#Im so happy with how my art is coming along | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

Text

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you.

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance.

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic.

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner.

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within.

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home.

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes.

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties.

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life.

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you.

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind.

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders.

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head.

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman.

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid.

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened.

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence.

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again.

How inspiring.

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home.

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?”

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather.

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect.

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly.

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.”

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man.

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road.

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward.

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same.

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness.

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.”

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire.

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…”

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin.

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.”

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most.

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again.

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard.

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.”

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue.

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good.

And you tell him.

“I want you to help me.”

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze.

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots.

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely.

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck.

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you.

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.”

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest.

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan.

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.”

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest.

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life.

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?”

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.”

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed.

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating.

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough.

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch.

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.”

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it.

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.”

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?”

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death.

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.”

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message.

Why does this feel better than if he gave in?

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?”

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.”

Fuck.

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness.

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans.

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible.

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you.

With words, this time.

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.”

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.”

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain.

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it.

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh.

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that.

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries.

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there.

And you would—had he not buckled you in place.

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody.

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you.

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him.

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.”

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts.

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?”

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers.

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning.

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.”

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level.

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way.

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing.

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder.

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.”

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible.

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again.

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.”

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether.

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone.

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.”

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by.

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.”

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length.

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal.

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.”

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?”

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.”

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?”

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now.

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.”

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date.

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him.

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum.

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand.

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight.

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago.

You’re so satisfied that you could cry.

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it.

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside.

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you.

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper.

“Swallow it, baby.”

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after.

“Good girl.”

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.”

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?”

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed.

“You do, baby.”

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once.

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray.

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit.

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy.

He’s Father.

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands.

Your heart quickens, abnormally.

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil.

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum.

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering.

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with.

Sunny side up it is.

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it.

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs.

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?”

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten.

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him.

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it.

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away.

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon.

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems.

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers.

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees.

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month.

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days.

You’re not letting go of him.

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner.

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck.

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around.

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest.

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him.

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them.

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again.

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?”

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him.

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay.

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry.

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it.

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue.

And you do.

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper.

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso.

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before.

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?”

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand.

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?”

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.”

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro.

“Put it in my ass, then.”

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly.

“What?”

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?”

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is.

It’s what propels you to get on your knees.

“Baby.”

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder.

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.”

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat.

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?”

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time.

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

“Down the hall. First door to the right.”

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is.

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own.

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling.

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before.

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too.

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face.

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.”

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves.

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face.

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?”

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t.

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura.

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking.

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.”

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond.

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.”

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore.

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back.

You come and you don’t stop.

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer.

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God.

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.”

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders.

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.”

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises.

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?”

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.”

A hum. “Oh, yeah?”

There he fucking goes again.

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.”

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say.

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing.

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do.

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in.

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way.

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed.

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.”

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.”

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you.

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him.

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do.

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out.

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake.

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created.

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again.

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet.

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?”

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him.

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.”

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat.

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?”

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him.

“Say them again.”

You speed up your movement.

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.”

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations.

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.”

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?”

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently.

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?”

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle.

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek.

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves.

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.”

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk.

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?”

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins.

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.”

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane.

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do.

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes.

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

#hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective

484 notes · View notes

starrluvs · 1 year ago

Note

the facesitting drabbles, ughhhhhh could you possibly do one with johnny cage & kenshi too?? doing gods work fr <3

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 + 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

cw: afab reader, oral (fem receiving), facesitting, established relationship, mentions of kenshi's tower ending

wc: 749

a/n: omg my second anon request! yall are already making me so happy, and i hope i delivered properly! and i wasn't expecting these facesitting drabbles to get so much attention, but tysm!! also my asks are still open, so feel free to request something! im in desperate need of ideas 😭

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄

johnny was always adventurous when it came to trying new things in the bedroom. but when he asked you to sit on his face, you weren't too fond of the idea… what if you accidentally ended up hurting him? with a bit of (classic johnny cage) sweet talk, you reluctantly agreed.

and you were very fortunate for giving in to him eventually because you felt as if you were on cloud nine. johnny always had a pleasure for pleasing partners, so he’s gone down on you multiple times before… but the feeling of literally having your pussy all over his face like this was certainly something transcendent.

all your worries were washed away as he worked his tongue inside of you, desperately trying to reach in as far as he could. johnny’s actions made your eyes roll back in pleasure as you let out a string of moans along with his name.

the actor chuckles underneath you and decides to change things up, relishing in all the reactions you offered him. his big hands secured a strong grip on your hips as he helped you ride his face at a steady pace.

you feel your clit occasionally bump on his nose, followed by the flat surface of his tongue collecting all your juices as he helps you rock back and forth above him. the feeling of him stimulating your core started to become overwhelming as that familiar coil starts to bubble up inside of you.

you grab johnny’s hair and an incoherent warning escapes your lips, trying to tell him you were close– but it proved to be useless as he felt your thighs spasming around his head. the actor grins as he looks up at you and lets you ride out your high with his tongue.

he could tell you finally washed away that worry of ‘hurting’ him once you looked down at him with lust filled eyes– your lips slightly parted as you were catching your breath. his well kept brown hair was now a disheveled mess and your slick was smudged all over his face.

your beloved hollywood star looked like a work of art.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈

gaining his new occupation with the outworld investigation agency meant kenshi became a very busy man. he knew how much time he’d have to put into this and he knew he couldn't always be there to coddle you. however, when he did get the time to make up for his absence, he knew how to properly deliver.

his apology this time around resulted in you sitting on top of the ex-yakuza’s face with his tattooed hands roaming all over your breasts, hips, thighs, ass, everything– all while his tongue licked fat stripes up your pussy.

your thighs felt like cushions around his head, and the warmness of it made him feel like he wouldn’t mind taking a load off from work and staying trapped beneath you forever. his tongue was warm and his occasional strikes against your clit were sharp and steady, making your head spin.

trying to hold back your moans, you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, causing all your sounds to come out muffled. much to the swordsman's displeasure, he bites your inner thigh and makes you yelp. knowing better than to test him, you whine and remove the back of your hand, allowing your noises to come out freely.

despite kenshi still being able to see in his own way with the guidance of sento and his ancestors, he had learned to deeply appreciate his sense of sound (and taste, in this position) ever since he was blinded. the ex-yakuza relished in your sounds much more than he used to before the events that transpired in outworld.

muttering out an apology to him, kenshi smirks and dives back into your heat. his hands rest on your ass as he squeezes it and ushers you to grind harder on his face. you don't disappoint– grinding messily over his mouth while he attempts to catch it all with his tongue had you moaning in delight.

you missed this, you missed him– the feeling of his tongue hitting angles inside of you that nobody else could. the feeling of his hands gripping at your flesh, urging you to chase your high. hell– even the feeling on his stubble scratching against the inside of your thighs and your puffy lips down there…

and fortunately for you, kenshi had no intentions of letting you rest tonight.

#johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #johnny cage x reader #kenshi takahashi x reader #johnny cage smut #kenshi takahashi smut #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut

1K notes · View notes

choccy-milky · 7 months ago

Note

Random but when you post something I always get excited thinking it's a new chapter 😭 I'm literally waiting by my phone for it

BAHAH IM SORRY ANONS ITS COMING SOON I SWEAR!! but im glad ur looking forward to it!! my damn outline ALONE is 21k words (tho im really happy with it and im excited for yall to read it) and although i still have to finish it + the drawing, HERES PART OF THE WIP IN THE MEANTIME🥹💖(also anon, who cares if u think youre terrible at art... DRAW ANYWAY!!!😤& ILY TOO💖 )

im definitely gonna write them as adults, and have ideas for some side stories i wanna do!!! the one i mentioned in the wattpad comment would be in writing, because i wanna write about seb and clora finally deciding to have their first kid (along with the process😏😏😏😏) and how sebs breeding kink ass will react to doing the devils tango with clora when its ACTUALLY gonna make a baby LMAO. plus how his overprotective ass will act when he finds out clora is LEGIT pregnant while theyre travelling/on the JOB, rather than just a pregnancy scare like last time BAHA. so yes, overly excited seb will defs be a thing in the future LOL. (though there are things i am just gonna keep in comic form, like their kids and stuff, bc i dont rly have ideas for any sort of epilogue with that. so if ppl wanna know about seb and cloras kids, they can just look at my art once i finally draw and post them ^^)

IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS TOO and the hairclip would defs be different!! i just havent decided what it would be.... (bro's about go buy her something bedazzled from ardene or claire's or some shit 💀💀LMAO) as for the mascots, the snake for seb would defs still apply bc ive decided its their mascot for the school football team. but for clora no, i dont think bird/raven imagery would be a thing......tho maybe the school mascots can be the snakes AND ravens LMFAO. and then i can have seb look directly into the camera and say "well, clora, looks like we really are The Raven and the Snake."

@4ever2000lover BAHAHA YOULL SEE YOUR NIECE AND NEPHEW SOON I SWEAR!!! i have the sketches but i plan to finish them + post them once im done the last chap of my fic. but they ARE coming, i promise👀👀(and im rly excited for everyone to see their daughter and her name, bc im so proud of it LMAO. i used up my entire big brain quota for the year on it +the reasoning behind it🧠)

also @blue-space-dragon TYSM IM GLAD U LIKE MY ART AND HOW I DRAW MY BLORBOS🥹💖AND ALSO THAT U FIND IT APPETIZING LMAO😋💖

#ask #hoping to have the new chap out by like the 15th!! but we'll see #also that second anon cracks me up bc its like they were waiting for it to be an exact month before they sent that anon #im pretty sure it was the exact day or the day after LMAO #i respect it

242 notes · View notes

meraki-sunset · 15 days ago

Note

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

#writing advice #csau extra

141 notes · View notes

pipi-un-kaki-in-pipi-land · 2 years ago

Note

your works are jaw dropping broOOO. gorgeous. a work of art. you SLAY at writing hcs i love it so much i really hope you can write more <33

demon slayer povs: the hashiras tending to your wounds

this comment really motivated me to write more of this TYSM ANON ily

wc: 1.1k>

Giyu

he’d probably complete the whole procedure silently, as he’s scared you’d waste your energy talking to him

you saw him carefully unwrapping the bandages and painstakingly wrapping it around your arm as you slightly winced at the pain

‘oh-, y/n, you okay? sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,”

you reassured him with a small nod as he gently continued to wrap the bandage, placing a kiss on it once he was done

“thanks hun,” you smiled weakly at him

“get well soon, darling,” he said before he got up to fetch some water

Iguro

just like giyu, he’d do it with silent treatment though you’d hear kaburamaru’s quiet hisses along the way

throughout the bandaging, he momentarily stopped as it reminded himself of the time where he had to bandage his own mouth to hide his traumatic scars

“darling, you okay?” you asked, worried at the sudden slight widening of his eyes

“oh, its nothing,” he shrugged it off, but you sensed that it had something to do with the bandage on his mouth

while he was calmly wrapping the wound on your leg, you leaned down and placed a heartfelt kiss on his forehead

“you're beautiful just the way you are,” you said as he glanced up at you

his eyes crinkled slightly; you knew that put a smile on his face

Mitsuri

she’d probably tend to your wounds the loudest way possible, constantly asking if you were okay

“oh dear, y/n, this looks terrible,” a pouty frown emerged on her face as she cleansed your wounds with cotton pads. “you okay??”

“im fine, honey, don’t worry too much,” you replied with a smile as you admiringly watched her bandage up the injuries on your knee

“alrighty! i hope this makes you feel better, darling. i put some ointment that kocho offered,” she smiled cheerfully, as she gave you a gentle headpat

“thanks ‘suri, youre the best,” you returned her smile with an even happier one from you

Muichiro

would be quiet too but would occasionally check up on you

he’d go like “oh, does this hurt?” or “you feeling okay?”

you were technically the only person he could express his true behavior to

he’d be experienced in this kind of stuff since he had to take care of his mom when she was sick

the thought of his sick mom made him want to protect you even more. he’d already lost his family, he couldn’t afford to lose you too

he’d treat the wound as meticulously as possible to prevent it from worsening

“thank you, mui. you don't know how much i treasure you,” you warmly smiled at him

though he didn’t say anything back, you knew his smile was all you needed to see.

Kyojuro

tbh i feel like he’ll just treat you like how he treated tanjiro when he got stabbed during the mugen train arc

“kyo, it huuurts,” you whined, hoping that he’ll do something instead of keep asking you to control your breathing

“okay okay, i’ll go fetch the med kit. make sure to control your breathing to stop the blood from coming out!” he darted to the other end of the house to get the necessities, his voice still loud as ever

when he got back, he tended to your lacerations as gently as possible, doing all of it with a proud smile on his face

“why the long face, y/n?” he noticed that your usual happy aura had dissipated all of a sudden

“i- i just hate being weak. i hate that you have to get distracted by your missions just to tend to my injuries,” you pouted, biting your lip

“my love, its part & parcel of your journey to make mistakes. as you continue on, you’ll find that these obstacles are nothing compared to what you’re actually facing. so, heads up, and look brightly into your future, okay?” he cheered you on while giving you a soft pat on the shoulder

“thank you, kyo.” you gratefully smiled as you dozed the rest of the evening off

Sanemi

he definitely wasn’t the best at playing it gentle

“ouuuch, nemi, be gentler please,” you winced as he placed a bandaid on your collarbone

“bold of you to say, y/n. somehow you don’t act like this when we’re making out,” he sneered, as he discarded the cotton wools in the trash

you were left speechless as an obvious blush sprawled across your face. only your boyfriend could make you like that, and you loved him for it

“yeah that’s right hun. now be a good toy and rest till i come back,” he taunted, though you swore you heard him mutter “get well soon darling” before he uttered those words

Tengen

he most likely cleans injuries with flamboyance no matter how bad it was

definitely has custom bandages embroidered with random stuff just for you

you saw him putting on gloves and stuff although your wound was really mild

“tengen- babe, there’s no need for all this,” you sighed in embarrassment; your boyfriend would go out of his ways just to treat a mild scratch

“nuh uh, i aint letting you pass with this wound. it could be infected, who knows?” he cocked his eyebrow as he placed a not-so-modest looking bandage on your wound

“aight, i really hope that helps, darling! want me to bring you some munchies?” he chuckled as he packed back up the amenities

“there’s really no need for that, babe. you’ve done more than enough,” you smiled, softly caressing his cheek

obviously he couldn’t care less about your response as he brought you snacks and then cuddled the night away

Shinobu

DEFINITELY would come up with an antidote just to cure your injury

“darling, we need you back on the ground as soon as possible. all your mentees are worried for you, and i can't bear seeing you in a state like this, okay?”

