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tinyshyteacup · 3 months ago

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Tw: Angst, cussing, knives, blood, tension.

Part 3

Gilded Façade - Part 4

The room is vast, but warm—gold and cream drapery spilling from the tall windows, soft with age and light.

Along one wall, bolts of fabric rest in shelves like precious tomes in a library, rich velvets, silks, and ethereal weaves that shimmer even in shadow.

Frigga stands beside you, regal and serene in deep blue robes threaded with silver stars.

She smells faintly of lavender and something older—like parchment and spell smoke. Her presence is soothing, her movements graceful.

She doesn’t command the room. She settles into it, like she’s always belonged.

You, by contrast, feel painfully small. The seamstresses whisper in Asgardian, taking measurements in floating light-ribbons that tickle your arms and waist. Your reflection shimmers in a hovering mirror that adjusts to show you from any angle.

Frigga watches you quietly, hands folded at her waist. When you glance at her with uncertainty, she smiles.

“You do not need to choose what is most Asgardian,” she says gently. “Only what feels most you.”

You swallow. “I… don’t know what that is... here.”

Frigga moves to your side. “Then let us discover it together.”

The dress you choose is unlike anything you would have worn on Earth.

Soft pale champagne, weightless as air. Sleeves that drape like falling water. Intricate emerald embroidery curling across the bodice like vines of starlight. There are no zippers or buttons—a selection of ties instead, whispered into the fabric by the seamstresses, so it fits like it was born for you.

Frigga gently places a circlet atop your head—delicate silver filigree with a single pale gem at its center.

You look in the mirror and hardly recognize yourself.

“I look like… someone else.”

“No,” Frigga says, adjusting the circlet with motherly care, “you look like yourself, beloved and seen.”

Your eyes sting, you do not feel like either of those things.

Once the seamstresses withdraw, Frigga leads you to a smaller antechamber—filled with light and flowering vines that trail from the ceiling like blessings.

She pours tea from an intricately carved urn, the steam carrying hints of wild herbs and starlight.

“The ceremony,” she says gently, “will feel overwhelming. We do not rush our unions in Asgard, but we do celebrate them with great intensity.”

You nod slowly, sipping the tea. “That’s… what I’m afraid of.”

Frigga tilts her head. “The convergence?”

You look down at your cup, cheeks warm. “Yes, Your Majesty. I don’t— I didn’t grow up where that sort of thing was… expected.”

Frigga reaches out, resting a cool hand over yours.

“You are not a prize to be claimed, Child,” she says softly. “You are a person to be cherished. My son knows this, even if he struggles to say it.”

You look up at her. “He scares people.”

Frigga’s smile doesn’t falter. “Yes. Because he does not let them close.”

A pause. Then, warmly:

“But he lets you close, doesn’t he?”

Your throat tightens. “…He showed me butterflies.”

That earns you a real smile. “Then he’s already given you more than most have seen.”

You catch a glimpse of Loki at the edge of the corridor as you and Frigga exit the seamstress hall. He’s leaning in a shadowed alcove, arms folded, expression unreadable.

His eyes sweep from the circlet on your head to the faint shimmer of the dress under your robe.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then—

“You’ll stun them all,” he says, quietly. “Even the stars will look down and wonder.”

You’re not sure what to say. His voice is smooth, as ever, but his posture is different. Guarded. Careful. He doesn’t come closer.

You offer a nervous smile and a tiny nod.

It's the kindest thing he's said since you've arrived.

It had been too much.

Too many stares, too many murmurs as you passed down the corridors in your formal silks. Asgardians with fine cheekbones and starlit eyes looked at you as though you were a curiosity in a gallery, a painting hung beside one of Loki’s darker stories.

Some with thin smiles.

Some with pity.

Some with expressions you couldn’t even read.

"Such a timid little thing"

“A Midgardian bride?”

“Does she even know who he really is?”

You had kept your chin up. Spoken softly. Smiled even when your voice trembled.

But now, with night blanketing the golden towers, you slipped from your rooms—barefoot, wrapped in a simple robe, needing air, needing something that didn’t watch you like prey or like porcelain waiting to crack.

You found yourself in the library.

It was quiet.

Vast marble shelves stretched endlessly upward, filled with books older than your world. The air smelled like parchment and starlight dust.

The only light came from flickering sconces and the grand fireplace in the heart of the reading chamber, its flames cool gold instead of orange.

You curled into one of the large armchairs, knees tucked to your chest.

The firelight kissed your skin gently, your eyes rimmed pink from trying not to cry.

You just wanted to breathe.

To not feel like a creature on display.

You didn’t hear him come in.

A shift in the room's magic preceded him—subtle, like the way a shadow changes when clouds pass the moon.

Loki walked in soundlessly, dressed in gold and forest green, his steps quiet against the polished stone. He didn’t speak at first.

You looked up, startled.

“I—” your voice wobbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I thought no one would—”

He raised a hand gently, not to silence but to soothe.

“You’re not intruding,” he said, voice calm, velvet-smooth. “This is the only room in the palace that doesn’t judge.”

He crossed the room, long coat trailing behind him like a second shadow, and sat in the chair opposite yours.

But not too close.

He leaned forward, forearms resting lightly on his knees, hands folded together.

“You looked like you were about to vanish,” he said softly. “So I followed.”

You stared into the fire for a long moment. The crackle of flame sounded more like chimes than wood. Everything here had a kind of... strangeness to it.

“I don’t belong here,” you said finally.

Loki didn’t laugh. Didn’t deny it.

“Neither did I,” he replied.

You glanced up at him. His gaze was steady, not unkind. His features softened by the low light, the sharpness of his jaw less intimidating here. He seemed... quieter in this space.

“I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow,” you whispered. “And the way they look at me. I don’t know if they want me to fail, or pity me because I’ll be your wife.”

That made something flicker across his face—not anger, but... pain?

“Is that what you think this is?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

He leaned back then, folding one leg over the other, watching the fire.

"They see what I make them see,” he said. “What I let them see.”

Then, softly, Loki reached out—only a little—his fingers brushing the arm of your chair in the barest of touches.

“I won’t let them tear you apart,” he murmured. “And I won’t... become what they expect, just to prove them right.”

You blinked fast. “But the wedding—”

“I will handle it,” he said simply, with just a note of sharpness.

“And the ceremony? The—convergence?” The word was awkward in your mouth, like something ancient and ceremonial and terrifying.

Loki's expression darkened for a moment.

“I said I would take care of it,” he repeated sharply.

Sharp enough that you flinched.

Loki's eyes narrowed, his tall frame suddenly very still in the dimly lit library.

"You, flinch. As though I were about to strike you." his voice deceptively calm as he took a measured step toward you.

"Tell me, is that what you expect of your future husband? That I would resort to violence at the slightest provocation?"

His expression hardened, something raw and wounded flashing behind his eyes before the mask of cool disdain returned.

"You think me a monster," he stated flatly, the words hanging in the air between you. "A beast to be feared and appeased."

He closed the distance between you with deliberate slowness, until you could see the faint flecks of darker green in his irises.

"Is that what Midgard teaches about the God of Mischief? That I am nothing but teeth and claws and cruelty?" A bitter smile curved his lips.

You tried to shake your head, but Loki’s sharp words made you still.

"Tomorrow, you wed a monster then. How... unfortunate for you." He turned away sharply, his shoulders rigid beneath his attire.

"I wonder, Pet" he spat the endarement as if it had rotted in his mouth "which is worse—to be feared as a monster, or to know that your own bride trembles at your mere presence on the eve of your union."

The palace windows flooded your chamber with golden light, the kind that glinted off every polished surface and filtered through translucent silks hung from the ceiling.

Outside, the spires of Asgard rose against a perfect sky—but inside, you sat silent, the weight of centuries-old tradition pressing into you.

You were barely breathing.

Frigga stood behind you, carefully arranging the final touches in your hair. Her hands were warm, steady. She had braided fine gold-threaded cords through your hair, twining them with delicate beads that caught the light like starlight.

The gown—chosen only yesterday—fit like it had been dreamed of by someone who knew you long before you ever stood in this realm.

Champange-colored silk with green accents, the colors of Loki’s house, but subtle… not overwhelming.

“You look like a dream, my dear,” she said softly, gazing at your reflection in the full-length mirror. “Like something the stars would envy.”

Your hands fidgeted in your lap. “What if I trip? Or say the wrong words? Or—” You swallowed, voice trembling.

Frigga met your eyes in the mirror. Her smile was gentle—but there was a steel beneath her softness.

“Then Asgard will adjust,” she said firmly.

She touched your shoulder, grounding you.

“And as for the ceremony… just walk forward. Everything else will come.”

Two golden guards opened the doors with solemn precision, and the hum of a distant choir echoed down the long marble corridor ahead.

Your heart thundered.

Each footstep was a betrayal of your nerves, your pulse fluttering in your throat as the weight of hundreds of eyes waited somewhere just beyond.

You clutched a bouquet crafted from Asgardian star-blossoms—so luminous they almost looked unreal. Your fingers trembled around the stems.

And then you stepped through.

The grand ceremonial hall had been transformed into something ethereal. Vines of silken greenery drifted above, suspended mid-air by unseen magic. Light filtered through floating crystals, casting soft prisms on the white marble floor. Pillars lined the path, each wrapped in silver and pale green.

And at the end of it—

Loki.

He stood tall, regal, and untouchable.

Clad in his gold and green ceremonial armor, gleaming and fearsome. The horns of his helm curled upward like a crown meant for tricksters and gods of old.

The golden glow of the hall made the green of his cape shimmer like a serpent's scales.

His face was unreadable.

Lips pressed into a line. Eyes flicking across your form, lingering—but giving away nothing. He did not move toward you.

Did not smile. He stood as if carved from cold marble, a man sculpted by war, betrayal, and duty.

Something in your stomach twisted.

He felt so far away.

But Loki didn’t notice your panic.

Or perhaps he did—and chose not to react.

You reached the platform, every step careful, rehearsed a dozen times in your mind.

Loki looked down at you—not unkind, not cold exactly, but… distant.

Formal.

His hands were clasped behind his back, posture perfect. You felt very small standing beside him, full of nerves and covered in silk next to a god in full ceremonial armor.

Your voice nearly failed when the priest asked if you were ready.

But then—you felt it.

A flicker.

A pulse of warmth—brief, deliberate. Loki’s fingers brushed yours. Barely. A whisper of skin on skin.

Perhaps it was accidental.

The vows were spoken in Old Asgardian, translated gently for your ears. You recited your part softly, afraid of mispronouncing every word. Loki spoke his flawlessly, of course—voice deep and smooth, his gaze never leaving you.

But you couldn’t read him.

And that terrified you more than any crowd.

When the ritual ended and the ceremonial binding of hands began—glowing green threads curling around your fingers—your chest was tight. You expected Loki to say something. To lean down and whisper a quiet reassurance.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he simply looked at you.

After the feasting the whirlwind of congratulations, Solem robed women. Led you away.

The corridors leading to Loki’s chambers felt longer than any corridor should.

Torches flickered low against the golden stone, casting dancing shadows across your path as the elders—robed and solemn—led the way.

They said little, their faces stone masks of tradition, but you felt every glance.

Behind them, the ceremonial guards kept their distance. Behind you, the murmur of old customs and whispered expectations chased your steps like ghosts.

You clutched the soft fabric of your nightgown tight to your chest. It was Asgardian in cut, but lighter—meant for the night, the had insisted you change in a side room at the start of a corridor.

You weren’t cold, and yet you trembled.

The elders halted in the entry chamber—an antechamber, you now realized—meant to receive the soiled sheets. You saw a silver tray placed on a side table beside them, elegant and waiting.

You had to fight the bile that seemed to climb your throat

One of the older women gave you a nod—gentle, but firm.

You stepped inside.

The ornate door to Loki's chamber closed with a resonant thud that seemed to echo through your very bones.

You stood frozen, watching as Loki locked it with a casual flick of his wrist, magic shimmering briefly around the edges.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, Loki's chambers gradually revealed themselves in all their princely splendor.

The space was vast, far larger than any bedroom you'd seen on Earth. Polished marble floors stretched across the chamber, reflecting the golden glow of scattered lanterns.

To your left, an imposing fireplace carved from black stone dominated one wall, flames dancing lazily within its depths, casting moving shadows across the room.

Bookshelves lined another wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts collected from across the Nine Realms.

Many appeared worn from frequent handling, their spines cracked and pages marked.

A testament to Loki's scholarly nature.

A least there was something you had in common.

Near the far corner, partially concealed behind an ornate silk curtain, you glimpsed the edge of a sunken bath large enough for several people, its marble basin inlaid with gold veins that shimmered with latent magic.

Steam rose gently from its surface, scented with unfamiliar Asgardian herbs.

Tall arched doors led to a sprawling balcony where elegant cushioned benches waited beneath the stars, positioned for contemplative views of the eternal cosmos beyond Asgard's edge.

The night air whispered through sheer curtains that billowed gently at the threshold.

At the center of it all stood the massive bed, draped in linens of the finest silk, its pristine white sheets a stark canvas awaiting the completion of your marriage bond.

Four intricately carved posts reached toward the vaulted ceiling, supporting a canopy of deep emerald fabric embroidered with golden threads that formed delicate vines.

"So," Loki said, his voice startlingly soft in the silence, "the final act of this charade."

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he approached, each step measured and deliberate. Despite the elaborate Asgardian nightgown adorning your body, you felt utterly exposed under his piercing gaze.

Hours earlier, he had stood beside you before all of Asgard, his face an impassive mask as vows were exchanged. Now, alone, that mask remained firmly in place, though something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

"My Prince," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Look at you little one, playing the dutiful Midgardian bride."

He circled you slowly, like a predator assessing its prey.

Your breath caught as he stopped directly behind you, close enough that you could feel the chill emanating from his body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for his touch.

It never came.

Instead, the distinctive sound of a blade being unsheathed sliced through the air.

Your eyes flew open as panic surged through your veins. You whirled around to find Loki standing there, an ornate dagger gleaming in his hand, its blade catching the lantern light.

"Please," you gasped, stumbling backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed. "Loki, I—"

"Quiet," he commanded, but without the usual venom. He approached steadily, dagger extended. "Remove your left slipper, and sit down"

Your hands trembled violently as you obeyed, fingers fumbling with the delicate clasp.

The floor was cold beneath your bare foot as you looked up at him, confusion warring with terror, as you lowered yourself onto the edge of the bed.

"This marriage is a necessity," Loki said, his voice low and controlled. "But even I have certain... boundaries."

He knelt before you in a fluid motion that sent your mind reeling—the God of Mischief, on his knees.

Without warning, he grasped your ankle with surprising gentleness, lifting your bare foot.

"Hold still," he instructed, all business now. "This will sting, but only briefly."

Understanding dawned just as the blade's edge pressed against the underside of your foot. A sharp pain, quick and bright, made you gasp. Blood welled from a shallow cut, dark against your skin.

Loki's fingers were cool as they guided your foot, pressing the wound to the sheet, leaving a unmistakable stain on the pristine white fabric.

"There," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone as he released your foot.

He stood in one fluid movement, wiping the blade clean before vanishing it with a gesture. "The evidence of our union is provided. The servants will find what they expect to find, and this farce will be complete."

You stared at him, bewildered, your foot still throbbing with pain.

"You didn't..." you began, unable to finish the thought.

"Force myself on you?" Loki completed, arching an eyebrow. His voice was still cold, but lacked the cruelty you'd come to expect. "I may be many things, but that is not among them."

