks the look that crosses your face is adorable.

[suusoh]

I think a lot of people seem hesitant to write about Johan Liebert, believing there’s a need to portray him "accurately" or "seriously" or else don't write him at all.

This fear is completely valid and understandable of course; experiencing it myself. Most works in the "x reader" section tend to lean heavily toward psychological thriller and suspense, all crafted with such skill and depth with downright the most beautiful writing style ever. (can you tell I want to inject these fics right into my veins.)

I absolutely fucking LOVE these. Okay? let's establish that. I eat up these works every time, they clear my skin and water my crops.

What saddens me a bit is to think that starting out writers who read these fics, instead of getting inspired by such beautiful works, accidentally intimidate themselves out of writing for Johan because they think that is the standard of what a Johan fic should look like. I suspect many aspiring writers believe they need to meet certain "requirements" before they can write about Monster or Johan.

It's easy to think that you have to read countless analysis posts on monster, watch the series dozens of times, or have a good grasp in psychology and philosophy before you're allowed to write about him (guilty ✋️).

While it’s beneficial to understand a character well, I've noticed an underlying sense of "perfectionism" found within the fandom, creating this sort of cycle:

-> Look at the Johan/Monster tag: You see no "bad" or "inaccurate" fanfics—only well-written ones. -> Try to write for Johan: You feel your work will never match the quality or accuracy of what's already out there, so you hesitate to share it. -> Avoid uploading your fanfics: you think your work is "inaccurate," so you might as well not upload it. Someone might even bash you for it.

And then the loop begins at the top again. Breeding the idea that only meticulously researched, serious fics are worthy of uploading. I believe these amazing fics should be a source of inspiration to you to share your own stories instead of holding back. I doubt the authors of those fantastic pieces want anyone to feel intimidated. In fact, I'm sure that they, along with many readers, would likely LOVE to see a selection of variety and creativity in the fandom.

It's good to be cautious of your characterization, great even. It means you've at least put in the work right? But you shouldn't let the fear of making something "untrue" to Johan's character stop you entirely. It might help to look at certain fanfics as a way to guide you, but not to set strict laws on yourself. He’s meant to be an enigma, a puzzle to interpret in various ways. For example, one author might say he enjoys tea, while another might explain he prefers blue Gatorade in their story. The beauty of writing him lies in these interpretations!

( Also there are people on platforms like TikTok and YouTube using Johan as a mascot for the "sigma male manipulator". Writing Johan x reader going on a cute date as a little treat for himself with his newfound humanity is absolutely fair game at this point 💀 )

Numerous serious fandoms, like Sherlock, Hannibal, or Dexter, have their share of fluff and unserious fics that don’t delve deeply into character analysis. Yet they’re written, uploaded, and enjoyed by the community.

Fandom and fanfic writing should be a space and a chance for you to experiment and indulge in your creativity. That's what everyone is doing here, it's not a competition for "best writing". You shouldn't feel any pressure to write for anyone else but yourself and write what you wish to read. If anything, I'm pretty sure all the johan peeps are begging to have more people write, eating up any sort of writing like the dogs we are. woof woof bitchh!

You might think that your fanfic about Johan running away to join the circus is stupid, but somewhere out there is someone waiting to find and read a fic of Johan running away to join the circus.