in this case, your injuries were quite bad and she had to put you on an iv drip

after she was done tending to your wounds, she placed a soft kiss on your cheek

“get well soon, honey,” she smiled as she rubbed her thumb on your fingers

“thank you, love. i’ll definitely recover fast thanks to you,” you chuckled weakly, squeezing her hand and never letting go

1K notes · View notes

botboots · 1 year ago

Note

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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

Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :]

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

#NO LONGER DEAD!!#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers fanfiction #tf x reader #optimus prime x reader #ratchet x reader #bulkhead x reader #bumblebee x reader #arcee x reader #tfp x reader #transformers x human reader #tfp ratchet x reader #tfp optimus x reader

1K notes · View notes

swordsmans · 7 days ago

Note

your fics makes me want to kill myself!!!! 🫶🫶🫶

hi genuinely thank you for reading—i’m very grateful—and i’m sorry to use your message as an example but i’ve been sitting on this for a minute because it’s very succinct so it’s the easiest way to say this—

please stop sending me anon messages or leaving fic comments like this. i know im an “angst with a happy ending” type of writer so at a certain point im basically asking for it, but these type of comments are some of the worst to receive and ive gotten so many (along with “this fic ruined my life!!” and “i hate you!!!<3333 what the fuck” and “im sobbing pay for my emotional damages 😭😭” type asks, dms, and comments) over the last two years across all of my fics with a big burst recently that it’s just. it’s not fun, it’s never been fun but it’s especially not fun anymore. it was a pretty rough year and it does not make me happy to think that art i’ve spent months at a time working on is actively hurting people, even if it’s meant as a compliment. i recognize this is a sensitive response especially after i’ve done my best to laugh and brush these things off “publicly” (idk how else to word that) or just quietly delete these, but i dunno, maybe its after midnight and im jet-lagged or maybe im just not especially thick-skinned anymore.

thank you to everyone who has been very kind and effusive since my return to fanfic—truly, you are the beloved majority and you’ve made the last two years a gift and a miracle—but i’ll be finishing up a couple of projects throughout the spring so i can close the book (heh) on my wips and then focusing on, idk, touching grass for the foreseeable future. maybe it’ll be a few months or years again, maybe i’ll post things on anon for a while or just write for friends, maybe i’ll pivot entirely and write kindle unlimited hockey dark mafia dinosaur erotica novellas. i don’t know. i love writing, and i want to write in a way that builds connections with people by exploring deep emotional catharsis etc etc etc, but it’s very hard to feel like it’s worthwhile when the more stories i post, the more comments like this come around.

#answers #i’m not deleting anything but 2024 was simply too much. the vocal minority feels so much louder when you are so so tired #promised projects and zines will be completed GLADLY and with love #because it’s not writing that’s hard it’s the response #and i know those are wanted #but after that i do nawt know #i might also delete this message in the cold light of tomorrow morning when i’m less exhausted #it feels a bit harsh but i have cried to people privately about this and i don’t want writing to become a joyless thing for me #and right now while writing is still fun the act of posting is utterly miserable

106 notes · View notes

sos717 · 4 months ago

Note

i guess you don’t answer anymore but i’m hoping you at least read this because it’s genuine and i feel like i have nowhere else to post this. i just want someone to hear me. ignore this if it’s too long. i want to thank you for your posts. they are the only writings that have truly resonated with me ever since i discovered the law, neville, states, being, whatever we call this thing. but i’ll be honest i’m giving up today. i discovered the ‘law of attraction’ in 2019 when i was 18 years old. it is now getting to the last quarter of 2024 and i am 23 where i’ve evolved in understanding to where i found ‘nondualism’. i went from law of attraction -> law of assumption & neville goddard -> robotic affirming -> mindset fixing & joe dispensa -> states & edward art -> nondualism. however… i have never manifested a single thing in my life. i used to be filled with anxiety when i said this. fearing these words would cause it to keep going on but i don’t even want to fear anymore. it’s just the truth. your posts taught me that i don’t have to fear my words anymore anyways. i’ve had a dream for a long time. i don’t believe i will ever reach this dream anymore. along with that dream i also just really wanted good for my family and i. you know the basics like financial freedom, happiness, mended relationships. but throughout everything i’ve learned i could never make it work and i’m just done. i guess i will return to living a normal life and just hoping i make it. i hope i find happiness or just.. anything. i’m just letting go of it all because i feel like things shouldn’t be this hard. even going to caleb’s channel and watching his recent ‘your manifestation isn’t taking long, you are’ video…. i’m just… exhausted. i just dont know how to do this and i don’t think i can take life anymore anyways. but yeah i just wanted to say thank you. even though i could never find success, you taught me who I Am. and i’ll forever be grateful for your wisdom even though you’re a bit younger than me. i hope you find continued success and live a happy life. sincerely

THIS IS JUST THE FIRST PART TO THE HUGE POST, PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME

After what felt like months away from tumblr I really dove into self-inquiry fully, and of course still am, and I promised you guys a mega post so here’s the initial information so far. There is more to come.

IM SORRY IF THERE ARE ERRORS IN GRAMMAR OR SMTH I WROTE THIS AT MANY DIFFERENT MOMENTS THROUGHOUT THE DAY!! FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS, ETC BUT PLS DONT ASK BY RESPONDING TO THIS POST, ITLL CAUSE SO MUCH SPAM ON THE FEED AND MY ASKS PAGE

Hello! Yes I have started looking back into my inbox (THERE ALLOT OF ASKS 😭😭🫶) but I absolutely plan on answering as many as possible, and because your post resonated with how I used to feel, I want to answer yours first.

So to begin with, It makes me so happy to know that what I’ve written has some kind of affect (that being positive). I can’t remember if I told you guys how old I was but I must have cus you seem to know 😭😭, yes I’m 19 we’re very close in age, this moment in life is when allot of us who figure out this stuff lean into it more because we realize how much of a leg up we have if we just “apply” the teachings this early on.

So first what I want to say to you is, no, your not giving up on a dream and neither are you going to live a normal life, I’ll make sure of that, this beautiful world that we step into gives us so much insight on what we inherently are. But I need to remind you and everyone else, this is not some big secret that has to be practiced, it’s a look at what we are and always will be. You have purpose and you deserve to be happy and enjoy a life that’s easy and fulfilling. I apologize in advance because this is going to be a pretty long post!! 🫶🫶

Let’s get rid of the labels and titles we’ve given these understandings as if they are for someone to learn and master. No one masters manifestation, no one will ever master manifestation and I truly don’t care for how many “success stories” they have, it doesn’t hold proving value of what they are (notice how I didn’t say who), we are not who’s, but that’s for later in the post.

The reason I’ve stepped away from the concept of manifesting is because it is inherently lack and separation based. No matter the teaching, they all seem to glorify the idea of getting and achieving which puts great pressure on success stories and all that rubbish. (Not me turning British) 😝😝, okay sorry, so yeah this also goes for nondualism, I don’t associate a title with what I learn, it’s not NonDualism it’s actually just self discovery in disguise of a teaching. But for this exact reason I don’t think to myself “I need to learn NonDualism better”, nononooooo I made this mistake wayyy to much due to the sole fact that I came in with the expectation that this would now teach me the secrets of manifesting. This is kind of the set up to more desire and lack, which is actually the opposite of the self-realization “journey”.

So, when you say you have never manifested anything in your life, I say this with incredible pleasure, that this is impossible, I know I know, before you start thinking to yourself that youve heard this before but I don’t think people go that in depth as to what that even means. So, your life and your problems, are not actually problems.