He gestured toward the stained portion of the sheet. "Sit there. Briefly."

"What?"

"Your nightgown must match the sheets," he explained with clinical detachment. "The servants will expect... consistency."

Hesitantly, you lowered yourself onto the blood-spotted area, feeling the dampness seep through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

A blush heated your cheeks at the implications, but you understood the necessity of the ruse.

After a moment, he nodded, seemingly satisfied with the small stain now marking your garment. "Sufficient."

Loki approached once more and surprised you by kneeling at your feet again. He extended his hand over your wounded foot, and a soft green glow emanated from his palm.

A tingling sensation replaced the sharp pain as his magic knitted your flesh back together, leaving no trace of the cut that had been there moments before.

"There," he said quietly, his eyes focused on his work rather than your face. "No lasting damage."

He rose and moved to the bed, deftly stripping the sheet with precise movements. He folded it carefully, making certain the bloodstain was prominently visible.

"It's complete," Loki announced, his voice suddenly projected with regal authority. He handed the folded sheet to the older of the women, whose eyes widened slightly at the visible evidence. "See that the Elder's receive confirmation of our union's consummation."

The servants bowed deeply, exchanging knowing glances as they accepted the proof they had been sent to collect.

"Fresh linens," Loki commanded, and the younger servant hurried off to comply. Once new sheets were brought and the bed remade under Loki's cold supervision, he dismissed them with a wave.

The door closed once more, and he turned back to you, his shoulders tense beneath his formal attire as he gazed out the window at the stars above Asgard.

The silence stretched between you until finally, he spoke without turning.

"You thought that I would take what I wanted regardless of your consent?" His voice was deceptively calm, but undercurrents of frustration rippled beneath the surface.

"How predictable. The fearsome, cruel God of Lies, surely he would force himself upon his unwilling bride." A bitter smile twisted his lips as he paced a few steps closer.

"But contrary to what Thor or Odin or all the realms might believe—" He stopped abruptly, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you.

"I do have limits. Lines even I will not cross." His voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper.

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achelouise · 1 year ago

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my love, my muse —kaveh

fandom: genshin

pairing: kaveh x reader!

a/n: i just realized i hadn’t written for kaveh, which is a crime against humanity. also kaveh x muse!reader brainrot sjzjjwjzjqjjajajajh (also switching formats, iiiiiii have no idea what im doing, can you tell)

— student!kaveh, who, even though loathed and respected his project partner to bits, would rather die than ever try to draw him for an assignment. “don’t even think about it,” he hisses, just as alhaitham quirks an unimpressed eyebrow. he understands that he has many friends and acquaintances that are willing to pose for him, but a small voice in the back of his head needles at him- telling him that no, we cannot create art with them as our muse. and to him, nothing is more important than making sure every single artwork he produces is with the utmost sincerity.

— student!kaveh, whose resolve crumbles bit after bit as the deadline creeps up, with no model to look for in sight, and is starting to think perhaps he should turn to his volunteering friends after all. he cannot compromise his diligence for his passion as a scholar, and so he heads to pupsa café, hoping to buy some coffee to prepare for his all-nighter that night.

—student!kaveh, who doesn’t even realize he’s pouting until he hears a cheery, unfamiliar voice bring it up- and he tilts his head up to find that he spilled all the coffee in his mouth onto his shirt (much to your alarm).

“you,” he gurgles, “you’re the muse i’ve been looking for!”

“excuse me?”

— perhaps he was a bit sleep-deprived, which explained his lack of inhibition, but student!kaveh latches onto you like a moth to a flame, stars swirling in his eyes. are you a student of the akademiya? which darshan are you from? which nation were you from to bless you with such beautiful eyes? could you be his muse? he asks them all, because he has to know.

— student!kaveh, who only later apologizes for his overbearing first-impression, while swearing up and down he wasn’t like that usually, and explaining his current predicament. perhaps you pitied him, or found him quite charming- whichever it was, you accepted his proposal to be his muse in exchange for some funds, much to his delight.

“thank you, thank you, oh, thank you! my assignment won’t be so lifeless after all!”

— student!kaveh, who arranges a time and place for you at his dorm with a sense of bravery he has absolutely no idea where he picked up from. when you come in with the most random set of outfit he’s ever seen, he chooses to hold back his tongue over your enthusiastic participation.

“sit tight!” he says, holding comically large canvas whose shadow swallowed up the whole room, “relax, and do whatever your heart tells you to do.”

— student!kaveh, who usually simply sketches things out of pure photographic memory, starts simple and structured for once. where would the chair go? where would you sit? would you look too stretched out if the table properties next to you weren’t matching? where should he exaggerate? how would the chandelier be hanging to get the perfect lighting? how would the painting behind you affect the composition?

— student!kaveh, who usually lets his hand dance on his canvas, plans everything out this time, and lets his mind flourish under the guidance of your radiant beauty. your soft smile, your relaxed posture, and your twinkling eyes lets him have fun- and he finds joy in drawing backgrounds, especially the furniture, for once- to emphasize the way you pose.

— student!kaveh, who drinks an ungodly amount of coffee every night and lets his sheer will do the rest, stops by in the kitchen to make you some snacks. he worries for you; “are you alright? is this posture tiring you? do you want water? i can get some for you. do you want some snacks, too? we can take a break. i don’t have much here, but i can always make a quick trip to the market.”

— student!kaveh, who finds joy in conversation with you while he works. you seem to harbor a decent amount of knowledge fitting for a scholar. if you talk about other subjects, kaveh’s more than willing to listen. if you enjoy studying architecture, that’s fine too! whatever the topic is, you both seem to have an endless stream of opinions and discussions to open up about, and watching your mouth run off on any particular topic brings him much satisfaction. it is always fascinating to understand another person deeply interested in a subject.

— student!kaveh, who starts to explore other color schemes in order to find the perfect one for you. your radiance is something that should be brought out and emphasized on his canvas, something future generations can look at and admire. maybe a bit of pink for the shadow? how about purple to shade your hair instead of gray? would yellow compliment your shoes? he thinks of them all, dabbling in this and that, until his palette blooms in different smears of colors.

— student!kaveh, who is willing to go on a rant to explain how you were the perfect muse, how your smile made his hand itch to draw it out, how your eyes crinkled and held the weight of your soul, how- oh. did he say muse? would you like to be? kaveh doesn’t mind in the slightest if you could continue to. in fact, how about he treats you to a nice meal tonight? the sun is setting, anyway, and it’ll be his way of saying thank you. (please say yes.)

— student!kaveh, who, after half an hour of deliberation on whether parting his bangs in a certain angle would make him look more presentable or not, shows up that night at the venue with a small sketchbook in his hands, telling you not to worry about it. every time your lips turn a certain way, or when the light hits your hand just right, he frantically sketches it down underneath the table, much to your confusion.

“did you enjoy the meal? hm? that? oh, it’s nothing. please, go on. you said something about how your friend could aether-edit?”

it was a pleasant time, despite him constantly dodging your questions on what in teyvat’s name he’s doing, and believing the constant rush he feels inside his head whenever you laugh is perfectly normal. you’re his muse, aren’t you? it’s only natural.

(and if the dinner spreads any rumors- well, kaveh thinks it’s normal to feel giddy, too.)

— student!kaveh, who, when looking at his graded paper days later, is pleased to know it is graded with high praise. the professor even commented on how he is finally starting to get a firm grasp on studying basic anatomy of architecture. (hmph. he thinks he was pretty good at anatomy up until then as well, but okay.) good- he’s put a lot of effort into that painting.

— student!kaveh, who insists on thanking you for the high grade again, the next time you run into each other- only this time with a bouquet of flowers, and a blush on his face.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin kaveh #genshin impact kaveh #kaveh x reader #kaveh #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin kaveh x reader

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galaxy-stardust · 6 months ago

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Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 15

Meeting Soap

(Pic: https://pin.it/UvKInkIsj)

The tension between Ghost and your husband was suffocating. You couldn’t stand it—the pressure, the expectation, the weight of their stares. You had to get out.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, taking a step back. Neither man moved to stop you.

You turned and bolted.

The cool evening air hit your face as you pushed open the hospital doors, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You weren’t sure where you were going—just away. Away from the confrontation, the impossible decision, the life that seemed to be closing in on you from all sides.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you rounded a corner, not paying attention to where you were going. And then, you slammed into someone.

“Whoa there, lass,” a thick Scottish accent greeted you as a pair of strong hands steadied your shoulders.

You looked up, startled, to see a man with a buzz cut and a kind, curious face. His blue eyes sparkled with warmth, and he had a slight smirk playing on his lips. He was built like a soldier, his presence commanding but not intimidating.

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to step around him.

“Hey, slow down,” he said, gently blocking your path. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf. What’s goin’ on?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes. “I just need to get away.”

His expression softened, and he looked over your shoulder, his gaze narrowing. “You runnin’ from Ghost back there?”

The mention of Ghost’s name made your heart lurch. “You know him?”

“Better than most,” the man said with a chuckle. “Name’s John. John MacTavish. But most people call me Soap.”

You blinked, trying to process his calm demeanor in contrast to the storm raging inside you. “I… I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’ve ruined everything. My husband… Ghost… I can’t…”

Soap tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “Come on,” he said, guiding you to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit, yeah? Sort through whatever’s eatin’ at ya.”

~~~

Sitting down, you buried your face in your hands, trying to steady your breathing. Soap waited patiently, his posture relaxed but attentive.

“Ghost and I… it’s complicated,” you began, hesitantly lifting your head. “I’m married. And I’ve been trying to fix things with my husband, but Ghost… he makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years. And now they’ve both made me choose, and I just…”

Your voice cracked, and you looked away, embarrassed.

Soap leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself in a right mess,” he said, not unkindly. “But let me tell ya somethin’. Ghost? He doesn’t let people in easily. If he’s fightin’ for ya, it’s because he sees somethin’ in you worth fightin’ for.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. “But it’s impossible,” you said. “Even if I choose him, his life is dangerous. He’s never in one place for long. How could we ever make it work?”

Soap shrugged. “Nothin’s easy with Ghost. He’s got his demons, aye, but he’s loyal to the bone. If you’re willin’ to fight for it, he will too. But you’ve gotta decide if that’s the life you want. It won’t be normal or simple. It’ll be bloody hard.”

You nodded slowly, his words sinking in. “And my husband?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Sounds like he’s a good man,” Soap said carefully. “But good doesn’t mean he’s the right one for ya. Only you can figure that out. And runnin’ from it won’t give you answers.”

You looked at him, surprised by the wisdom in his words. “Why are you helping me?”

Soap grinned. “Ghost’s my mate. And you seem like someone worth helpin’. Besides, I’ve been in my fair share of messy situations. Sometimes you just need someone to listen.”

~~~

After talking with Soap, you felt a strange sense of clarity, though the decision still loomed over you. He was right—you couldn’t keep running.

“Thanks,” you said, standing up. “For listening.”

“Anytime, lass,” he said, standing as well. “But before you go back, just ask yourself one thing—who makes you feel like the best version of yourself? That’s the one you fight for.”

With that, he gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder and disappeared into the night, leaving you to face your decision.

Part 16

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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asd2426 · 3 months ago

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CH5 - The Hotel Encounter

The hotel lobby hums with quiet conversations, the soft clinking of glasses from the nearby bar blending into the gentle murmur of staff moving about. It’s a luxurious yet understated place - exactly the kind of hotel Ferrari would choose for their private pre-season testing. The air smells faintly of polished wood and fresh flowers, the kind of scent that finds itself in every hotel lobby.

You hadn’t planned on lingering here. After a long day, you were just heading back to your room, your fingers absently scrolling through your phone as you walked through the lobby. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure.

Carlos.

He’s standing near the bar, his back partially turned to you, deep in conversation with someone. His posture is relaxed, one hand resting in the pocket of his well-fitted jeans, the other idly gesturing as he speaks. He looks good. Too good. The soft lighting of the hotel makes the sharp angles of his face stand out even more, his dark eyes focused, his hair slightly tousled like he’s just run a hand through it.

You hesitate. It hadn't been a while since that night - the quiet town, the dinner, the unspoken words between you. Nothing happened, but something had shifted. You both knew it. And yet, here you were, back in the world where logic ruled and complications loomed over every little thing.

Before you can decide whether to walk past or turn the other way, Carlos glances up. His eyes meet yours instantly, and for a brief second, surprise flickers across his face. His brows lift slightly before settling into something softer.

A small smile.

"Hey," he says, excusing himself from his conversation and making his way over to you.

Your heart gives a stupid little jolt, but you force yourself to play it cool. "Hey," you reply, tilting your head slightly. "Didn’t expect to see you down here."

Carlos stops in front of you, still looking slightly taken aback. "Didn’t expect to see you at all," he admits, scanning your face like he’s trying to make sense of why you’re here. "Family doesn’t usually come to pre-season testing."

You shrug. "I had some free time. Thought I’d come to explore the city and keep Charles company."

His lips twitch in amusement. "So, what you’re saying is, Charles begged you to come?"

You let out a soft laugh. "Not exactly. But he definitely doesn't mind me tagging along"

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. "Sounds about right."

The conversation flows easily after that. He asks what you’ve seen of the city so far, and you tell him about the places you visited that morning. Somehow, the topic shifts to food - Carlos insists he knows the best spots in Barcelona, and you argue that your finds have been just as good. He groans dramatically when you mention trying a touristy paella place, launching into a passionate explanation of how you need to try the real thing.

"Okay, next time, I’ll consult the local expert," you tease.

Carlos smirks. "You should. I take food very seriously."

The minutes slip by, the lobby around you fading into the background as the conversation meanders from Barcelona to racing to little inside jokes that neither of you fully understand how they started. It feels natural - like that night on vacation, but lighter, without the weight of uncertainty pressing down.

Eventually, Carlos glances toward the elevators. "I was just about to head up. You?"

You nod. "Yeah, me too."

You both walk towards the lift, stepping inside as the doors slide shut. The hum of the hotel disappears, leaving just the two of you in the quiet space.

Carlos leans slightly against the back wall, glancing at you. "You know, for a last-minute trip, I’d say you’re having a good time."

You smirk. "Why? Because I met an expert in paella?"

He grins. "Exactly."

The doors slide open at your floor, and just as you’re about to step out, Carlos reaches out, placing a hand against the side to keep them from closing.

There’s a flicker of hesitation before he turns to you with a little grin. "So, you planning on taking me out for coffee again?"

You laugh, shifting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "Are you asking for a repeat of our café encounter?"

He shrugs, his grin widening. "Why not? I’d say we could make it a tradition."

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "A tradition, huh?"

Carlos gives a casual shrug, his tone light. "Could be worse things to do."

For a moment, you both just look at each other, the playful atmosphere lingering in the air. But then, something settles in you, a quiet understanding. The connection is still there, stronger than before, but so are the unspoken barriers, the complications neither of you can ignore.

"Maybe," you say, the smile still on your lips but tinged with something more serious. "Maybe another time."

Carlos’ smile falters slightly, but not in disappointment - just understanding. "Yeah, maybe."

His hand drops from the elevator door, letting it start to close.

"Goodnight, Carlos," you say softly.

His gaze lingers on you for half a second longer. "Goodnight."

And just like that, the doors shut, leaving you standing in the hallway with the echoes of a conversation that was nothing more than casual.