Self-realization is not the journey for the person to become consciousness, but to understand that you ARE consciousness to begin with. You does no reference a someone, but “ “.

This is going to be, quite a post so PLEASE hang in there. And I just want to add in, this is still not a seperate being trying to understand that it’s connected to conciousness, no, you as conciousness, infinite knowing, are so involved with the content that you appear as, you’ve tricked yourself into thinking that you are just 1 thing of the content. Let me use my first example.

We have given ourselves the greatest interpretation and key to knowing ourself, and that’s dreaming.

Every night, we sleep, HOORRAAYYYY, now let’s get into the details because this is where the magic happens and it clicks.

Take the moment before a dream appears, recognize that when the eyes are closed there’s this presence. Not the darkness, the presence. Something, but not a thing.

Stay here and forget the rest of the world exists for a moment. Now there is only this presence, it’s knowing, it’s being right? Now there’s no actual material but regardless, it is, something. This isn’t something out of this world it’s literally, you. From this, knowing or no-thingness, comes expressions, absolutely infinite potential, this is registered as a dream, but, before the dream in any way can be experienced, there always has to be some type of interpreter/lens, this comes in the form a person or better yet, senses. Of course, there’s nothing to the senses or the person but whatever it’s formulated from, which was that presence/knowing. The activity of this infinite potential that is the knowing, (you asleep) appears, only with the help of a pov/sight.

Nonetheless, it plays out, it plays stories of absolutely anything, for no reason at all, and as it does, we get lost to it, it starts to become real, and without even realizing it, it’s no longer a dream but something we’re experiencing, now you are the character in the dream and you naturally play out the dialogue and storyline and explore the fields, magic towers, and laugh and dance and make friends, and then you wake up.

When you wake up, you recognize “oh, nothing was actually happening”, now of course, when your the person in the dream it is very real, but even then, is it? Knowing what you know, there wasn’t actually a place with dialogue, no character of its own experience or life, no actual forests or fields and magic, no one actually laughing and dancing or friends, but simply the appearance of that. The illusion.

And it’s not that it’s only a formulation of you when you realize it is, but it always is, the dream doesn’t only become an illusion or “fake” when you wake up, it’s naturally just fake, REGARDLESS of how it seems to be. And regardless we sleep every night knowing that we’ll forget it’s a dream.

So I think you can see where I’m headed with this, I’m going to use the example Rupert Spira uses but twist it a bit.

You go to sleep in Australia and dream yourself in the streets of Paris, and you take on the identity of John, you don’t actually become John and experience the streets of Paris.

Now, John drinks coffee and he feels the sunlight warm his skin, sees the greenery, feels the wind, all of it. But despite the way it all seems the sunlight, the sensations that John has, is not actually real, and neither is John. John isn’t actually feeling anything, he doesn’t exist and there is no Paris being traveled. And it’s not John that realizes/awakens to the understanding that he’s fake and this is all a dream, it’s you, asleep in Australia that realizes it as you modulate/formulate as the streets of Paris, the coffee, and the greenery, and John, understand?

The activity of that presence, if you recall when we talked about closing your eyes, formulated as something that seemed so real, and that doesn’t give any reality to the dream itself, because there is no separating the knowing from the content known. Without the “space” for it to appear or form from, how on earth would there be the content? A bigger step forward is to realize that there isn’t even an actual dream occurring but it’s all the self knowing presence of, well, knowing. I want to add something very important before moving on.

Knowing does not happen for the purpose of pleasure, we naturally deconstruct false ideas like this as we go, but something you MUST understand about the nature of existence is, none of this is appearing for the purpose of ant experience, there isn’t actually an experience. No one is enjoying nor hating the illusion, it is simply an appearance.

In the same way that the aware/presence before the dream appears from it simply is, in this way, we are. It’s like saying the TV screen plays a movie and experiences it, or does it for the purpose of experience, no that’s silly, knowing has no inherent motive, it is, you (infinite knowing) don’t “happen” for a purpose, never mind happen at all, you are, and in this do you take form of something, your self aware nature of course knows the content of your own being, but that doesn’t mean the illusion can enjoy itself, or that you enjoy or experience the illusion, it’s just a plain appearance, and that’s it.

For example, when you close your eyes on this next demonstration, truly try to grasp the essence of what I’m trying to explain.

Bring from the nothingness/knowing when you close your eyes, a blue vase, know it in every aspect you can, incorporate every sense you can (even taste if your a little freaky 🫦🫦😭) and make it as present as possible. After you open your eyes I have a question for you. (I’m serious, do the damn practice it’ll help you) please take as much time you need to truly get in there (not too long I can’t wait all day)

okay hey, your back, now answer me this, from what did this immersive appearance take reality from? You and I know that there’s no actual vase despite its presence, no matter the vibrant or dull colors, no matter the feel, rough or glossy, its taste 🫦😭, its feel, etc. So what was the substance that formulated this? If you guessed knowing, your soooooo correct, if you didn’t it’s okay you get brownie points 🫶. But yes, now I need you to understand this verrrry clearly, the vase was not real!!!! Yet it appeared that way! This is AN ILLUSION SURPIRISISIEIEIEIEIEIEISISBWHH- yes. No matter how much you want to convince yourself and go back to the vase and its appearance and its feel or colors or any aspect of it, it wasn’t ACTUALLY happening and that means it didn’t take place for anyone or anywhere!!! All there was present was knowing, from knowing forms vase and every seemingly alternate way that it is known, feeling is a form of knowing, literally every sense is just a form of knowing. Every sense that was “used” to understand the vase was all just aspects and appearances of knowing, the color, the sounds, the taste, the feels, they didn’t formulate anywhere else, but nonetheless appeared as immersive and real because YOU BECAME FOCUSED ON THE CONTENT OF THE APPEARANCE RATHER THAN RECOGNIZE THAT IT WAS JUST APPEARANCE. And even though the content of the appearance you formed as became the focus, it still didn’t change the objective fact that there wasn’t someone actually there and experiencing it in any way.

The knowing in/on which appearances formulate is not something different than the appearance, there is nothing to the illusion but its reality, and its reality is knowing. In this way, the illusion couldn’t even be described as something real or taking place, as if it could exist apart from the source of it.

Knowing this is also knowing there is no such thing as the knowing OF, we never know of things or of experiences as if they are something seperate and exist seperatley from knowing itself, that’s literally impossible. Moving forward

You are not the person/character, and it’s not that you are a limited being and you have to wake up to the idea that you are infinite knowing, you have to realize that you were never something seperate, and that this is simply the modulation of your being, and it’s not a someone it’s more of a something.

Let’s starts stabilizing this.

To all of the experiences across centuries, theres one constant amongst the billions of people who’ve lived and are now and that is, I Am. We might not know for certain about anything else ever in this entire universe, and we might not even know who or what we are but for a fact we can say, yes, I am.

There’s no true word that can describe the infinite essence of being, so we use knowing or conciousness or god, all completely the same.

So, to every experience, without an ounce of doubt, there can be the claim, I am. This is knowing, and only from knowing comes the statement, because we must know we are in order to claim that we are. I think something that can capture this is a newborn, imagine yourself to be newly born, mere seconds I mean, eyes closed. You have no understand of anything, no thoughts, no memories, no identity, your pure experience is simply being/knowing, and I don’t mean the action of knowing, that’s not a real thing. Knowing is inherent, you don’t force it.

Going back to experiences. Any experience that is recognized, any seeing, and hearing, tasting touching, and of course feeling, is assumed to be the experience of the body and this is therefore falsely established as “me”, in doing so, we forget our true nature of freedom and limit our understanding and abilities to the limitations of the body.

I’m now going to help you realize the body is an interpreter, and not of a world that’s happening somewhere in time and space, but that the world is the interpretation/modulation/illusion/dream/appearance of our shared infinite being, AFTER being recognized through the interpretations, (sensations and perceptions). This also means that it’s in no way an actual measurement to what you fully are.

What experience is there to seeing? Better yet let me narrow it down, there is nothing to seeing as if there is someone doing the seeing. Seeing simply is. There’s no one to do it, just what is. There is sight, how is there an acknowledgment of the sight/seeing? There must be something to it that gives the understanding “oh I’m seeing this”. (Hint, it’s the same thing that let you know, that “I Am”). Knowing, yes, not knowing as an action, that’s not real, people don’t know, knowing is the essence of what we are (we are not people). But just wait for that. So all there is to sight is knowing, and I don’t think I have to do this but you can say the same about absolutely every other sense, because every single “experience” absolutely requires knowing. Without knowing, “experience” never is, I think we can all acknowledge that.

There is no such thing as the experience of being a human, Why are we deciding that this is what’s it’s like to be humans, we know humans we acknowledge humans but there is no such thing as being a human, in the same way that there’s no true way that there is something to being a fox or a bird or a rock, it’s only with labels are these ideas decided.

The only thing you’ll be able to muster up is memories, emotions, etc, but that doesn’t make it the inherent experience of being a human. Our first and only experience of what we are is knowing, and then knowing that we are, that’s it. In the same way that a babies first experience is not “I am a baby” or “I am a human”, rather it’s just knowing. If being human was our nature, that’s all we’d recognize, and from the very beginning. Our experience does not actually change from being/knowing, we simply forget that there is the knowing, and decide to focus on the body to be “me” or “human”.

You don’t need senses to know you are. Knowing is something unimaginable. Go ahead and try to find it by closing your eyes or even with them open. Can you grab or touch the knowing. Can you recognize its dimensions or what its appearance is? How old or young is it?

Do me a favor and find the edge where knowing starts and stops.

Let me know when you find it because you never will.

Even when you try, it’s only conciousness itself that searches for its own parameters.

By recognizing that your truly not the body, or this person you as knowing have pretended to become, the made up problems of the person disappear, well actually, you realize that there is no person that has problems, only an idea. Only the idea that I am someone and something is happening to me, I am something seperate and need saving. There isn’t actually a seperate self, the seperate self is the activity that you as knowing are, when you become involved with the content and forget your true nature. And what’s truly the main takeaway from this is that, even when it seems like you’ve lost it and now you have to restart and understand it all over again, you as knowing haven’t gone anywhere, your the one pretending to be something lost, and not on purpose, but because you involve yourself too heavily in the appearances without recognizing where they originate from.

From what we know so far, I hope in some way you’re able to recognize that there is no one doing manifestations and having success stories. You ARE the manifestation and it will NEVER be any other way, whether we recognize it or not, that’s the beauty. So no matter if we go on about this appearance of life and say we don’t get it and move on, you as conciousness will continue to play the roles, because there is no off switch to this.

I’m hope this has been able to start untying the blinds over your “eyes” and you’re starting to somewhat understand the truth of what you/we are. This is only the beginning and it’s only going to get more incredible and beautiful from here. But for now I’m shleeepy hehehe, I’ll talk to you soon, never ever give up on your dreams!!!! 🫶❤️❤️

#blommp717 #nonduality #manifestation #manifest #non dualism #nondualism #advaita vedanta #master manifestor #law of assumption #law of attraction

112 notes · View notes

dovveri · 9 months ago

Text

tattoos and bad behaviour

synopsis: momo has been hiding her new tattoo from you and she’s finally back for you to see it.

warnings: strap-ons, vibrators, sexting, degradation, slight public sex, y/n is tied up and gagged, edging, they’re switches your honour! (but also dom!momo)

w/c: 5.7k

a/n: first this first that first smut :P been obsessed w lower stomach tattoos lately theyre so fucking hot its like my version of a happy trail on a woman 🤤

｡･:*˚:✧｡

your girlfriend momo was keeping her new tattoo a secret from you. she got it while she was overseas and everytime you asked her for a picture or for her to show you while you were video-calling, she refused and you were left imagining.

not today though. she was finally coming back from her month long work trip and you were determined to see the new piece of art etched onto your lover’s skin.

unfortunately you weren't able to greet her at the airport because she had a work meeting right upon arrival so you had to resort to waiting for nightfall, before all your mutual friends would head to the club for a reunion.

you slip on a short red dress that highlighted your ass and left little to imagination. you were midway through drawing your eyeliner when she texted,

m ♡ : baby what r u wearing tn?

y/n : why do u wanna know 😠

m ♡ : ur not still mad at me r u? :(

y/n : what do u think.

m ♡ : can u stop answering my questions with questions pls, i’ll show u tn baby 🥺

you scoff.

y/n : yeah along with everyone else. whys it so secret anyway? yk i love you no matter what if thats what ur afraid of

m ♡ : its not that baby ik u do and ily too 🩷 you’ll understand when u see it why i couldn’t show u

y/n : wtf is that supposed to mean 😠 wtv, u can see what im wearing when u see me later tn

you put your phone down in faux annoyance, letting her messages come through but not bothering to read them while you continue applying your makeup. you weren’t actually annoyed with her, maybe a little hurt that whatever she’s hiding her other friends had already seen on her business trip, and if it really was something she was ashamed of or regretted getting, which was totally understandable you’ve had your fair share of bad drunk decisions, you thought she knew you enough to trust you with these things.

ugh whatever. you weren’t trying to soil your night with something so small. you were also excited to see momo again after a whole month of being apart, so ready for her to pick you up and slam you against a wall with her lips against your neck whispering how much she missed you during her trip. god okay maybe you were a little horny too but who wouldn’t be after being completely untouched by their partner for a whole month. you rub your thighs together.

maybe you could put on an extra little something for momo. only to get back at her a little. show her you could play this game too. tease something she could only know, but not be able to do anything about.

you hum as you go towards your closet, searching for what you were looking for.

you smirked slightly as your fingers grasped the small bullet vibrator, grabbing its corresponding remote. you head back towards the bed, spreading your legs, finding yourself plenty wet already with thoughts about how hot momo would look desperate and thrusting fingers into you at an unbelievable pace.

you bite your lip at the thought, tracing the small vibrator along your outer lips, coating it in your essence, letting it catch at your clit and moving it back down towards your entrance before repeating.

you quickly grab your phone and snap a picture of the vibrator covered in your slick, sending it to your girlfriend.

y/n : sent a picture.

y/n : what im wearing tn

m ♡ : what the fuck y/n. im at work

y/n : you asked me what i was gonna wear 🤷‍♀️

you grin while waiting for her reply, knowing she was probably flustered with that adorable flush across her cheeks. you slip the vibrator inside yourself, clenching around it wishing so badly it was momo’s fingers or strap inside you instead.

m ♡ : you fucking knew what i meant y/n. you better not be touching urself rn. ur mine to ruin tonight.

you whimper slightly as you start tracing circles over your clit with the vibrator still off inside you.

y/n : so what if i am? u can’t do anything about it

m ♡ : you fucking brat u don’t wanna play this game with me rn.

y/n : oh but sweetie you started it. im just playing my move. maybe u shoulda given me what i wanted when i asked politely. now ur gonna have to spend the entire night knowing there’s a vibe going off inside of me while we’re with all of our friends.