But somehow, it was still the best part of your day.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #silent corners #formula 1 #carlos sainz jr

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genshin-side-piece · 1 month ago

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The Devil You Choose - Part 3

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Dark themes, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Blood, Manipulation, Coercion, Mentions of Nudity, My bad writing, Anything Else I Missed

Characters: Wriothesley x Female OC

The room they had taken him to was a level below the arena, a forgotten corner steeped in cold shadows and rusting iron. Angie had expected the infirmary, some sterile corner of this wretched place where bruises might be wrapped and cuts stitched. Instead, the guard shoved her into a cramped cell, his rough hand nudging her forward as the metal door clanged shut behind her. She barely had time to protest before the lock turned with a final, echoing clink, sealing her in.

“Wait-” She spun around, banging her fists against the door. “No, come back!” Her voice, sharp with panic, ricocheted off the walls, mixing with the faint, metallic rattle of chains. The sound sent a chill down her spine.

Angie turned slowly, her breath catching at the sight before her. Wriothesley, stripped of even the basic dignity of clothing, hung against the back wall, his wrists shackled above his head, his head slumped forward, and his dark hair plastered to his sweat-slick face. The dim light revealed the cruel angles of his bruised ribs and the fresh, clumsily stitched gash above his eye. Whoever had seen to him had stopped the worst of the bleeding but had done nothing for his pain. They’d patched him up and left him hanging there like a piece of meat. “Wriothesley?” She crossed the small space in a few hurried steps, reaching for his face. Her fingers trembled as she cupped his cheeks. His skin was clammy and cold. Any of the previous fire he’d shone had long gone out. “God… Wriothesley, wake up. Please.” She gently shook his head, her thumbs brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “Come on… you have to wake up.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a low, ragged groan rumbled from his chest. His head lifted slightly, one eye cracking open, it's dark iris clouded with pain. “You’re cute, you know that?” He rasped, his lips curling into a ghost of a smile despite the blood that streaked his teeth. One any other day, at any other time, she would have chided him for his impertinence. But right here, right now, she let slide; if only for the fact that he probably didn’t know what was going on. “We only have an hour, you better get started.” Angie furrowed her brow at him. An hour? Get started? “What in Teyvat are you talking about?” Wriothesley leaned back, the iron chains clinking softly as he adjusted his position, his gaze fixed on her. "Did they tell you nothing?” “Vautier just told me he was handling business. They sent me down here to check on you.” She left out the part where she didn’t want to see him. In his present state, he didn’t need to know that. “Did they now?” He took a shallow, shuddering breath, the one eye closing as he wheezed. “If they told you nothing, then they think you’re either troublesome.. or dumb.” For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t sure which option she found more insulting. “Wriothesley?” “They sent you to me, as a distraction.” He continued, voice low, each word a struggle. “Vautier claims to come here on Palais business, but he really just likes to gamble on the fights. He keeps his clerk quiet by letting them in on the action. They get to pick a fighter, someone to use as they see fit while he handles his business. It’s a perk of the job.” His lips twitched into another grim, blood-smeared smirk. “For the next hour, I’m yours. No limits.”

Angie hesitated, her posture shifting like someone suddenly aware they’d stepped onto thin ice. She felt the weight of his words, the dark, twisted offer hidden beneath them. What a terrible perk. He didn’t expect her to do things to him like this, did he? “And if I want to do nothing with you?” She asked, her voice softer now, more guarded. Wriothesley’s bruised face tilted toward her, one eyebrow raising, intrigued by the defiance in her tone. “Then I’d keep that to yourself. The Administrator thinks this is a gift. Refusing it would be a personal insult, and Vautier won’t like it either. There might be... consequences.” She shot a quick glance over her shoulder, a flicker of doubt shadowing her hazel eyes. When she turned back, her jaw tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. “Consequences?” She let out a dry, bitter laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut through the damp chill. “You said anything, yes? Nothing is off the table? Well, doing nothing to you is still within those bounds, yes?” Angie paused long enough to take a shallow breath. “What kind of person do they think I am, that I would take advantage of you in your current state? It’s ridiculous.” Wriothesley watched her, the faint curve of his lips hinting at amusement despite the bruises and blood. She was sharper than she looked, the nervous energy from earlier now hardening into something more defiant, more dangerous. Vautier had clearly underestimated her. “Oh boy, there must’ve been a mistake in the personnel pool.” He murmured, his low, rough chuckle echoing off the stone walls. “How did Vautier end up with someone like you?” She bristled, but otherwise she didn’t move. Her eyes, those vivid, ever-shifting hazel depths met his, the fire in them bright and unguarded. He felt a small thrill at the unfiltered heat in her gaze, the spark of someone not yet broken by this world.

She stood out in the cold metal halls like a wildflower growing in the cracks of a stone wall, all soft curves and unguarded expressions, a stark contrast to the hardened faces he’d grown used to. Her dark hair framed her face, cascading over her shoulders in loose, midnight waves that absorbed the dim light like the velvet folds of a theater curtain, catching the occasional glint of deep, shadowed hues as she shifted. She was more than cute. Even in his punch drunk haze, Wriothesley knew she was beautiful. “What is that supposed to mean?” She snapped, the sharpness in her tone drawing him back to the present. He chuckled again, the chains that bound him clinking softly as he shifted. “Only that you’re quite proper. You must come from one of the upper-class families.”

Angie scoffed and turned her head sharply, her hair catching the dim light like strands of night spun with silver. “Where I come from isn’t your concern.” Wriothesley shrugged, the small motion tugging at the chains overhead, sending a dull rattle echoing through the cell. “Suit yourself,” he said, his voice rough but still threaded with that infuriating calm. “But throw me a bone, at least give me your name?” She didn’t answer. The silence stretched thin between them and even in Wriothesley’s current state, he was having none of it. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together.” He added, his voice softer now, teasing around the edges. “And ‘Mademoiselle’ feels a bit too formal for the circumstances.” That caught her. She turned back and saw him gesture downward with a small tilt of his chin, a silent reminder that, on top of everything, he was still very naked.

She’d been so focused on his injuries; the bruises blooming along his ribs, the swelling near his temple, the dried blood at the corner of his mouth, that she hadn’t truly registered his complete state of undress. But now, under his deliberate hint, the realization crashed in on her all at once. Heat surged into her cheeks as she quickly averted her eyes, pivoting on her heel to face the far wall. For his part in it, Wriothesley laughed. “Gods, you’re going to be trouble,” He muttered. “Just when I think you can’t be any cuter, you go and do that.” She dared a glance back over her shoulder. He was smiling again, wry and amused, despite the pain etched into every line of his face. “Come on” He rasped, his voice thinner now, weaker. “I took a few good hits to the face because of you. You owe me at least a name.” That stopped her cold. The words weren’t said with malice, but they struck her all the same. Her stomach tightened, the guilt clawing up before she could suppress it. She swallowed. Hard.

Fine.

If only to close this strange, disarming gap between them. “Angie” She said at last, her voice steady despite the conflict inside her. It wasn’t her full name. That truth she kept close to her chest, because whatever strange connection existed in this cell, didn’t exist in the real world. The hard truth was that she didn’t truly know him. Not Wriothesley. Not the man behind the bruises and sharp banter. He was clever. Calculating. Even like this, chained, bleeding, and half-conscious, he was still dangerous. She couldn’t afford to give him her real name. Not when she didn’t know what he might do with it. So for the duration of their time together, Angie would do. Simple. Forgettable. His gaze lingered on her, searching her face for something she didn’t offer. But he didn’t press her. He simply gave a slow nod, as though the name were enough. For now. The tension in his body began to ebb, his head falling back to rest against the cold stone behind him. Gradually, she saw his eyes fluttering shut. His breath started to come slower, shallower, but no longer ragged. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, fragile and rhythmic like a wounded animal settling under a watchful eye; and then, just as she was about to move away, his voice cut through the silence once more, softer this time, almost slurred. “Angie” He murmured, trying the name on like a threadbare coat. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if it tasted better than the blood still on his lips. She stood there a while longer, arms crossed over her chest, the weight of the situation settling on her shoulders like a cloak soaked in cold rain. The air in the cell felt too still. Too quiet. And yet, she stayed where she was.

Eventually, Wriothesley slipped fully into unconsciousness, his body sagging slightly in his restraints. Whatever strength had kept him upright had run out. Carefully, Angie stepped closer again, reaching up to steady him so he wouldn’t hang too harshly from the chains. His body was warm beneath her hands, even through the grime and bruises. Too warm. Fevered, maybe. She sighed, more to herself than to him. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” She whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “But here we are.”

And though he was unconscious, something in his expression shifted, just a flicker of peace, as though her presence alone had dulled the edge of whatever nightmare he was trapped in.

She stayed with him, holding his weight as best she could.

Just for a while. Just until Vautier was ready to leave.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fan fic #genshin fanfic #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley #wriothesley x oc #wriothesley genshin impac t #genshin impacy wriothesley #fanfic #fan fiction

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unseededtoast · 2 years ago

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Antedate | Bucky Barnes

Part 1/13 | Part Two

Summary: Sometimes making the right decision feels like the wrong one. That decision can stick with you for years and leave you wondering what would happen if you had chosen something else. But the alternatives likely lead to a much darker path; you'll never know for sure though. One thing is for certain, the decisions I have made will have lasting consequences.

Prequel to Rectify

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, physical and mental abuse, mention and description of death

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

"I trust you all will make her into Hydra's most effective scientist."

Snow falls in fluffy flakes and sticks to the ground in a thick white blanket. My toes have gone numb from the cold, but I can't bring myself to care. People walk back inside as I stare at the rectangle of freshly disturbed soil. Warm teardrops trail down my face and fall from the tip of my red nose.

Someone stands beside me, tucking their hands into their pockets. I bite my lip to keep from saying anything out of line and swallow the lump in my throat. The man beside me sighs,

"Happens to us all at some point." The man pats my shoulder a few times as he leaves. The snow crunches under his footsteps as he retreats back into the building. I stand alone in the freezing temperatures. I don't want to go back in there.

I kneel on the ground and place my fingertips on the cold dirt. A few more tears fall as I try to find the words I want to say. I sniffle and look to the sky, the grey clouds are causing a gloomy overcast. I clear my throat,

"Thank you for everything you've done, you were too good for this place. I'll always love you, mom. Rest easy." I whisper and stand up. I wipe my eyes of tears and take a few deep breaths. I know better than to walk in there crying.

I gain my composure and walk back into the building. One of the guards opens the door for me and I give him a curt nod. The inside lights are fluorescent, the concrete dull and cold. Home sweet home. I set my jaw tightly and keep my head held high as I walk back to my room.

As usual, the hallway is guarded by agents. I wish they weren't here, I'd like to have just one place where I can get away from everything. But after mom dying, I bet the security measures will only increase. I focus on the end of the hall, not making any sort of contact with the guards as I walk quickly to my door and open it.

As it shuts behind me I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I relax and take my coat off, hanging it on the hook next to the door. I rub my hands together quickly to try and create some heat, my fingertips had turned blue from being out in the cold for so long. I turn to sit on my bed so I can undo my boots, but jump as I see my father sitting on the edge. What is he doing here?

I fix my posture and squints his eyes at me. I feel tension in the air and prepare myself to be reprimanded for something. I wonder what he'll choose to belittle me over today. My father's eyes scrutinize me, looking up and down. Suddenly, he stands from the bed and walks right in front of me. I tilt my head back to make eye contact with him.

"You were quite an embarrassment out there, Adalyn. I expected you to hold yourself together. Remember what I said about being dignified. You're thirteen years old now, act like it. You're no longer a child. Remember, your training begins tomorrow and I expect you will not disappoint." He says and walks out of the room without another word. I stand still until I hear the door shut.

I unlace my boots and place them in their proper spot by the door. I look around my room and feel like something is missing, something is gone. I stare at the rundown, empty armchair by a small bookcase that mom used to read to me in. Something is gone alright.

I walk over and sit in the chair. The old fabric is torn in some places and the cushion sinks down in the middle, but it's the most comforting chair I've ever been in. I lean my head against the back cushion and run my hand over the material. It reminds me of her.

My mind drifts off and I remember all the times she would read to me in this chair. When I was really little, she would hold me in her lap as she read me old stories. My favorite was always about the boy who was kidnapped by a wicked witch, but was saved by the brave and kind girl. She always finished that story by telling me that evil people will never prevail, and that we have a choice and duty to choose kindness and mercy. I never could understand how she ended up with my father. I don't know if I ever will.

I choose to sleep in the chair for the night, and spend my last conscious thoughts reminiscing the sweet memories I have of her. Now that she's gone, there is no light in this place. There is no humanity. I know that since she's no longer here, there will be a power struggle. After all, someone has to take her spot and assume her duties. She was the second most powerful person in Hydra, and that position won't go unfilled for long.

The morning comes too soon. The overhead alarm wakes me up from my uncomfortable sleep and I rub the soreness in my neck. I take a few moments to wake up and prepare my mind for the day. My father is making me start my specialty training today, he says I'm ready for it but I have my doubts. I only just took the placement test a few weeks ago and I've never seen them place the other children this quickly.

I put on the clothes my father had picked out for me to wear. He said this first impression is vital, and that I must look properly put together. The last thing I want to do today is bring dishonor to my father. I take the time to make sure my hair is placed perfectly and out of my face. I put my shoes on and look over myself one more time to make sure everything is how it's supposed to be.

I take a deep breath and fix my posture before I open the door. I keep my head held high as I walk down the cold hallway and to the science lab. My shoes echo through the hall and I stop in the doorway of the lab once I get there. It would be out of place for me to just walk in.

I see my father already talking to one of the scientists and his eyes light up as he sees me. He smiles and alerts everyone,

"Everyone, this is my daughter, Adalyn. I assure you that she is brilliant and you will have no trouble out of her. I trust you all will make her into Hydra's most effective scientist." He says, threatening the people with an overly cheerful tone. What he actually told them was to make sure I surpass their abilities or they'll lose their job, perhaps even their life. I watch as the scientists all nod their heads with wide smiles. They're all terrified.

"Of course, Mr. Averina." The lead scientist steps forward and gives my father a courteous head bow. My father pats my shoulder and heads out of the room, leaving me with everyone. I've seen them all before, but I don't actually know any of them. I know they all know me, it's hard to find a person who doesn't know me in this place.

"Miss Averina, let us start by showing you around." The man says and motions for me to follow him. Sticking to my father's orders, I nod my head and follow the man wordlessly and without emotion. I am to remain as professional and formal as possible at all times.

The man shows me around the vast laboratory, pointing out different machines and what they do. It's all very fascinating to me. I watch as some scientists continue their work, putting fluids into clear glass beakers and looking at specimens under the microscope. I wonder what they're working on?

The man stops in front of a door that has the words "No Entry" plastered in bright red font across it. He points at the door and makes eye contact with me,

"Do not enter this room under any circumstances." His tone is not the cheerful one he had kept throughout the tour. I nod my head, curious about what's in there. The man clears his throat and shows me to an empty table.

"This is where you will be conducting your work. You'll be training with us for a while before we let you go on your own." He says.

"What exactly am I training for?" I ask. Nobody has told me what I'm going to be specializing in, just that I had been placed within the science division. The lead scientist scratches the back of his head and I notice some others pause their work to listen in.

"You will be focusing on our neuroscience studies." I nod my head. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but, I guess I can't complain. I could've been placed in the soldier division.

Day after day I report for my duties, learning a little more each day. The days blur together, it feels like I'm trapped in a time loop. The scientist I'm training under, Leopold, is friendly enough, but there's something unsettling about him. Something sinister.

Today he's teaching me more about the structures of the brain. He says that in order for me to be effective in this field, I have to understand this stuff like the back of my hand. And so I will. I pay close attention and take detailed notes as he points at different images on the page. I find it quite easy to remember this information, perhaps because it's fascinating to me.