you snap another picture, spreading your lips open with your fingers to show the vibrator inside you.

y/n : sent a picture.

you don’t bother waiting for her reply, hoisting yourself up and getting ready to go. you thought it’d be best not to get yourself off just yet, leave yourself nice and wet for her for when she’d eventually tear your clothes off.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

bass pounding, sweaty bodies grinding against each other, and flashing lights. all that was missing was momo. all your friends had arrived already, momo’s coworker saying she was kept behind a little late and would be here as soon as she could.

as much as you wanted to tease her you were also worried that she was taking so long. you were about to grab your phone and call her when she finally walks in.

and holy fuck.

hips swaying in low rise jeans that hugged her legs in the most delectable way. tits hidden in a hardly modest top that covered her belly button in a v shape and left her ab lines out in proud display. but most importantly… the fresh tattoo that adorned her lower stomach. if tramp stamps were hot this… this was a whole other level.

suddenly the vibrator in you that was at the lowest setting felt like nothing. you needed her pounding into you right fucking now.

she spots you and smirks, knowing exactly what you were thinking. god you missed her, your drenched state was proof of that enough.

she stalks towards you, your eyes never leaving those dangerous hips as they sway from side to side with each step.

you play it cool, leaning back against the bar, but feeling yourself clench at the sight.

“hey baby.” her voice is deep and raspy, fuck you’ve missed it. she closes in on you, placing her arms on both sides of you on the bar, trapping you in.

your fingers can’t help but grab her hips desperately, gripping hard. “so this is what you’ve been hiding from me.”

she leans in closer, speaking with that sexy husk of hers into your ear, “i knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me if i’d shown it to you earlier. you’d probably book a flight just to see me knowing how impulsive you are.” she tuts, “bet you wanna get down on your knees right now and get me off with your tongue. trace the tatt and make it yours. you don’t care that all our friends and the entire club would see. you’d like it actually, wouldn’t you? little slut, want the entire world to know how good you are with that mouth huh?”

you’re not given a second to respond as she pushes a thigh between your legs unceremoniously and you gasp at the sudden friction, whimpering into her ear.

“that good huh? how long have you been fucking yourself here for anyone to see? how many times have you cum?”

you can barely get out, “n-none, fuck momo i need you please- ” your eyes close, burying your head into her neck, humping against her thigh to give yourself any friction at all.

“so you’re a brat and a liar now huh? think you can get yourself off on my thigh right now?” she rips away from you suddenly leaving you gasping for breath, hands trailing after her hips, “gotta meet the rest of the gang baby.” she’s sporting a devilish look on her face as she grabs your hand and pulls you along, “this is a reunion after all.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

momo is positively evil. she’s spent the entire night showing off her new tattoo, her outfit alone highlighted exactly what she wanted, and anyone who looked at her would follow the lines of her clothes and body down to where only you were supposed to have access to.

she also makes a point of teasing you to no end. grabbing your ass, pulling you down into her lap when you’re all seated and grinding you down into her thigh. you almost came then and there but she pushes you off of her at the last moment.

you’ve had enough.

you’re seated on opposite ends of the the booth now since she was catching up with some of her friends that you only really knew by name.

you make sure to catch her eye when you turn the vibrator in you all the way up. your legs clench and you have to shuffle in your seat as discreetly as you can.

she raises an eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

it doesn’t take much because you’ve been built up for so long and her gaze on you as you grab the table, knuckles turning white, combined with the risk of literally cumming in a public space next to all your friends gets to you.

pleasure washes over you, if only briefly as you cum, eyes closing and mouth opening slightly.

“hey y/n, you okay?”

your eyes snap back open as you turn to your friend, “y-yeah, just a little antsy i g-guess.”

momo’s jaw is clenched so hard you’re afraid she’ll break her teeth.

“oh! we should all get up and dance then! it’d be good to finally join in anyway.” another friend perks up and now everyone’s making their way to the dance floor, your post-orgasmic blissed self following them before your pulled back by a strong grip.

“what the fuck was that?”

you feel yourself dripping again.

you ignore her, pulling her along onto the dance floor, desperate to be closer to her.

“did you just fucking cum?” she’s relentless, pulling you into her hard, arm wrapped possessively around your waist.

you hum along to the music, grinding into her, “no.”

“fucking liar. i know what you look like when you cum. and now so does everyone else in this fucking club.” she’s snarling, hand moving down to grope your ass roughly, “that face is mine. this ass is mine. no one else should be able to see or touch what’s mine. and you’re gonna regret giving them that.”

you smirk, “make me.”

“one month away and you’ve forgotten your place. i’m gonna have to fix this new attitude of yours.” she’s slipping her hand into the hidden pouch of your dress, stealing the vibrator remote away from you.

“‘s your fault. you didn’t prepare me for this.” you run your fingers across her stomach, “if you had, maybe i wouldn’t be so needy. you should just take me home and fuck me right now.”

she growls, “oh no. you’re getting fucked like the slut you are. right here in front of everyone.” she flicks the vibrator up a notch, your hands grip her shoulders but she pulls away quickly.

hoisting herself up onto a small platform nearby, she grabs the pole in the center of it, and starts to dance.

her hooded eyes are on you the entire time as she drops to the floor, turning and bringing herself back up, full ass on display and you think you drool a little but you're not sure because she's somehow cranked the vibrator up again. whoops and cheers as she climbs the pole, spinning with sexy elegance showing off her core strength, abs flexing, breasts pushed together. she comes back in and grinds her front against the pole.

then, and you don’t even know how it happens because you’re so focused on not cumming, she’s suddenly upside down, legs clinging to the pole, cheeky smirk right in front of you as she yanks you in by the neck and kisses you for the first time that night.

you moan against her immediately, she's sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and bites, and you’re helpless against her as she ravages you. you can barely keep up, not even kissing her back just panting into her mouth with hot breaths as she licks into you, invading all of your senses, you're so close to cumming.

you're incoherent as you moan into her, she turns the vibrator all the way up, smirking against you as she feels your mouth go slack and you cum.

but just as sudden as it came, she switches off the vibrator, is off the pole immediately, tugging you through the crowd, yelling something at your friends that you can't make out, and hailing down a cab.

you're barely conscious and mourning the loss of an incredible orgasm. she let you come, but stripped it away from you just as quickly, it could barely classify as an orgasm.

her hand is on your thigh the entire ride back to your place, she's gripping you and inching her hand up your dress. the vibrator turns on again and you jolt, stifling a moan as the cab driver looks at you in the mirror in mild concern.

you grab her arm pausing her ministrations, whispering desperately, "f-fuck mo- c-can't, 's too much-"

she chuckles darkly, "you're the one who begged me to take you home and fuck you. you're gonna take what you get now."

the short drive feels excruciatingly long as her nails rake the inside of your thighs. finally you're home and you're pulling her out of the car and up the stairs to your apartment, fumbling with your keys as she moulds herself to your back, kissing your neck and nipping at your ear.

the door opens and you almost fall in but she catches you and slams you against the door again, closing it as she immediately latches on to your lips.

"fuck baby- god- do you know what you- fucking do to me?" she's mumbling between kisses as you wrap your legs around her waist, her hands immediately going to grip your ass as she pushes you into the door further, hips grinding against your core.

you're a mess, you need her inside of you now. "b-bedroom."

she doesn't take any convincing and lifts you up. your panties are absolutely soiled by now and she could probably feel it against her bare stomach as you grind along her abs.

she throws you onto the bed and crawls on top of you, lips attacking every exposed sliver of skin available to her. you moan as she hikes your dress up, knee pressing into your center.

hazily, you remember what got you this worked up in the first place. and with a glance down, you're overcome with a need.

surprising her with your strength, you're flipping her over and working at the zipper of her jeans, "need to eat you out now. please."

she moans, "fuck baby alright. you're gonna look so fucking hot between my legs, the new tatt crowning your head."

you’re kissing down her body after successfully undoing her jeans and sliding them down her legs. a free hand moves up to grope roughly at a breast and she arches into your touch. you stop once you reach her belly button, pulling yourself up a little to admire her new art.

she's staring at you with lust and rubbing her thighs together at the way you're devouring her with your eyes.

your fingers come down and lightly trace the sharp lines and shapes as she jolts up. you follow the lines on the left side of her lower stomach, tracing down to right above her pussy. you were obsessed. the twin patterns lead directly to her center, bringing your attention to the pathetic excuse for underwear still covering momo's pussy.

you lean down, licking along the tattoo, and her hands are in your hair immediately, tugging and pulling, trying to get you to where she needed you most. but you resisted, licking over every sliver of inked skin, biting down and marking her on the sensitive spot just above her hipbone.

"still can't believe you hid this from me for a whole fucking month."

she bucks up into you, "you woulda put everything down just to see me. and i couldn't have you doing what you're doing right now a month ago when it was still fresh. gotta protect the skin y'know."

you scoff, "coulda at least sent a picture or showed me on video call when i asked." you bite down again and suck, leaving a dark purple mark next to one particular stroke of ink.

"f-fuck baby. first of all- ah- tattoos aren't pretty when they're healing. they're all flaky and red and really gross. second, oh shit- i told you -mmf- i wasn't gonna tempt you to come to me, you have a life and a job but you don't care about any of that when it comes to me."

you get her panties between your teeth, and slowly pull them down her legs, admiring the way slick clings between the material and her exposed pussy. you fling them to the side once they're off. "yeah cos i love you idiot."

"and i love you too but you were not about to fly halfway across the world just to fuck me."

you hmph in annoyance, "guess i'll have to make up for it now then since you've kept this from me for so long." and before she gets a chance to reply you're diving in, licking long straight lines up from her entrance to her clit.

her hands fly to your hair again, keeping you there, gripping your head, thighs closing around your ears. you can still hear her moans as you suck her clit into your mouth and tongue it from side to side, releasing it with a pop and moving down to collect the gush that comes out of her.

oh how you've missed this taste. the heady scent of hers driving you insane as you take inhales through your nose while your mouth is at work.

you look up at her, back arched and head flung back onto the pillow, chest heaving as she crumbles around you. with the new tattoo crowning her pussy, you've never seen anything hotter in your life.

"please y/n. inside- fuck- need you- inside."

you hum against her pussy, the vibrations pulling another gush of wetness out of her as you tease a finger along her entrance.

she's grinding down desperately, "fuck- please- fuck y/n-"

you slowly insert your finger, moaning at how tight she is and how her pussy sucks you in, clenching around you. you don't give her a second to adjust as you start pounding away, sucking her clit into your mouth harshly, fingers pumping in and out of her with practiced speed.

she howls and her grip on your head tightens, you can feel her getting closer as it becomes harder to thrust in and out with how tight she's pulling you in.

"f-fuck! y/n! f-fuck. cumming!" she gushes as you keep thrusting into her, helping her through her high and licking back up to her tattoo, sucking another mark onto her pretty skin.

she relaxes as you pull your fingers out of her, bringing them to your mouth and sucking. you crawl back up kissing gently as she catches her breath, an arm thrown over her eyes. you’re kissing her neck when she abruptly flips you around, smirking down at you, hair cascading her face.

"you've had your fun now. i think it's time i teach you that lesson we were talking about earlier hm?"

her hands are lightning fast as she pulls down the zipper of your dress, slipping it off your body leaving you in your lace red bra and panties. a finger finds its way down to your crotch as she lightly presses down on your clit and you arch your back into her, moaning her name.

"so wet baby. now i'm gonna ask you again and i don't want you to lie to me this time. how many times did you cum tonight?"

"t-two!"

a hand comes down slapping your clothed pussy as you yelp, scrambling away before she yanks your hips back into place and holds you there.

"what did i just say about lying?"

"'m not lying- please!"

she breaks character for a moment, eyes softening as she looks at you with an adoring gaze, "y'know the safe word baby?"

you nod, "raccoon."

she smiles and leans down to peck you, "good girl, don't be scared to use it mmk?"

you nod desperately, "momo please- i'll be good please, please just fuck me."

her eyes narrow again, "it's too late to be good. let's count them hm? first you interrupt me at work, then you disobey me and touch yourself, even going as far as to make yourself cum in front of all of our friends. and let's not forget the bratty attitude you've been giving me all night. you're the furthest thing from good right now." her hands are back at your clit, circling and rubbing until you're squirming under her.

"didn't mean it! just wanted -ah- you to fuck me! not my fault you couldn't do that."

a hand comes down hard on your pussy.

"there's that attitude again. think i'm gonna need to gag you."

your eyes widen at the image, leaking onto her palm.

"you like that? such a slut, getting wet over the thought of being restrained. in fact, let's tie you up too so you don't get any funny ideas."

she's up and back in seconds, gag and silk ties in hand. she makes you strip completely and you feel yourself blush slightly as her gaze on you remains like a hawk.

as opposed to her harsher words, she's gentle while tying you up, making sure the ties are comfortable and not hurting you. your heart flutters at the care she takes and the constant checking in. once you’re all tied up and gagged, spread-eagled with limbs attached to all 4 bedposts, she makes you signal your safe action and as soon as she’s satisfied you’re comfortable with everything, she’s crawling over you again and spreading your legs.

“so so pretty for me. look at you, dripping onto the sheets.” she runs a finger through your now naked folds as you buck up, pleading for anything.

"so much prettier now that we've shut that foul mouth up too. shame i can't kiss you anymore though." she pouts as she spreads your folds with both hands, blowing gently.

the cold air hits your clit and you shiver slightly in pleasure.

"gonna take this out now," she's pulling the vibrator out of you and you suddenly feel so empty even though the vibrator wasn't too big to begin with.

you're fighting against the restraints, muscles all tense and in anticipation.

"oh don't worry," a dark look passes over momo's face, "i'll fill you up soon enough."

a finger enters you agonisingly slow, and pulls out even slower. she's kissing up your stomach, and takes an erect nipple into her mouth as she repeats this.

you're straining and pulling but she's relaxed, sucking at your tit and kitten licking your nipple. the hand that's not inside you comes up to the other breast, kneading gently and you want to cry. you need things rough and fast and hard and she's giving you the complete opposite. she switches breasts, but doesn't up her pace at all, taking her leisurely time as you writhe underneath her, completely at her control.

your muffled words against the gag make no sense and she comes up and kisses the side of your lip, "shhhhh, baby relax. relax and enjoy it would you?" she continues her kisses to your ears, licking the shell and biting down softly on your earlobe. the hand that's at your breast pinches a nipple and twists. her tongue trails to behind your ear, and then down to the sensitive skin of your neck where she begins to suck lightly. her hand moves to the other nipple and twists it as well, the painful pleasure is driving you insane and you're clenching your jaw around the gag so hard you might just bite into it.

all while her other hand has been pushing in and out of you at the same slow pace she's started in. sometimes she'd be generous and brush against your clit but none of this was going to be able to make you cum.