Every day after we're done in the laboratory I go back to my room and study. My father made it quite clear to me that I am to excel in this field. He mentioned something about a special project that he wants me to take control of once I'm ready. Maybe that's why Leopold is strange, he knows my father plans on replacing him with me in a few years.

"And the hippocampus, this one right here, stores the memories." Leopold says and points to a small image on the page. I nod and quickly scribble down what he says. I look up to him once I'm done writing and he shuts the book. He takes a seat on the edge of the table and cracks his knuckles. I scrunch my eyebrows together, what is he doing?

"Tomorrow you will be tested on this. If you pass you move on to the next lesson. If you fail we have to start over. You are free to go study, we're done for the day." I nod and close the book I take notes in. As I leave the laboratory I take quick glances to see what the others are doing.

I notice on one of the tables that there is a brain floating in a glass. It startles me, seeing a brain just casually on display. I don't even want to begin pondering where they got it. I leave the lab and head to my father's office to tell him Leopold let me go early today. The last thing I need is my father reprimanding me for not telling him.

I knock on my father's office door and he opens it. He looks down at me and steps away so I can enter. He takes his seat behind the desk and I stand in front of it.

"Leopold released me early today, he says I should study for the test tomorrow. I will pass it." I tell my father and he nods.

"I expect nothing less from you. The quicker you master the information the quicker we can be rid of Leopold. He's done nothing for us. He's only here because his father was a genius. But I think it's time the Zola bloodline ends." I nod shortly. It makes my skin crawl to think that I will be responsible for Leopold's demise. My father dismisses me and I go back to my room, where I study for the rest of the night.

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky fanfic #hydra #bucky barnes fic #james buchanan barnes #marvel #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes angst

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littlez78aka · 4 months ago

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Moments

Previous Chapter

Alia stood still as Reigh took her measurements for the clothing she'd be wearing on their trip to Marley. Since the outside world's sense of fashion was different from theirs it was no surprise they'd get some made. And for it to be Reigh to do it was kind of a surprise.

Seeing how the lighter blonde girl had usually took charge of medical things when it came to helping around. Then again she had accepted it when Yelena had asked her to. "You good at everything you do or are you hiding your weakness?"

Reigh was squatting down to measure Alia's waist when the fellow blonde had asked the question. Chuckling the girl shook her head lightly, holding the measuring line around Alia's waist.

"I've dabbled in sewing because back home since i hadn't come a warrior, my mother had me help around the house as much as possible" At the new information, Alia raised a brow but didn't say anything.

Standing up straight again, Reigh pulled the measuring tape over her shoulder. "And sewing it just different way of stitching up skin for a wound." Not wanting to go into too much detail she made a joke.

Alia just hummed as she dropped her arms since the measuring was finished. Following after Reigh to her desk before leaning against it. Just as Reigh sat down to write down the notes of the sizes she just took.

The pair had became decently close not just from teacher and student with medical stuff but just friends. Maybe not to know that much about their past because it was still a sensitive topic but enough to know of what they were today.

And that was enough for them. "If you say it like that--makes you seem like a doctor and tailor from hell" Continuing on with the joke she simply watched as the girl scribble in her notebook. Something that Reigh seemed to do a lot everyday.

Not for measures but for everything. Reigh let out a small snicker--the comment reminded her of something but she kept it to herself. "Hell. Funny seeing where im at right now" Although things were tense sometimes, jokes like that was something that only Alia could hear.

Her humor dark enough to joke about it a lot whenever she wasn't in the presence of her squad--she didnt want to chance them reacting bad to it hence why she did it with Reigh alone.

Rolling her eyes the blonde leaned into the desk more. Placing her hand beside Reigh's book as she spoke up. "Which makes you a devil right along us. Im sorry but the truth hurts" Reigh just laughed again.

This time looking up from her notebook to look at Alia who was now just hovering over her. Simply taking a moment to look at the girl who returned the gaze. "What's up with you?" The question was sudden that Alia raised a brow to show her confusion.

"I mean there's something in your head that you're worried about" Explaining lightly what she had meant, Reigh leaned into the palm of her hand. Her ocean blue eyes prickling with a curious glint. "Like you've got something to hide."

It was almost as though Reigh was reading her look a book. Alia frowned her brows, her eyes narrowing as she sat up straighter. "And why would you think that?" Her response more colder then she meant it to be.

Alia had been good in keeping her act of keeping her worries and thoughts locked up. Even to her own husband and childhood friend who knows her better then anyone. At least that's what she thought.

Not wanting to anger Alia, Reigh stayed in her relaxed position. Tilting her head as she examined Alia's expression and posture. "You just remind me of an old friend of mine" Instead of answering honestly and pressing on the matter she thought back of the friend.

"The way you choose to take up everything on your own to protect the ones you love" Reigh's eyes clouded for a moment as she remembered the old days. "My friend, Marcel, He used to do anything to make sure his twin brother and I would be out of trouble"

Alia's hardness melted away as she was shown a side of Reigh she hadn't got to see much of. A little more of her past. "You're doing the same but i dont know exactly of what" Shaking out of her thoughts, Reigh snapped back into reality.

"Yeah...well just keep it that way for me" Speaking softer now, Alia stood up from the desk. "And do me a favor--focus more on yourself and Connie" Wanting to end the conversation the blonde walked away to leave the room.

All Reigh could do was sigh as she watched the girl leave. "And what exactly does Connie have to do with me?" Alia stopped right at the door as she turned her head back to the still sitting Reigh. "Cause you're starting to fall for him."

It wasn't a tease but a serious observation. "And he's starting to fall for you too so take care of him for me" Before Reigh could even respond--Alia had left the room with a soft thump of the door being closed behind her.

Sighing the blonde stared at the wooden door. "Can't you care for him with me?" Her question went unanswered.

---

After leaving Reigh to measure who was left, Alia made her way towards where she knew her cousin was. Silently walking the pathway as she nodded to the people she saw both Eldians and Marley soldiers alike.

By the time she got to his cooking hut by the dock, she was met with him alone for once. Which meant Sasha was still waiting to be fitted herself. Having already heard her foot steps the blonde male had greeted her before she got to say anything.

"Finally made some time for your cousin?" His tone not as teasing as you'd think as he turned to look over his shoulder to her. Alia was leaning against the table that has yet to be plated with food yet.

Shrugging at his question the fellow blonde locked eyes with him. "Thought I might keep you some company with Sasha not here to do it" Speaking in a light tone she kept her gaze on him even after he turned back to the pot he always used to cook.

Niccolo didnt comment on her statement because she wasn't wrong. Whenever Sasha had the time to--she'd be right there next to him. Not only to eat but to learn his dishes he loved to make for her. Just to see her reaction of happiness every time.

Stirring the pot slowly he placed his free hand against his hip as he stared at the pot of clam soup he was making. Debating whether or not he should say anything about what he could till about her.

Like Reigh, he had gotten a good read on noticing things about Alia. Though not from a friend that reminded him of Alia but from his own father's stories about his little brother, Egon Kasper. Something he came to see that Alia was very much alike when it came to the Kasper ways.

Coming to just bite down his nerves he spoke up. "You know you can talk to me about things right?" Their relationship was rocky at first but after two years of getting to know each other--they came to find comfort in each other.

Niccolo could only hope that he'd get the same relationship when it came to his other cousin he has yet to officially meet still.

Having just been questioned and now again, Alia wanted to brush it off and be cold again. Or else she'd break and filter everything out again like she did when talking to Annie. But this was her cousin.

Her blood.

"I know" Keeping her tone soft she glanced out towards the sea. Watching as the waves came and washed over to hit the walkway of the dock. "Just somethings are better kept inside then said out loud"

The older boy didnt say anything yet as he took in her words. He already knew it wasn't because she didnt trust him but something else. And that alone frustrated him even more. It was because of Alia he had came more open in knowing these devils.

In knowing the squad he now called friends. In knowing the one girl he truly felt like he loved. Not that he's said anything to the brunette yet.

Placing a lid over the pot, he put the wooden spoon aside before he faced her fully this time. Crossing his arms over his chest as he examined her just as she looked off into the distance. "Can you at least tell me you'll lean on someone about this?"

Not wanting to push further since he had his own secrets that she respected as family--a silent agreement they had in learning more about each other. Caring for each other.

Taking a deep breath in, Alia turned her head back to him. "Yeah" She was being honest since she was helping her friend who was leaning on her in return. "But in return can you do me a favor?"

Relieved that she was talking to someone about it he nodded at her question. Confused a bit but happy to oblige to her request. "Anything" He said without a doubt as he stared at her. The expression she wore growing more serious as she walked over to him.

Pushing a finger against his chest a little hard to emphasize what she was going to say. He took it with a small grunt. "Don't break Sasha's heart" It was a simple request. One that Niccolo was already planning on doing because he'd never want to hurt Sasha.

"I didn't plan on breaking her heart but done" Lifting a hand up to grab onto hers he tugged her close before wrapping her up in a hug. Tightening his hold as he rested his chin over her shoulder.

Having been used to such affection from her friends now, Alia returned the embrace. Holding her cousin with the same tightness he had for her as she closed her eyes. Burning this moment into her head. This feeling because she had a feeling it would be her last one in awhile.

Closing his eyes in return he sunk into the hug. "I'm gonna be here for you just as much as I am for her." True to his words he slowly pulled back to look at her. Showing with his eyes alone he meant what he said.

Offering up a smile, Alia placed her hands on his shoulders. "And I am for you" Even if it may not seem like it. With those unspoken words she squeezed his shoulders. "For everyone" Finishing off her sentence she stepped to go behind him.

Grinning as she lifted up the lid of the soup he was making. "As you are when it comes to feeding such deliciousness for everyone" At that comment, Niccolo puffed up his chest feeling more cocky at the praise.

The man knew he was a good cook but he sure as hell did like the compliments.

-----

(Imagine her with a longer skirt and her hair pulled into just two pony tails with a hat that matches. Also no stripes!)

Watching her favorite trio from afar, Alia stood beside Eren as they waited for the boat to get to the docks of Marley. Leaning against the wall with him as she listened to the three's conversation from afar.

Playing with the material of her gloves at the odd sensation, she glanced away from her three knuckleheads. Her attention focused on the brunette who was seemingly more moody then ever.

Not that she blamed him because they were in enemy territory and whatever they may hear will decide if they go through their plan or not. To be honest she was in the same boat as him--literally and mentally.

"Before anything is said and done" Her words got Eren to look at her instead of the ocean. No longer in his thoughts but with her in the presence. "Maybe try asking Mikasa to runaway"

It would mean going against everything they were preparing for.

Eren knew that she knew that but he also knew she'd never say anything without reason. Especially when it came to him and their friends. "And why would I do that?" Curious for a moment, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Drawing his head back to lean against the wall he was leaning on as he waited for her answer. The blonde girl took a moment to look at Jean speficially while he scolded Connie and Sasha about something.

"It's the option that puts your and her happiness first and the one you haven't even thought of" Thinking about it now, she's thought about running away with Jean. Her friends and family she loved but Jean was her whole heart by now.

With everything that's been going on the thought crossed her mind many times. To leave everything behind and live a life that would be worth living even if it meant being a coward in a way.

But the reason why she hadn't said it until now was because she knew that Jean would have trouble in agreeing with her. Having gone through so much that he continued to go forward because he was strong.

Something she knew Mikasa would probably continue to do the same. But asking the question didn't hurt. At least in Eren's case because he was playing the card hand of something far more worse then Alia.

She may be willing to help but he was the one to be the devil. The one to take it on fully. There was only so much she could do to be a devil herself. Demon maybe but not a devil.

Taring her eyes away from her lover, she locked aways with the brunette. Their eyes staring into each other's souls. "Forget about us, the world and just live out your last years with the one you love most"

Alia wouldn't blame him if he did and she was sure the other's wouldn't either. At least after they realized the pressure Eren had been forced into all these years. "I mean it sounds like an option that's a hell of a lot better then what you think is the last one"

Instead of getting angry at the girl, Eren simply looked away from her this time. His eyes finding home to where Mikasa was standing as she stared out to the city that they were heading to. Pondering the thought of what Alia told him.

"Maybe" His answer made Alia feel a little better. So keeping their conversation there, she got up from the wall. Placing a hand over his shoulder and squeezing it lightly before she walked off. No other words needed to be said after that.

An understanding between them both being said just as Alia walked over to jump against Connie's back--startling the boy to nearly fall off the boat. Luckily Jean was fast to pull them back just as Sasha burst into laughter.

------

The moment they got on Marley grounds, Alia was laughing. The sight of her Hannie, Connie, and Sasha run after a car as if it were alive. With Jean embarrassed, he was fast to wrap his arm around her waist.

His other hand raising up to push his hat further into his face. "Act like you dont know them" And being his lover she followed his command easily. Giggling as she raised her hand up to cover her mouth.

"They never cease to crack me up" Walking along side him she walked over to the food venders with Jean. The pair still within eyesight of the group as they curiously looked at the stuff they've never seen.

Instead of responding her, Jean politely asked the worker for some of whatever it was. Thanking the worker he glanced back to the blonde who was already eyeing the food he held. "Here you go"

Holding it out to her he couldn't help but smile as he watched her take it happily. Her eyes brightening with life as she took a bite of the item. "It's so warm!" The blonde squealed out as she bit into the bread.

A filling spilling out from the thing before she took another bite. The scene of her enjoying such goodness had Jean smiling more. It was the first time since their wedding he was seeing her so happy and content.

Biting into his own bread, he did the same as her. Humming at the taste as he looked back to see Ponpon to be bringing back the three idiots. The couple's moment coming to a fast end as Sasha went over to the vender by them.

Her reaction to such coldness had Connie wanting to taste. Walking together towards the two, Alia watched with curiosity as her childhood friend took a nip of the creamy thing Sasha was holding.

The brunette girl holding it out to her twin as he gasped at the taste and feeling. "What is this stuff made of?!" Connie shouted out. Both of their reactions had Jean wanting some as well. Letting Alia go he quickly came beside Sasha to order as well.

"I'd like one too! Please sir!" Asking a lot more eager then he had before. "Me too!" Connie shouted right after since Sasha was devouring hers already. Alia stood behind the three with an even wider smile.

Eating the warm sweet she still had as she watched. It didnt help that Jean was holding out his ice cream to show Armin and Mikasa excitedly. Finding herself curiously looking to find the one person who wasn't eager to try things--she looked to see Eren stuck in his thoughts again.

Deciding better that Mikasa to talk to him this time, the blonde stood alone for a few minutes to enjoy her dessert. Watching her friends still growing excited to try more of such things they haven't had before.

Alia knew that moments like this wouldn't be around as much anymore so she simply watched. Locking it into her mind to remember as she did with all her precious memories.

Next Chapter

Sea Green Eyes Masterlist

#aot #attack on titan

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miyaagis · 4 years ago

Text

oikawa is a handsome man, there’s no denying it. he might be twice your age but his trademark charm never fails to lure you in. too bad he’s your dad’s best friend

+ pairing. oikawa t. / fem reader

+ word c. 2,730

+ warnings. age gap, alcohol, mild degradation, mindbreak, noncon filming, squirting, watersports, mating press, one (1) slap in the ass, u call him uncle but he isn’t, so pseudo-cest? no beta we die like men

+ author n. my piece for the miki mouse whorehouse collab ♡ three weeks late, yes

the mid-afternoon sun burns above you, your exposed skin glowing under its blaze as you try to ignore the bickering of your dad’s friends.

oikawa’s playlist blasts through the speakers, the one with latin songs and that he’s been listening to since he went to argentina (according to uncle makki). you hum along with the beat unconsciously, so close to dozing off that you miss the sound of the approaching steps.

“a drink for the princess.”

flirty brown eyes meet yours through the tinted glass of your sunglasses, his handsome smile making your heart skip as you sit up and take the cold drink from his hands.

oikawa takes the seat next to you, handing his phone over to you to let you choose the next song. his fingers trace the rim of his beer bottle as he watches you type something on the screen before leaning back against the chair.

“my dad will yell at you for giving me alcohol,” you peer up at him, taking the straw between your lips.

he takes a long sip of his beer in hopes of calming down the myriad of thoughts swirling in his mind. it’s sinful how the wet fabric of your swimsuit clings onto your form while you lie under the sun—unbothered. but it’s even worse how the star of those thoughts it’s his best friend’s daughter.

“you’re an adult, you’re allowed to have fun.”

you scoff, “tell him that.”

iwaizumi has never been a strict parent but he likes to play the overprotective dad role every once in a while.

“he’s your dad. it’s kind of his job,” he tilts his head in his friend’s direction, his stare serious before switching into a playful one, “and mine is to be the cool uncle.”

you can’t help but snort, “who said you were cool?”

oikawa fake gasps at your statement, but his posture immediately tenses up as uneasiness takes over his body.

he doesn’t have an idea when it all started, or when did the playful banter between you two turned into this unbearable sexual tension. many nights he has been haunted in his dreams by your cute but taunting smile, poking fun at him until his lips land on yours, and kissing you until you’re reduced to a pathetic whimpering mess.

“–kawa you asshole!”

hanamaki’s voice snaps him out of his trance, both of your heads turning to look at said man as he scolds matsukawa for spilling his drink on the table.

“don’t stay under the sun for too long,” oikawa suddenly stands up, shooting you a forced smirk, “or you’ll get wrinkles.”

you stick your tongue out at him and watch him walk away, staring at his back while a silly smile settles on your lips.

—

the sun has already set when you make your way inside.

you ignore the two drunk men passed out on the couch as you look around for your dad, but when you fail to catch sight of him, you decide to take a look in the kitchen.

oikawa’s shirtless back greets you, his muscles bulging under his tanned skin as he seems to be struggling with a bottle of wine.

“you’re doing it wrong.”

he immediately halts his movements and turns to look at you, “i’m sorry?”

you smirk, “you’re forgiven.”

he scoffs at your little joke, but when you see the hint of a smirk tugging his lips upwards you know he’s enjoying it as much as you are. with a push of your hips, you shove him aside and grab the corkscrew from his hands.

“this, is how you do it.”

he leans on the kitchen counter with his elbow as he observes you do your thing, “you’re being too awfully cocky lately.”

“not my fault you can’t open a wine bottle the right way,” you shrug before smiling triumphantly once it's open, taking a swig of the bottle.

it’s probably the way your eyes gleam under the dim lights, or how your lips look plump and glossy after drinking the wine. either way, the words leave oikawa’s mouth before he can think twice.

“oh? care to tell me what else i don’t do the right way?”

you watch as he takes the bottle from your hands and takes a sip, “you’d be surprised. i know more than what you may think.”

“i doubt it.”

“try me.”

the words hang in the air, the hidden meaning begging to be addressed but you stare at each other in silence, your chests heaving up as you wait for the other to make a move.

“do you know what’s been on my mind lately?” he’s the first one to break the silence, his figure looming above you while his hand moves to rest on your hip.

your breath hitches as you shake your head. gone is the playful gleam in your eyes, his stare feeling as if he’s a predator and you the helpless prey.

“you.”

he pauses, gauging your reaction while you feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“oi!”

you both jump at the sound of your dad’s voice. iwaizumi stands behind you with his car keys on hand, exhaustion evident in his posture.

“they’re hammered, i’m going to drive them home. you need a ride?”

the question’s directed at oikawa, who’s suddenly feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

did he see anything? he wonders. but the tired look in his best friend’s face lets him know he doesn’t suspect a thing.

“nah, i’m good,” the odd look iwaizumi sends his way prompts him to come up with an excuse, “i’ll clean up and then i’ll be on my way out.”

on a normal day, iwaizumi would’ve refused. but if he could escape your mom’s wrath after the mess they made, then he’d take it in a heartbeat. good thing she’s out on her casino night.

“thanks, man. see you around.”

you both watch as he exits the kitchen, the tense atmosphere remaining even after hearing the front door close behind the three men.

you can’t help but deflate a bit, sensing the ‘moment’ between you is gone.

“where were we?”

your eyes widen and refuse to meet his, choosing to fiddle with your fingers as you repeat what he said earlier in a small voice, “you said… you said you were thinking of me.”

oikawa has to stop himself from cooing at your nervousness, humming instead as he takes one step in your direction.

“mhm, all day,” his hands snake around your waist to pull you flush against him, “i’ve been thinking about fucking you.”

a small gasp leaves your mouth, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“you enjoyed teasing me, didn’t you? parading around in that slutty swimsuit of yours with your tits spilling out of your bra?”

he hauls you up by your waist and places you on the granite counter, settling himself between your legs, “i could see your nipples getting hard, begging to be kissed,” one of his hands leaves your waist and moves upwards to pinch your nipple. he can’t help but coo at the faint whimper that escapes your lips, “hmm, so cute.”

oikawa’s lips connect with yours, his other hand holding you by the back of your head while the other keeps rubbing the hardened nub. once his tongue glides into your mouth, breathless moans fill the kitchen.

“a-ah, uncle tooru,” you run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

he starts to make his way down, kissing your neck and collarbone before he reaches your chest. his teeth graze your hard nipple, toying with it while a large hand moves down between your legs and pushes the fabric covering your pussy aside.

two long fingers prod between your folds, sliding in easily and making you groan.

“naughty girl, so wet already,” he rasps in your ear, throat dry at the sight of your wet folds.

the wetness dripping from your hole immediately coats his digits, making it easier for him to tease your insides. the pads of his index and middle fingers curl upwards to touch the soft walls, massaging them in slow movements.

“mm, fuck–” it’s exhilarating how good he’s making you feel just with his fingers, pulling moans so effortlessly out of you.

“feels good, hm?”

“yes, yes, so so good–” your head falls limp against his shoulder, your hands resting on his biceps as you try to hold onto something, “please… faster.”

the pace of his hand picks up while his thumb brushes over your clit, watching you lose yourself in the pleasure. his cock hardens at the filthy sounds of your pussy sucking his fingers in and your wanton moans.

“so needy,” he murmurs, a breathless chuckle falling right in your ear, “be a doll and cum for me. will you? c’mon, baby. i know you can do it.”

your grip on his shoulders tightens, his encouraging words awakening something in you that has you cumming right after. warmth floods your body as you chant his name desperately, the friction of his finger against your clit prolonging your high and making it difficult to catch your breath.

it takes you a minute to recover from the daze, his body-heat overwhelming you and fogging up your mind.

it’s not until he takes his fingers out of your dripping core and has a taste of your juices when he truly feels the lust take over him.

oikawa immediately picks you up from the kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his torso as he blindly makes his way to your room.

his mouth moves hungrily against yours, your bodies occasionally colliding against the walls since you refuse to let go of each other. once you reach your bedroom, he pushes the door open and places you on the bed, climbing on top of you and latching his mouth onto your neck.

“baby, i need to– hmm,” the roll of your hips against his front causes his cock to twitch in his shorts, “need to fuck you.”

your eyes close when he moves your bra down and starts sucking on your nipple, one of your hands tangling in his hair and pushing his face onto your chest.

“want you so badly, please.”

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll make you cum again, so many times, and fill your needy cunt with my cum,” he murmurs against your chest, his tongue gliding over the sensitive skin while he rolls his hips against your core, “you’re gonna be a good little slut for me, right? bounce on my cock like a bitch in heat?”

you have never heard something so filthy leave his mouth, the promise of another orgasm sending a jolt down to your center.

“y-yes, i’ll do whatever you want! just please, fuck me.”

“yes, what?” his eyes glint with malice as he looks down at you, waiting for you to reply.

“yes... sir.”

a captivating smile graces his lips as he moves up from your chest to your face, his mouth hovering right above yours, “good girl.”

before you can process his words, he flips you on top of him, his hands going straight to your ass and squeezing the flesh. you notice the hardness underneath you and you have to stop yourself from bucking your hips against it.

with a tap on your butt, he signals you to lift your hips, taking off his shorts and turning to the side to place them somewhere. but in your drunken state, all you can focus on is on the cock in front of you, the flushed head glistening with pre-cum and causing your mouth to water.

he’s turning around when you wrap a hand around his girth, making him jolt under you before you lift your eyes to stare back at him.

“patience, baby. i’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles at the same time you rub his cock between your folds. his eyes stare intensely at you, watching you coat him with your juices before aligning him with your hole, “shit, i wish i could watch you like this forever.”

“you can have me whenever you want, sir. i’m yours.”

his cock parts your lower lips as you start sinking down, the vein on the underside of his shaft rubbing deliciously against your walls until he’s bottoming out. his hands rest on your hips, letting you get used to the stretch before he starts to rock you back and forth, slowly.

“feels so good… m-more.”

strong arms wrap around your waist, bringing your torso down until your breasts are pressed against his chest. his thrusts become intense, making you squeal as his laugh reverberates in his chest. he slaps your ass with one hand, groaning when your walls clamp down around him.

“tightest cunt i’ve ever fucked,” he groans.

“h-harder, fuck me harder,” you plead and, in a matter of seconds, he’s ramming his cock into you just like you asked. the friction of his length against your insides makes you dizzy, your mind wandering to how would it feel to be filled with his seed, “god– ugh, want your cum.”

“hm? my pretty little cumslut wants to milk me dry?”

he pushes you up as he slows down his pace, whines leaving your mouth in frustration. oikawa helps you bounce on top of him, his pelvic bone brushing against your swollen clit which causes your orgasm to approach faster than expected.

“‘m so close,” your rhythm falters, hips moving back and forth desperately in search of that delicious friction, “gonna cum, sir. please, make me cum.”

oikawa’s grip on your hips tightens, one of his hands moving down to your clit and rubbing it in fast circles, “shit– so tight,” he moans when you clench your muscles around his cock, feeling it twitch inside of you, “fuck, fuck, i’m cumming!”

he barely manages to rasp out before warm spurts of cum paint your walls, his cock throbbing against them while he keeps moving in and out of your hole. you follow suit, your pussy trembling around him as you both ride out your orgasms.

his cock visibly twitches once it's out of your cunt, lying flat on his stomach while white cum slowly drips on top of it. spreading your asscheeks, he stares at your glistening cunt and watches your juices coat him before flipping you onto your back. his entire weight rests on top of you, caging you in a mating press and entering your raw walls again.

“s-sir, no more! ‘m too sensitive– ah,” your legs are shaking at the overstimulation, his cock reaching so deep that you can feel it nudging at your cervix.

he grunts as he keeps thrusting into you, his balls slapping against your ass while you try to fight him, “one more, baby.”

“i-i can’t! no, no, no, please...” your nails dig in his muscles, a futile attempt to get him to slow down.

the slapping of skin on skin is loud, your cries encouraging him to drill harder into your pussy until he’s flooding it with his thick cum.

“shit, princess. of course you can. isn’t this what you wanted? you’re such a slut for me, i’ve known it all this time.”

you know you want to cum, but another tingling feeling settles on your belly and, after a perfectly directed thrust from his part, you gush around his cock.

“holy shit.”

everything seems to stop around you, drooling and babbling nonsense as you’re sent into a high that leaves your mind floating, your body growing limp under oikawa as he continues to fuck your hole until he’s filling it again.

the euphoria stops you from noticing when he pulls out, also missing how he remains above you with his softening cock in hand and pumping it slowly. a groan escapes your mouth when a sudden warmth soaks your sweaty skin, making you close your eyes and bask in it.

“fuck, baby,” he angles his cock in your direction, allowing his piss to pour down onto your ruined pussy and down your bedsheets, “look at you, my pretty little slut.

your craving for him was so powerful that you failed to notice the phone standing on your bedside table, angled directly at you. even when familiar moans blare through its speakers after oikawa picks it up, smiling down at it as he readies himself to enter you once more.

taglist. @newfriendjen @tsumue @cyb3rbab3 @lets-go-datehoe @kageyamakock @oneholetickler @idiotgu @kageyama-i-want-tobiors

#oikawa x reader smut #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #tw.alcohol #tw.degradation #tw.noncon filming #tw.watersports #tw.mindbreak

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deviouslittledoughnut · 3 years ago

Text

love potion | Albedo x GN! Reader

Warnings: None.

Albedo hummed softly as he carefully examined the bubbling rose-colored liquid, concentrating with narrowed eyes as he took careful notes.

It was the crunch of snow that caught his attention, but he didn’t lift his gaze, choosing to feign obliviousness. After a few minutes of examining the flask, he cracked a smile when a little distorted face gazed back at him through the glass.

“It’s such a pretty color, Albedo,” they spoke. “What are you making this time?”

He watched as you took a stand, straightening your posture from behind his table. Looking up, he saw it, that lazy smile spread upon your lips- that same one that made him hold his breath in anticipation and his heart lift from the cold of Dragonspine and to the touching warmth of sunlit rays.

He averted his eyes, pretending to jot a few things onto his clipboard.

“It’s just a simple concoction,” he says methodically. “There's a specific flower that blooms around this time of year on Dragonspine, and I wanted a chance to experiment with it.”

You cocked your head to the side.

“I didn’t know flowers grew on Dragonspine. I thought it was too cold.”

Albedo, continuing to pretend to jot down notes, examined your face.

“Life sprouts out in the most surprising places. The snow will melt to provide nurture for a split-second of beauty, before shrouding the land back in cold. You can think of Dragonspine as a desert of morose beauty.”

His heart stops as laughter echoes and reverberates around his small campsite, your bright eyes filled with mirth and amusement.

“You’re always so poetic and elegant. As expected of Mondstat’s Resident Chief Alchemist, I guess haha…”

His eyes flutter at the compliment, cheeks flaring as his heart- his rapidly beating heart -pounds in his chest, threatening to explode in euphoria. Oh, what he would do to hear it again for every moment of his day.

“Do you want any help with today’s experiment, Albedo?” He couldn’t take it. With every single thing that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t help but fall deeper and deeper into that aching longing.

And he couldn’t help but enjoy the way his name rolled off your wet lips like a beautiful psalm. If you kept going at it, he was going to do something he was going to regret. Oh, how he hated and craved it every time you chose to grace him with your presence.

He clears his throat, shaking his head, realizing that he had taken too long gazing at you with what he could only assume as tenderness instead of responding to you. But he couldn’t help it; not when you had found the stairway into his dull heart.

“No, you don’t need to help me today.” Your face sullens, and he almost regrets denying your help. Almost. Instead, he takes the time to watch you attentively as you furrow your brows, taking a deep breath in through your nose.

“Huh.”

“Is something wrong?” His hands continue to glide across the page as he so shamelessly stares. He can see it, the embarrassment that had begun to creep on your face and the way you coughed into your fist, hoping that it would diffuse the attention away from you. But he could never take his eyes off of you, and that was the undeniable truth.

“It’s just, uhm-” He tilted his head, resting his chin on his clipboard as he watched you flail and struggle to form a sentence. “I don’t know if it’s supposed to be like this, but your potion smells a lot like… you.”

The pen in his hand snaps.