"if you think you're cumming again tonight you're dead wrong by the way." she hums against your collarbone, "you've come however many times already so the rest of the night you're gonna lie here and look pretty while i take my time making love to every inch of skin i've missed for a month."

you curse internally, eyes tearing up as you subject yourself to her play. she's relentless and unforgiving for the next half an hour. teasing nips, slow licks, and slower fingering.

finally, it seems like she's speeding up a little. thrusting into you with a little more power wt every in, and pulling out a little faster with every out. the hand that has abused your breasts for the last 30 minutes starts gripping harder, pulling at your nipples and pinching them with vigor, twisting, sucking, and flicking her tongue over them and you're building up so quickly after being left stimulated for so long.

she hums against you, "so fucking pretty like this."

you moan as her pace picks up, two fingers pushing in and out of you, hard enough that your breasts start to bounce with each thrust and she adores that, pulling back to watch as the saliva-slicked mounds bounce with each thrust. a third finger enters and your eyes widen, her gaze set on you making you clench around her as you come closer and closer to the edge.

she's leaning down again and blowing against your wet nipples and you're so close to coming and-

fuck! she's stopped completely, hovering over you with a teasing smile on her face that you would give anything to wipe off right now. she coos, "awwwwwwh you look so adorable frowning like that. is my baby mad? mad she didn't get to cum?"

you nod, your eyebrows creasing together.

"well what'd i say earlier hm? you've had your share today. you're going to learn how to stop being so selfish and greedy after you've already come so many times."

she's sliding down your stomach now, grinning up at you from between your legs, before swooping in, tongue hot against your folds as she sucks and licks and bites.

you're writhing again, so easily built up and you come so close, so fucking close, trying your hardest to close your thighs around her head to trap her there but the silk ties prevent you from doing so. and she pulls away again. you want to pull your hair out in frustration.

she's looking at you in amusement. moving off and going to grab something you can't see because you're still tied to this fucking bed.

when she returns she's sporting an 8-inch strap on that bobs along as happily as she is when she skips over towards you. it's almost absurd how adorable she looks with a fake pink dick attached to her and you'd laugh but you just need her inside you so fucking bad you're crying instead.

she's on you again, dragging the lubed up strap along your folds, letting it catch at your clit before moving back down towards your entrance and repeating.

she giggles as you frown, "i'm gonna fuck you until i cum now. if you cum i'm stopping and riding this myself while you watch tied up. understand?"

you nod quickly, needing her to just get inside you already.

she pecks your nose and starts to slide in. you're already moaning at the feeling, pussy clenching and pulling her in deeper until she bottoms out, hips meeting, skin touching.

she lets out a low breath, "fuuck y/n. you have no idea how fucking good you look right now."

she watches in awe as she pulls out, strap even wetter than it was before it went in, and she pushes back in roughly without warning.

"mmph!" you're caught off guard, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sudden combination of pain and pleasure that leaves you reeling.

she doesn't take her time this round. she's pulling out and pushing back in before you know it, setting a ruthless pace as she pants above you, eyes locked on the way she was splitting you open with every upward thrust.

your eyes drift down to her breasts, still trapped within her bra and you desperately wish you could free them, suck on her nipples or play with her mounds, or just watch them bounce up and down as she rutted into you.

she's huffing when she notices your gaze, "s-slut wanting- hah- my tits h-huh?" she stops for a second, hilted inside you as she quickly unclasps her bra and pulls it off, returning to her unforgiveable pace. "mm- there- fuck- you go. can't do anything about it because your tied up and gagged but you appreciate the view don't you?" she's smirking as she pushes herself upward, running a hand through her messy hair as she continues to plunge into you and you think you could die right now.

she brings a hand up to a breast and squeezes, nipple coming out between fingers as she pulls and twists it, moaning at the feeling, head falling back exposing her pretty neck. you're trying your hardest to focus on her and not how close you were to cumming and she's giving you the perfect distraction.

you falter though, as your eyes drift further down, reminded again of the tattoo that outlines her hips, clenching hard as the sight of her lower abs prominently drawing your attention to her strap.

"eugh- you're so fucking- uh- tight around me baby. fuck- are you gonna cum? it's getting harder to pull out with how hard you're -mmf- clenching."

you can't handle everything that's going on. the build up of the entire day creeping into a tight ball in your stomach.

and then she's pulling out again and you lurch forward with a cry. no! god you were so close again fuck!

but before you knew it you felt the ties around your limbs loosening and the gag being taken out of your mouth. you're flipped around onto your hands and knees and she's pushing back into you at an even rougher angle that scratched just the spot to make you see stars.

"fuck! fuck fuck fuck-" you can finally be vocal again as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, the bedhead thumping against the wall with how rough momo was pounding into you.

"yeah? you -ugh- like that?"

"fuck yes! oh fuck you're so deep inside me mo- please, please let me cum i need to cum around you, please,"

she moans pulling you up so you're only on your knees, "yeah? fuck- you think you -shit- deserve to cum after all this?"

you're crying as you feel a hand slip down your stomach and rub against your clit roughly, "yes please! i've been so good i- fuck- please! momo!"

another hand comes up and pinches your nipple, she's thrusting into you at an impossible speed, heavy breaths against your ear muttering curses, "fine. cum y/n. cum for me."

you let go with glee, falling down onto the mattress as her hands move back to your hips, pistoning into you trying to reach her own high. you feel her spasm and moan, falling onto your back, still lightly thrusting as the both of you ride out your highs together. you don't think you've had an orgasm this good since the first time she used the strap on you, the build up of your ruined orgasm at the club and the several times momo edged you tonight coming to climax.

heavy breaths fill the room as you both try and catch your winds again. she's the first to pull out slowly, and you groan at the feeling, pussy still sensitive from the fucking you got. she tosses the strap to the side, cuddling into your back, wrapping an arm around your midriff.

you turn in her arms, snuggling into her chest and breathing in her scent. her hands come up to brush through your hair relaxingly, and you're brought back to the world listening to her heartbeat slow down.

your hand comes up and lightly traces over her tattoo again, and she hums in pleasure at the feeling.

"good?" she asks.

you chuckle into her chest, "so fucking good i think i almost peed myself."

she snorts that loveable snort that you've missed and kisses your forehead. "speaking of peeing, c'mon, gotta get you cleaned up."

you whine, clutching her waist, "noooooo 10 minutes pleaseeeeee."

she rolls her eyes fondly, "you're going to fall asleep."

"'m not." but a yawn betrays you.

she laughs, "yes you will. c'mon."

you groan as she pulls you up, eyes flickering down again to her tattoo.

"i love it mo."

she smiles, "i knew you would you big idiot."

"don't keep stuff from me again."

"yeah yeah, you're a big girl and you can act mature, suuuure."

you stomp your foot like a child, blushing when she laughs at the action proving exactly what she just implied.

"fine you're right, but doesn't mean i like you for it."

"shut up dork, you love me."

you sigh, meeting her eyes, overwhelmed with the way you feel for her, "yeah... yeah i do."

she smiles dragging you towards the bathroom, "i love you too dummy. now let's get cleaned up before you catch a cold."

you sneeze and she laughs at you but you think you're probably the luckiest person alive to be able to be with your girlfriend.

#momo #twice momo #hirai momo #momo smut #twice smut #momo x reader #momo x fem!reader #momo x f!reader #momo imagines #twice imagines #twice x reader #dovveri

260 notes · View notes