You gape at the crumbling pen with wide eyes. “I uh, sorry, wrong thing to say I guess. I’ll just ah, get going then.”

Albedo could only stand dumbfounded as you rush out of his campsite.

Curiosity filling his veins like a drug, he hovered over the glass flask containing the flower essence. Standing just where you stood, he sniffed the air. His cheeks flush as his mind clouded, fogging up with thoughts of you.

Dear Celestia, your scent was so overpowering that he had to take a step back, but even then, the smell persisted to linger like his fluttering thoughts of you. He looked down at the pen he had broken on the floor, and then to the clipboard. Any piece of sanity he had left crumbled as he stared at what was supposed to be his notes.

He had been so heavily focused that he didn’t even realize he began drawing. His hands shook as he gazed at everything: the eyes, the mouth, the way you smiled- the same smile he had been so caught upon.

Albedo groaned, pressing a hand against his burning forehead. What was he doing, making a love potion? When did he get so lost that every single moral reason had been thrown out the window? But he supposes it didn’t matter. You already confirmed his suspicions

And now he was falling in fast and he hoped that you would catch him.

#amortentia #genshin impact #albedo #albedo x reader #reader insert #🍩 writes

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folkwhorerain · 4 years ago

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Jealousy, Jealousy (Wanda Maximoff x fem reader)

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem reader

Summary: reader is a shy and insecure Avenger whit a crush on Wanda, but she never made the first move on the sokovian. What if, during a party, finally something happens between the two of them?

Warnings: angst, reader being insecure, language (I think?), alcohol and sexual tension (feel free to tell me if I should add more).

English is not my first language, so bare with my grammar please, lol. This is my first fanfiction ever so forgive me if it's not anything special or it is lame.

I got inspired by "Jealousy, Jealousy" by Olivia Rodrigo, so I suggest you listen to it while reading, if you want.♥️

You hated them. You hated Tony's parties.

Don't get me wrong, you enjoyed the Avengers company, but parties were definitely not your thing. You always felt... out of place.

You were fine with chatting with the team during this day when you spent some time together, but when parties where that huge like tonight's one, all you wanted to do was staying in your room.

The fact is that you can't help but compare yourself to the others. You never felt enough and you were intimated by Tony's friends and the other heroes. You were just... You. No one special with no cool superpowers, you were good at hand to hand combat and you were really smart, but that was it; you always thought that was lame. Like that wasn't enough, you were the newest recruit in the team. The Avengers all welcomed you well and you grew attached to all of them, especially Natasha, but still, you didn't feel like that was enough for you to be considered "the cool Avenger", and you were still private about your feelings and emotions; when something was wrong the only answer that you had when they asked you what bothered you was "it's nothing". But it wasn't nothing. You felt an outsider in the team, you felt like you weren't enough for them and the worst part is that you knew it was all in your head, but you couldn't help it.

The first person that always comes to your mind when you think of someone cool is Wanda. Her powers affascinates you and you loved her determination. You can't say you two are close, but she always treated you well and she respected your boundaries, that's why now you have a crush on her and that's part of the reason you didn't want to go to the party. Seeing her well dressed while smiling to people who weren't you and while Vision was trying to get her attention would only make it worse.

You considered staying in your room while scrolling your social media, not having any strength to get up and get ready, especially when you were still in your bathrobe and your thoughts were only about a certain witch. However you knew Natasha would've dragged you out of the room if you wouldn't come so, after a few curses and annoyed groans, you threw your phone on the pillow and started to get dressed.

You didn't want to get the attention to you, people would start a conversation and tonight you weren't into it at all, so you opted for a green skirt and a black, cropped sweater and a little bit of makeup. Nothing more.

I'm already so sick of this bullshit, you thought to yourself, then you took a deep breath and went downstairs.

–

As you expected, the biggest room of the Stark Tower was filled with people you didn't know, but you were sure they were mostly Tony's friends.

They were all so confident with their drinks in hands, perfect combed hair and fancy dresses worth millions of dollars.

You weren't nothing like these people: you didn't get why people would spend millions for pieces of cloth. It was a waste of money, but how you wished you saw it differently, maybe you would be one of these apparently happy people with a lot of friends, and not the weirdo of the group with a lack of confidence so evident you couldn't even enjoy a relaxing event.

A few tears tried to escape your eyes, but you wouldn't let them. Steve was watching you and, from the look he was giving you, he already sensed something was off with you; so you did what was best and faked a smile, which he returned gladly before he went back to his conversation with Bucky.

You felt like a creep standing in the corner of the room doing nothing, so you started looking around searching for Nat. After a few second you saw her talking, or better, flirting with Bruce at the bar while she had a Martini on her hand.

You frowned sympathetically. Cute. He really likes her a lot, you thought seeing Bruce embarrassed and intimidated by the widow.

Suddenly a waiter asked you if you wanted a glass of wine and you accepted, maybe a little alcohol would help you get through this more easily. You took a sip and enjoyed the feeling of the wine in your throat.

“This is ridiculous.” you whispered.

“What is ridiculous?” you heard someone ask you.

You turned to see who it was and that's when you saw her: Wanda was smiling at you with a curious expression on her face.

You blinked a few times, amazed by the girl in front of you: she was wearing a short, black dress, and her ginger hair was loose on her shoulders. She decided to put on a little bit of makeup and a red lipstick. Not like her typical style, but you liked her anyway. She was always so beautiful.

You shook your head, realizing she was waiting for an answer. "Uhm, parties, I guess.” She nodded. “I mean, Tony's events are always too exaggerated.” you added before biting your lips, clearly embarrassed.

“I know how you feel.” Wanda agreed. “I always have to try so hard to fit in during things like these.” She chuckled while looking around the room.

“Well, at least you're trying.” You said before giving her a dry laugh, looking down at your glass.

The ginger tilted her head sympathetically. “Well, maybe that's the problem.”

You frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... trying too hard is the problem.” She explained. “If you feel like you have to try so hard it becomes unbearable, maybe that means that the thing you're doing is not good for you.” She added before biting the inside of her cheek.

You simply hummed in agreement and took another sip of wine, too intimated by her beauty.

Don't think something awkward. She can read minds. Don't think how beautiful she is- shit. Stop thinking.

“If you'll excuse me, Vision is looking for me.” She said with a smirk on her face before leaving you alone again.

You watched her walk away, analizing her every move. God, how you wanted her to be yours. She was not, of course. Why would she be with someone like you? She could have Vision and every other man in this room, so why would she choose a girl like you? Speaking of the devil, Vision approached her with a few guys and she gave him her brightest smile.

You watched all the interaction, still in the corner of the room.

He was so confident with his perfect posture and his good manners. He would be the best for her. He's the kind of man, or synthezoid, or whatever, that could always reassure her and find the perfect words to make her feel better. He would try and cheer her up and find the better jokes to tell, just like he's probably doing right now. In fact the sokovian was laughing at something he said and her beautiful laugh echoed through the room.

You felt jealousy rush through your veins.

“I wanna be him so bad!”

All the people in the room turned to look at you with puzzled expression.

Your eyes went wide when you realized you practically yelled what you wanted was just a thought so, without a second thought, you rushed out of the party and went straight to your room.

You slammed the door and let the tears escape. You took off your make up and headed straight to bed, overthinking what just happened, screaming in your pillow.

I always ruin everything!

You didn't expect you would've said that out loud and right now you didn't expect to hear someone to knock on your door. You didn't answer, though, you kept your head buried in the pillow. It was probably Natasha who wanted to talk about what happened and you definitely weren't going to say a word.

The door opened anyway and you groaned in annoyance.

“Listen, Nat-” You started to say but stopped immediately when you saw it wasn't the russian spy, but Wanda.

“Hi.” She greeted you with a shy smile. “May I sit?” She asked pointing the bed.

You composed yourself and nodded shyly. “Yeah.”

Wanda gave you a swift smile and sat next to you, crossing her legs on the bed. Your breath itched when you felt your knees touching. You two have never been this close and the situation was making you nervous, thing that didn't go unnoticed by Wanda considering the fact that you were playing with the ring on your index finger.

You never noticed but Wanda knows you very well. She knows your moves, the way you play with your hands when you're nervous, the way your eyes shine when you talk about your interests or the way you are quieter than usual when you're sad.

The truth is that Wanda liked you very much and she knew you liked her too. She didn't want to tell you 'cause she wanted you to take courage and say it first and, to be fully honest, she was scared. What if your crush was temporary and you would eventually get bored? What if she loses you just like she lost her parents and Pietro? She would never, ever accept it.

“So... Why did you run away?” She asked like it wasn't obvious you just yelled in front of everyone.

“Are you seriously asking, Wanda?” You snapped before you could stop yourself.

She looked at you with sad eyes before looking down at her hands. “Sorry…”

“No, no... Don't apologize.” You whispered. “You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have… God, I'm pathetic.”

You threw your head in your hands and sighed. I'm so sick of myself!

“Why are you sick of yourself?” The sokovian asked you before placing a hand on your knee.

You looked at the hand and then at her.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have read your mind, but sometimes your thoughts are really loud.” she chuckled, starting to rub her thumb on your knee. You were speechless, all this interaction was making you crazy. You craved more of her touch and now, more than ever, you wanted to kiss her. However you pushed those feelings aways and started to open up to avoid thinking about something inappropriate. “I'm just… me. I mean, I'm not special.”

“Why do you think that?” She asked raising an eyebrow, her hand never leaving your skin.

You took a deep breath. “Wanda, come on! Tony's friends are so cool, he's loved by everyone, Natasha is a badass russian spy, you have these amazing superpower. Thor is literally a God, for fuck's sake!”

“You compare yourself to the others too much. It's not healthy, Y/N.” She sweetly stated wiping away a tear from you cheek.

You closed your eyes for a second, enjoying her touch, but then you came back to reality. “I know, but I can't help it. The others seem to be so confident and happy, and all the girls at the party... Fuck, they're so pretty-”

"Beauty is not your lack.” She interrupted you smirking, her hand still on your cheek.

“I- I just wish I was them... I wish I had the courage Vision has.” You admitted, looking down.

“Why him?” The ginger asked placing two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at her in those piercing green eyes.

“Because I'm so jealous he gets all your attentions and I don't just because I'm too insecure.” You said it in a whisper, almost inaudible, but Wanda heard you and you knew judging by the smile on her face.

“You want my attentions?” She asked leaning in.

Her face was so close to yours that it was hard to breathe. You could smell her perfume and that alone was making you want her more. You had the urge to kiss her and touch her and taste her, but right now Wanda was waiting for a response so you simply nodded, not trusting your voice.

“You already have them.” She admitted, making you frown in confusion. “There might be a hundred people in the room, but I would always notice you and only you, Y/n.” You were speechless, partly because of her confession, partly because she was so damn close to your face it made your heart race fast, and before you could realise, she kissed you.

Her lips were so soft against yours and her hands were in the right places. However, after a few moments, you realized you froze and didn't reproached the kiss. Wanda broke the kiss, a disappointed look on her face.

“I'm sorry, I thought you liked me t-”

Before she could finish her sentence, you kissed her. You kissed her with so much confidence it surprised both you and Wanda.

Your right hand was on her neck and the other was on her waist, pulling her close.

You felt her smirk on the kiss and the hand that before was on your knee now was up your thigh.

“God, this skirt was making me crazy the whole night.” She breathed out, making the hand go higher and higher where you needed it the most.

Before you could realize you still had your party outfit on, Wanda started caressing slowly your inner thigh, making you gasp. Hearing the affect she had on you, the ginger bite your lobe before whispering something that made you shiver.

“Let me show you all the attentions I have for you, babygirl.”

alright, that was it. I know it's not good, but I had this idea the other night and I just had to write it.

Feedback is appreciated. <3

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #marvel #mcu x reader #tony stark #natasha romanoff #black widow #thor odinson #steve rogers #marvel cinematic universe #comics #wandavision #Vision #paul bettany

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secondhand-trash · 4 years ago

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Tyrant

A/N: hi sorry to interrupt the event content but I just have to write this before I run out of motivation lol

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji x afab!reader

Description: You knew you were already conquered when he looked up with an uninterested gaze, and suddenly he did not look so uninterested anymore.

Warning: vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, degredation, daddy kink, Toji is not nice, yes I used the word “cunny”, breeding kink, he called you a good girl once, creampie, might give dubcon vibes at one point depending on how you interpret it (I don’t think it is but just putting it here to be safe)

Word count: 4018

The most subconscious, most primal base of your instinct told you to run when you met eyes with Fushiguro Toji for the first time.

He wasn’t even doing anything, just his hands twirling the empty shot glass in his hand mindlessly as he stared at it aimlessly with boredom. You had been avoiding this particular patron of the ragged pub you worked at for as long as you could, risking the annoyed eye rolls from your coworkers just to find whatever excuse you could to not go up to him.

They did not understand why you were so afraid of this man who was not even affiliated with any of the gangs that were a known danger in the city. You could not tell them why too, but you were convinced that some gut feelings were best to be trusted.

A sheep would know a wolf even if it had never seen one.

The other people who frequented this place was by no means the elite of the city, anyone who would choose to come into this shady bar shoved at the very center of one of the messiest neighborhoods of the city came because any other place would call on them the moment they even tried to walk through. They were all the same, same bunch from the same world and as a result, these people that were your customers had no issue talking about what they do for a living right in front of the bar table where many others could hear.

They knew that no one would rat them out, especially not the people that worked there, because it wouldn’t be very hard to trace back to exactly who it was that did it.

These people intimidated you, but the number of people from different walks all of the same field who gathered here also meant that none of these people would bother to hurt you and ruin the perfectly tipped balance of this safe spot. You could deal with the other customers just fine, they might be dangerous but most of them wouldn’t do anything but looking at the exposed skin of your short top far too directly when you put down their drinks.

It was an unwritten rule for the staff to stay as impersonal towards the bar-goers as possible, but the people who did the same thing always managed to find their circle and after a while, you would have a blurry image of what they do. Gang leaders would always found another man of their rank from the corner of their eyes, snippers and hired guns had their own corner of the pub they crowd at. Fushiguro Toji was not the same as the rest of them. He always came along, slipping into the far end of the bar counter without a word and just stayed for hours until most others had already left. You had never seen him interacting with any other people at the bar, making what he did for him to come here instead of any other place still a mystery to you. He was not eager to tell people what he did, how many scars he had under the same black shirt he always wore. He had never gotten drunk, never raised his voice, never showed a hint of interest when brawls broke out between the other drunken men. And it seemed the neglect was mutual, you didn’t think you had seen anyone trying to slip into the empty seat next to his at the bar even when it was the only one left. He was in his own bubble, away from the other gangs and mobs.

He did not look like he cares about anything, and that was terrifying in a man

Running away was not really an option, not when he was always here and you could only excuse yourself so many times before you started to sense that if you run again, it wouldn’t be so long until you wouldn’t even have a job anymore.

“Sir, your drink,” You were sure your voice was near shaking when you had to break him out of his daze as you put his usual shot in front of him. It was a Wednesday midnight and it was just you working at the front, and surely he was there on the day you finally had nowhere to hide. Heat drained from your face when you walked up to him, the feeling of the cooler’s wind fanning against your exposed skin beneath the skimpy uniform you were wearing made you feel all the more self-conscious. If he looked up, he would see the way your shirt rested just below your chest, the fabric taut against the curve of your bra. The cut of your jean shorts was almost meaningly, with the fray resting at the root of your thighs and barely below the roundness of your ass.

You knew you were already conquered when he looked up with an uninterested gaze, and suddenly he did not look so uninterested anymore.

Your body could not move when his eyes trailed down from your wide eyes to your nervously pursed lips, to your collarbone and your tits that were pushed out as you crossed your arms in front of you like a child, and down the skin of your stomach before going back up when he got to the flesh of your thighs. You gulped, feeling the fever that speeded through your veins and holding back the unknown urge to clench your legs tighter together out of reflex.

He knew you were afraid of him, and your timid posture seemed to entertain him greatly when he picked up the shot glass that looked miniature in his large hand and brought it up to his scarred lips. He was smirking now, opening his back as he tilted the hard liquor into his mouth. The knot in his throat bobbed, and you almost let out a disgraced whimper when you saw the lines of his abdomen against his shirt when he let out a sigh.

“Waiter!”

You jumped when you heard the yell from the other side of the pub, frantically pulling your eyes away and swallowing down the chills on your scalp. You gave him a quick nod before you nearly stumbled away, and your heart pounded in your ear when you heard a grumbled chuckle ringing behind you.

He was gone by the time you gathered enough courage to look at his usual seat again, but you could not stop thinking about the way he looked at you even after you were alone in your bed that night.

“What had you done with the man who always sat at the corner?” your coworker asked you in the changing room when you came back from your day off.

Your hands that were zipping up your hot shorts froze in place. “Nothing,” you hid the fact that you felt your skin heating up just as the familiar image appeared in your head, tugging your shorts as low as you could to hide more of your skin as you followed up, sounding as nonchalant as you could, “why did you ask?”

“Really?”

You felt goosebumps exploding on your skin when they said the one thing you had feared they would say.

“Because he asked about you when you weren’t here yesterday.”

Once the wolf locked onto its target, it wouldn’t stop until the little lamb finally fell into right where he wanted it to be.

He started to request for you to serve his drinks. Your owner couldn’t wait to send you his way, because the man who usually ordered two shots max was now ordering repeatedly as long as you were the one walking up to him. The more you could not meet his gaze, the wilder he seemed to grin as he started coaxing you to stay with him for longer after you put down his drinks. The primal instinct to bow down to the dominant and the one that pushed you to run from the predator battled in your head when he asked for you to sit down with him, with the former winning when you realised you were nothing but a puddle of water as soon as he put his hand on your wrist.

That was the most dangerous part about him, because he seemed to have figured out that your body wanted to obey him.

One hand on the wrist eventually turned into his palm on your thigh. His touch always soft enough for you to flinch away, delighting him all the more when you didn’t. It was only a matter of time before he asked for your name, how old you were, what you do when you weren’t here serving beer to gangs.

You told him you need the money, and he looked very understanding when he nodded and gave your thigh a pat before taking his hand back. “No wonder,” you sat up straighter when you felt the chills running along your spine from his calloused finger brushing against your skin, “I was thinking why a little thing like you would be at a place like this.”

One night, Toji did not come into the pub like he used to. He was already there by the time you walked up to the backdoor, your mouth parting but nothing came out at why he was here at the staff entrance and so early too.

“When does your shift end?” he asked, long fingers picking out a cigarette from the packet before holding it between his teeth.

Your skin crawled, before the warmth stirring in your stomach won over.

He nodded when you answered him, the sharp click of his lighter followed by a spark as he dipped his head down.

The shivers were back when he exhaled, throwing his head back as he leaned against the brick wall.

“Good,” he said, putting the lit cig back between his teeth when he made a gesture with his hand for you to go inside.

When you came out, he had just taken his last puff. There was a glint in his eyes when he saw you standing there in front of the door, your hands gripping onto the strap of your bag.

The half-burnt butt joined the several others on the floor when he pushed himself off the wall and walked up to you.

The wolf showed his claws once the lamb was in his lair.

Your head was hazy when Toji backed off of you for the first time after your back hit his mattress. A manic smile hung on his face when he looked down at the figure beneath him, shaking and panting as you were trapped between his knees.

He had an image in his head of how you would look with your body sunk into his bed, and boy were you a fragile, pretty little thing when he finally got to put his hands on you.

Your lips were puffy from his nibbling and sucking, looking awfully like a pout as heavy breaths fell from the trembling petals. Your arms remained where he had pinned them down above your head even long after his hands wandered away, your face buried to the side of your upper arm as you tried to hide your expression away. His rampant lips had left your head light and with his weight off of you, you finally remembered to breathe.

Toji licked his lips as his gaze burned into you, darting his tongue out to wet his lips as he racked his eyes all over your exposed torso. The first thing that he tore off of you was the flimsy crop top that he had always see as a pain in the eye, pulling it above your tits roughly right after he shoved you onto his bed. The gasp that fell from your lips had him hard in an instance when he yanked down your bra, your arms completely helpless from shielding your chest from him with him one step ahead of you and pinning them above your head. You made the most pathetic noises when he sucked on your nipples, licking and flicking the bud with his tongue as you writhed underneath him. Now they were hard and standing for attention as he groped the flesh while staring right into your face, the sheen left on your peaks from his saliva as he rolled it between the gap of his fingers.

Fragile, pretty little thing, and a sensitive one too, Toji sniggered to himself as he palmed his erection over his pants, his cock already twitching when he thought of how he could train your body to react the way he wanted you to.

A wet patch had already formed at the crotch of your panties and you let out a broken moan when his thumb pressed down on where your clit would be. “Little slut, getting so wet just from having your tits played with...” he mused, hooking the strip of fabric under his index finger and watching you squirmed when it stuck between your folds. You whimpered when he tugged it back and forth, your juices gushing out when it rubbed against your clit.

Your body jerked when he snapped it against your cunt, and he laughed. Your arousal formed a string when he pulled your soaked panties off of you, shoving it in the pocket of his pants but not before bringing the fabric near his nose and took a hard sniff. Your face burnt with humiliation and arousal at the sharp noise, but the heat dropped when he shoved the band of his wide-legged pants down roughly and his hard cock sprung up against his abdomen.

His head was already leaking with pre and a thick, pulsing vein crawling all the way down to his base from the crown. Your eyes widened when he fisted it in his hand, giving the girth a few jerks before tapping it against your cunt. His fingers dug into your thighs as he hooked it around his waist, rolling his hips slowly as he slid his length along your wet folds.

The weight between your legs was hard to brush off. He was hot, heavy, and his tip was right below your naval when his balls tapped against your ass. A loud squelch echoed in your ear when he pulled back, your wetness coating his cock from top to bottom as he dragged it along.

The fuse in your head burnt to ashes when you felt his hardness lining up at your entrance.

“Wait, please-”

Your blood curled when Toji froze in place, the drop in his lust-riddled gaze shifting from your cunt slowly to your face.

“Huh?” he huffed, the grumble sending shocks straight to your core as he hoisted your legs higher up his sides.

“Please, it’s not going to fit,” your voice was weak as you whimpered, feeling your nervous tears gathering at the corner of your eyes when something nudged at your pussy.

You hissed when he pushed his tip in. He let out a wolfish chuckle when your body shuddered, “It seems like it’ll fit in this needy hole just fine.”

“No, no...” the tears were pushed down your cheeks when you shook your head, “please, I’ve never had anything this big. I-”

The wolf, so hungry and ready to devour you, halted any of his movements. Your eyes widened when the grin on his face dropped, and a dark cloud hazed over his sharp eyes.

You had said the wrong thing, you realised that when a wide grin split on Toji’s face.

“Never had anything this big,” he repeated mockingly, staring at your watery eyes from above when he pulled his tip out of you, “I see how this is...”

You yelped when he suddenly pushed your knees all the way back until it was right against your chest. The pain at the sides of your thighs had you slamming your head back, arching yourself off the mattress as Toji licked his hips at the sight of your dripping cunt all out for his eyes to see.

“You are such a slut for me because no one has ever fucked you right before...” he mused, gripping you by the back of your knees as he positioned himself at your clenching hole.

“Tell daddy,” your face heated up when he purred, “how big were the other people that you’ve had before?”

A sharp mewl ripped from the back of your throat when he pushed in, not even halfway through but your hands were already clawing at the sheets beneath you at the stretch. Your walls clamped down at the newfound fullness, stretching apart by a girth you had never experienced before.

His cock pulsed in you when he laughed, his lips curling up at the way your toes pointed straight and your eyes rolling back. “This big?”

You could only whimper when he pushed more of his cock inside. “This big?” he asked again, his throat bobbing when your tight walls fluttered around him.

More. “This big?”

The laugh rumbled out from the back of his chest when your voice came out high pitched and broken. The painful hiss stuck at the back of your throat when he gave one final push, his heavy balls slapped against your ass when he was finally all the way in. Your body was being torn apart by the seams, treading between the line of pain and pleasure as your vision saw white from getting stretched. He was hot inside of you, and his cock sitting inside of you was impossible for you to ignore as every cell in your body was set aflame by the numbing feeling.

“Hu- ah!” you panted when he shifted his weight onto your body, nuzzling his tip deeper into you as if it was even possible.

“Let daddy show you how real men fuck their whores.”

Loud slaps echoed in the room when he started thrusting, holding your shaking legs tight as he pounded into your cunt with feverish intent. The crescent marks of his nails digging into your skin was painful, and your body did not feel like it was under your own control as he drilled in and out of your sloppy hole. Your ass jiggled under each slap of his thighs against your cheeks, everywhere his cock had dragged against feeling like it was set on fire as he fucked you at a frantic pace. Your mouth parted when the initial pain was taken over by an undeniable lust, your brain melting into mush with his cock bottoming out in you so hard you could not even think straight.

“Hm- mm! ‘S good, feels so good- Daddy, please please please...”

Toji laughed at your incoherent babbles. His chest pressing up against the back of your thighs as he thrust deep into you, there was nowhere for you to hide your lust-blown gaze from his eyes. Drool was rolling down your jaw as your mouth hung wide, your tongue almost lolling out with each slam of his hips against yours. Your vision was blurry and you could barely keep your eyes open, fighting against the urge to close them up under the stimulation your body was being put through.

He only went harder when aroused tears ran down your face, the wetness of his tongue licking away the salty droplet making you whimper. “Aw, what’s wrong?” the condescending tone made your face burn, his warm breath brushing against your cheek as he accentuated each word with a roll of his hips, “Crying because this is the first time someone has reached so deep into your cunny?”

You let out a loud whine. Cunny, how humiliating for him to talk to you like you were a thoughtless child when he knew you could barely breathe properly with how he was rearranging your guts. The tantalizing tuts of his tongue made your walls clench and he let out a beastly grunt at the sudden friction around his cock.

“Any of the men you always flaunt around would kill someone to trade places with me,” he grunted, nibbling at the sensitive skin of your neck as he dragged his teeth down. He chuckled and the vibration made you roll your head back, “A cock whore like you would love that, won’t you? People killing just for a chance to pound your naughty hole?”

“No, no-” you shook your head when he suddenly slowed down, every hair on your body standing up at the sudden drop and your hands flew to grab onto his shoulders just for a chance for him to keep going, “only want you. Only want daddy’s cock- Ah! Hng!”

Your pleas satisfied him greatly, even more so when your wanton moans rang loudly in his ears as he aimed each thrust right at the spongey spot deep inside of you. “I should just knock you up, huh?” he smirked when you clamped down around him the moment his words dropped, “fuck a baby inside of you so other men can’t ogle at your tits and ass in that fucking uniform anymore.”

You could not process a word of what he was saying, the only thought your head could generate was that you would do anything for him to keep going. One strong pound tipped you off the edge, and you could not stop the rambling from falling off your tongue as his cock kept driving in and out of you while the orgasmic waves rush over you.

“I’m not gonna stop fucking you until you’re nothing but daddy’s little cumdump, is that what you want?”

“Yes yes yes yes- fuck yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

Toji cackled, and kissed you square on the lips.

“Good,” Thrust, “fucking,” Thrust, “girl...” Thrust.

He kept going as his load spilt inside of you. You whined at the warmth that filled you up, the stickiness leaking out with each push of his fat cock out of your abused hole and running down where your bodies connected. Toji leaned his body back as he slowed down, his eyes gluing onto the mess between your legs as your juices mixed with his released dripped onto the sheets.

You whimpered at the soreness when he slipped his limp cock out, the fluttering of your folds pushing his cum out of you. “Ha...” you sucked in a deep breath when he put your legs down, the twitching not once stopping when he leaned down and kissed your puffy clit.

Your sensitive body jumped at the touch, and he kissed the nub again as he pushed the leaking cum back into your pussy. “Good girl.”

You were far too worn out to do anything when he took your top off of you and unhooked your bra that had been sitting uncomfortably under your chest. The things he had said to you while he was ravaging you finally sank into your skin when you had the breaths to think about it, and Toji gave your head a soft pat when your eyes followed him like a lost puppy when he got up.

“Sleep,” he kissed your temple, and it appeared you still couldn’t win over the want to listen to him as the tiredness in your lids took in.

Fushiguro Toji watched as you drifted away into slumber, the silence stirring in the air as he contemplated what to do with you. It had been a while since he had last wanted something but he had been quick to recognise the fume in his chest when he saw you walking around and forcefully smiling at people not less dangerous than himself the first time he went into that pub.

The tyrant would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and he had no plans to let go once he took his first bite.

You did not hear him, he took your sleepy whimper as an answer on his own when he whispered against your hair.

“We talk about you and that job when you wake up.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji imagine #fushiguro toji imagines #fushiguro toji smut #toji smut

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yeoldontknow · 4 years ago

Text

smoked peaches ↣ jhs (M)

↝ A/N: a sequel to Molotov Cocktail | because i truly could not leave these two alone ugh i love them. happy valentines day! i hope you enjoy! ↬ DISCLAIMER: absolutely, under no circumstances should alcohol or cocktails be used in a manner such as this. food play is fun only when its safe, and cocktails dont really have any place in the bedroom. furthermore, essential oils should be used safely! ↝ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: established relationship au; pwp; smut; romance; fluff ↝ Summary: Three years into your relationship with Hoseok, you have learned what it means to be truly happy. With him, you are seen, understood, and adored - and not once, even despite all your flaws, has Hoseok ever asked you to change. So when Hoseok starts to become withdrawn and quiet during the brief hours you have with him at night, you assume it’s down to stress at work. You never imagined it would be this, something so much bigger than any obstacle you’ve confronted before or will again. Something that will last forever. ↝ Rating: NC-17 ↝ Warnings: explicit language; explicit sex; dom!jhs; dirty talk; food play (cocktails); unprotected sex; heavy petting; dry humping; blindfolds; biting; marking; oral (f); breast play; use of sex toys; clit biting; clit spanking; creampie; overstimulation; multiple orgasms ↝ Word Count: 14.5K ↬ written for the bon appetit collab with @jamaisjoons @yoonia and @chillingkoo \\ thanks to @jenmyeons for reading parts of this and offering endless encouragement <3

‘God, I’ve missed this.’

Pulling back from your lips, Hoseok whispers his affection with unprecedented conviction, the longing in his voice so tangible your chest tightens in the wake of it.

Unwilling to open your eyes, you remain still, luxuriating in the feeling of his breath as it wanders over your cheeks. The cascade of warmth is a tickle that tugs at the corners of your lips, a smile of pleasure emerging at the feel of his closeness. Languidly, he presses his fingers into the nodes of your spine, seeking out the pressure points that always ignite colours behind your eyes, his touch alone giving birth to little fires beneath your skin. Eager and lonely, you lean up, searching for his lips, his mouth, his tongue; searching for more - so much more.

Hungrily, he returns to you, proving that he had not drifted far - not really. Bumping his nose against yours, he is playful, sinful, a paradoxical combination of both that has your grip on his neck tightening as he nips gently at your bottom lip. He’s smiling, too, a beam of delight against your lips that grows wider with the strength evident in your touch. Feather light, he drops brief, teasing kisses to your lips, not nearly enough for you to feel satisfied, and so you huff in frustration, wiggling to get closer.

Amused by your needy enthusiasm, he chuckles to himself quietly, a rumble in his chest that reminds you of thunder. This laugh is one of your favorites, the sound of a man contented by your presence - by the way your legs are draped over his thighs; by the way you have pressed yourself against his chest; by the way you are utterly, impossibly insatiable, matching his thirst equally, earnest in your desire to be encompassed by his embrace.

Slowly, you open your eyes, wanting to see him, to chastise him for separating from you so soon, but are instead left bereft. Hoseok consumes your vision, his adoring eyes, his wet lipped, unwavering smile the only thing you see - all yours, all for you, as he rubs the tip of his nose against your cheek. City lights pour through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the pronounced length of his cheekbone. Even this late at night, the light still seeks him, his skin, nestling beneath his pores and offering him an otherworldly glow. The unnatural shades of the billboard signs, yellow fluorescent lights of the high rise apartment buildings, and the bright neon of the game arcades blend together, ensuring that he radiates with every colour and shape of the life you have built together among the clouds.

Tonight, the billboard along the highway is a rich crimson, the persistent reminder that it is Valentine’s day flooding into the room. When you came home, Hoseok suggested leaving the blinds open, eyes full of mirth as he stated he to let the whole world in, tonight; with his arms around your waist, he said he wanted to show the world how love and romance really looks. Now, enveloped around you, you know he means it.

Tonight, he wants everyone to witness this - the possessive way his tongue explores your mouth, the unwavering grip he maintains around your waist as his hand drifts from your spine to the gaps between your ribs, and back again. Hoseok wants the world to see how years with the same person, the same body, the same routine diminishes nothing, perhaps, only causes the love within your souls to become insistent and ardent. It’s grown deeper these past few months, your yearning for him evolving into the very genetics of your DNA, a piece of your chemistry, eternally.

Hoseok left the blinds open, and still he glows not unlike the rays of sun. Beneath your hands, he is resplendent, undiminished by the artificial radiance of neon. The moon hangs in the center of the sky, not yet at the height of her arch, but she has become washed out by the luminescence of the city. Hoseok is unmarred - late at night and still he outshines the universe, the brightest thing you have ever seen.

Your hand cups his cheek, thumb running over the bone to catch the light that clings to him. It hugs him in ways it does not hug you, a part of him that remains incandescent and unexplained. You’ve never been able to understand it, spent your days kissing and kissing at it in the hopes of sharing the luminescence he radiates. It never works, though he says you glow too, a radiance brought to life because he chose to love you in spite of all your incorrigible flaws.

Walking your hand along his cheek, you tilt your head and wind your fingers into the hair just behind his ears, heart stuttering in its rhythm as he sighs in pleasure. The dimples of his cheeks almost emerge, almost bloom to life, but he keeps them as a secret, choosing instead to rest his forehead against yours in devotion.

‘I’ve missed you,’ you murmur, not wanting to interrupt the peace that has come to occupy the four walls of your living room; the bone deep comfort that has blossomed between your chests.

Separating just slightly, he leans into your touch, craving more and more of your affectionate caress. ‘You’ve been busy with the auction.’

‘Not so busy.’

Shaking your head, your pout feels petulant, youthful in its disagreement. Letting your hand slip from his hair, you wiggle deeper into the hard muscles of his chest, blinking distractedly at him as his own fingers worm their way under your shirt. Gripping the collar of his black shirt, you sigh, a flush heating your cheeks as the simplest of his touches sends electricity down your synapses. To be touched by him, to be in love with him, is to feel and love absolutely everything, your awareness heightened to its peak.

Always, you prefer him this way - hair unkempt and eyes glossy with devotion; prefer the nights when has abandoned the suit and tie of his usual work clothes in favor of his old university shirts and grey sweatpants, discarding the persona of Jung Hoseok to unravel into your Hobi. It happens less and less these days, ever caged by the success and importance of Hopeworld, his chain, his business, as much a fixture at the Fairmont Hotel as the valet parking.

When you met him, he was in a suit. When you fell in love with him, he was in a simple shirt and jeans, a smile tucked into the corner of his cheek that demanded you crave him, and now your yearning for him is relentless.

Sustaining your childish pout, you drag your hand down his chest, tracing the shape of his pecs and ribs as you let the pads of your fingers find his arm, gliding against the vines of his tattoo.

‘Sometimes,’ you mumble absentmindedly, watching the petals in his forearm disappear beneath your touch, ‘I come home and you’re not here. I’ve been busy with the auction, but it feels like I’m always missing you.’

Head tilting back against the couch, Hoseok sighs, lips downturned with regret. Still, his hold on you is unwavering, immovable, only tightening in the aftermath of your lament.

‘I’m not mad,’ you say hurriedly, earnestly, voice thick with sincerity. ‘I just miss you.’

In truth, you are not angry, not even really upset at his long absences. If you’re honest with yourself, you couldn’t be more proud of the business he’s built with his own hands, relying on nothing other than the strength of his determination to succeed. Little distracts him from his purpose, unencumbered by the opinions of anyone other than himself.

The lights of Le Bernardin seemed to dim as your father sat back in his seat, tapping the corner of his mouth with the expensive egyptian cotton napkin. Bitterness rose on your tongue, the flavor of your wine souring as you watched him posture the pretense of politeness for so long you wondered if he had even heard Hoseok’s announcement.

‘I won’t help you,’ he announced, tone empty and expressionless save for the severity of the derision that swam in his eyes.

From where you sat, you could feel the apathy, the admonishment and expectation that Hoseok would fail at opening, managing, and cultivating his own bar before he had even started. Thousands of arguments hung dangerously in the air, hovering above the table with threatening closeness. It was heavy, oppressive with reasoning and judgemental logic that he did not have a degree in business; that a mixologist was not a manager; that corporate holdings and the economic legalities that came with running a business were beyond him. It was not, you knew, that your father didn’t think he was smart enough - it was, you were certain, that he simply deemed Hoseok wasn’t worthy enough.

Your father’s stare remained icy and unforgiving as you gripped Hoseok’s thigh, nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his trousers as your tongue prepared to sever your father’s iron will. After years of this sort of combat, you were used to becoming venomous, used to shaping yourself into a creature of malcontent, the spitefulness of your contempt the armor you regularly wore. For so long, you had worn it like a second skin, felt most like yourself under its scathing anguish. For Hoseok, you would become monstrous, ugly; would grow fangs and claws and teeth in the glory of your wrath, but he gripped your thigh in kind reassurance and smiled as though hardly anything had happened at all.

Settling back against your seat, you scowled unforgivingly at your father’s passive expression. He cocked a tempestuous brow at you, a challenge though not necessarily a warning, which you mirrored, always so good at looking exactly like him.

‘It’s ignorant to presume someone would ask help from a person who is not willing to even offer it,’ Hoseok said patiently, amiably, so much better at different tactics of aggression.

You never had it in you to adorn the sickly sweetness of polite averice. You’d never wanted to be misunderstood.

‘Besides,’ he continued, removing his hand from your thigh to cut into his filet mignon. ‘That bar will be mine, not yours. You have a habit of claiming possession over the things you let into your life, and I’d rather burn in hell than watch you claim my name as another wasteland for your empire.’

Head whipping to look at him, your eyes went wide, suddenly so aware of all the ways in which light gives way to shadows, of the way light reveals absolutely everything. You’d grown used to the way rage gave birth to ugliness within you, but he wore his anger like a tantalizing weapon. You were moved by him, arrested into an uncharacteristic silence around your father, but Hoseok continued, magnificent in his slow reveal of his true humanity.

‘The bar will be mine,’ he pressed, glancing up from his plate and undeterred by your father’s scathing glare. ‘The money will be mine. I’m just telling you to be polite, because that’s what good sons do even if their fathers are worthless to them.’

Two years later, and the money is indeed his - the money, and the glory, and all the fame that comes with a chain centered in the lobby of the most expensive hotel conglomerate. Two years later, and he has a chain in his name, a business of his own, a life of his own making, even if it meant that there are countless, painful hours in which he is not, and cannot be, with you.

‘I know.’ His sigh is deep, a long huff of breath through his nose in shame. Staring up at the ceiling, he considers his words carefully. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been...’ For a moment, he drifts, lost in thought as he lowers his gaze to search your face, though for what you cannot be sure. His scrutiny is heated, intense, eyes roaming over your features over and over until you’re certain he could paint your likeness if asked. ‘It’s just been frightening,’ he announces, finally. ‘I’m not worried, really, it’s just the Hotel’s name is wrapped up into it, too.’

Peering at you carefully through his eyelashes, his grip on your waist tightens, and you feel him everywhere he is not. Hoseok roots inside you for answers to questions left unvoiced, reacquainting himself with all your intimate details. You are not certain what he seeks, why his apology is quite so sincere, and so you let your hand return to his cheek, smoothing all the edges out of his features.

Eyes fluttering closed, he holds your palm there, and you find yourself distracted both by the softness of his skin and the way the light illuminates the tattoo adorning his arm. Idly, you wish you could stay like this eternally - together, unencumbered, enraptured. Valentine’s Day has never been worth celebrating, not to you at least, but he is worth celebrating, and so you lean forward, kissing at his jaw to remind him of this sentiment.

‘It’s your first time with an inspection of this size.’ Your suggestion is soft, a soothing cadence you hope is evident in the lilt of your voice. Walking your hand up to his temple once more, your card your fingers through his hair, relishing the thickness of the strands, offering tenderness where your words might not. ‘Your license is on the line. Trust me, no one understands better than I do. You don’t have to apologize.’

Months of this, months of coming home to an empty bed only for Hoseok to climb in later, when the hours night drip into the morning. Government inspections are not new, but now with three bars under his belt, and all the inspections happening at the same time, he’s been distant. Not on purpose - never on purpose, but you feel his absence like a blade whenever the house, the bed, your life is empty of him.

‘Yes I do.’ Falling forward, he buries his face into your neck and breathes in deep, taking the scent of you into his lungs. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you smile at the feeling, blood warmed with rapture. ‘I hate not being home with you, but I promise it will be worth it.’

Hoseok accentuates his words by grazing his teeth against the tendon in your neck, his favorite spot to bruise. Usually, your skin is purpled by him, consistently red and aching with the marks of his teeth and tongue, but lately the visible proof of his attachment to you has faded. You’ve missed the burn of it, the stinging delight that would last for days. Latching his teeth to your skin, you shiver into his hold, pressing your fingers into the muscles of his back. The wet texture of his tongue against your skin has you shivering, a quake that starts in your bones first until even your heart is trembling with it.

‘I know it will,’ you hum, stroking his hair, unashamed of the way arousal pools at your groin.

Since dinner finished, you’ve been here, with him, kissing and kissing to reacquaint yourself with his lips. Your underwear has been damp since the first stroke of his tongue against yours, and you’re certain he’s felt you clenching around nothing, craving and anticipating the feel of him between your thighs.

‘But I hate how this one is making you so anxious and quiet.’ Slowly, you take your time guiding one of your hands to the back of his neck, nails scratching into the soft, thin hair at the base of his hairline. Holding him in place, you revel in the feel of his mouth moving against your skin, in the way his shoulders expand and retract as he breathes as if making way for wings. ‘I miss my sunshine boy.’

Hoseok chuckles against your neck, replacing his tongue with a cascade of warmth exhaled from his nose. ‘I’ll repeat that you’ve been busy, too.’

An impish smirk unfurls in your expression, and gathering the strands of hair at the crown of his head, you tug gently until he is pulled from your neck, blinking at you with an innocence you know can dissolve in an instant. His lips are swollen and wet from kissing your neck, the base of your jaw; all red and pink, smooth skin so enticing and the sight only serves to invigorate the thought that burns behind your teeth.

‘My love,’ you begin, sweely, ‘I’m sure I could regale you with the legalities of museum auctions, but I think we both can agree there is something far, far more worthy of our attention.’

The pads of your fingers trace idle patterns over the tendons in his neck, down to the base of his shoulders, around and into his ribs. Reaching between your bodies, your curious fingers seek the hardness of his erection, the evidence of his intense arousal pressing vigilantly against your thigh. Cupping the semi-hard girth of his cock, you offer a gentle stroke as you twist your hand. Darkness lives inside his groan, equal to the darkness that clouds his eyes, half lidded as he looks at you in warning.

The thin material of his fleece sweatpants does little to conceal the way the movements of your hand send blood and heat directly into his cock. Beneath your palm, it gradually hardens, straining against the cloth to be reunited with the feeling of your bare palm. You’re confident he can feel the heat that emanates from your core, your folds starting to leak with wetness each time he breathes through his parted lips. Each stroke has his exhale filling the silence, raising the hairs along your arms, his hips starting to thrust upwards into your hand.

It’s a dangerous game to play with him, a test of his control and dominance that always ends with you at the mercy of his lust. Just as quickly as it started, he presses one hand to your hip and taps your thigh with the other, an unspoken signal that he wants your thighs straddled on either side of him, your core presses against the tip of his clothed erection, your body against his, an unstoppable force of desire that succumbs to his will, only.

Quickly you adjust, releasing his cock only to replace the pressure of your hand with the pressure of your core, the heat from your folds and the dampness of your legging having you both exhale in unison.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he moans, easing your hips down roughly against the tip of his cock. ‘Come here.’

Once more, he works his hand beneath your shirt, warm palm journeying the length of your spine until it is gathered around his arm and your neck is gripped by the strength of his fingers. Cupping his face, you press your mouths together, grinding your hips downward as you run your tongue over the seam of his lips. Instantly, he opens for you, tugging at your hair in a gentle reminder he wants you to move slowly, to let yourself enjoy the feeling of being consumed by him. Hoseok is unhurried in the way he explores the cavern of your mouth, the tip of his tongue curious as he thrusts the wet muscle in time with the slow grind of his hips.

Your responding whimper echoes deep into his open mouth, and your hands move slowly down to his shoulders where you brace yourself, clinging to the parts of him that exude strength. His physical presence alone is a keen reminder you are whole and not undone at your very seams.

All sense of time disappears as you suck at his tongue, and only when he pulls away to catch his breath do you latch your teeth to his bottom lip, pulling back to you with greed. His lips still taste of the whiskey he had with dinner, whiskey and the flavor that is only him, so unique and rich, your favorite sort of honey.

The tip of his cock moves in a rhythmic motion, over and over, a slow drag against your covered slit. Every third movement, he rocks upward, pressing against your folds hard enough you gasp into his open mouth, only for him to retreat a moment later. A high pitched keening whine spills from your chest, and he laughs into you, pulling his tongue back to relish the way he has complete control of your responses. Digging your nails into his muscles, your brow furrows, doing your best to gather your words, your thoughts, amongst the insistent teasing pleasure.

Falling forward, your forehead rests against his, and with your eyes closed your senses become heightened. You can see it, imagining this very scene as though you are both completely present in your body and apart from it, watching him grind into you as your blood races to your chest, your cheeks, your cunt. The whiskey on his tongue has your mind fogged, and the graze of his cockhead against your slit has your limbs feeling weightless. He’s always been skilled at this, at rendering you needy, silent in the magnitude of your wanting. You thought pleasure was never meant to overwhelm a person like this, an addiction to sound and touch and taste that exceeds all realm of perception.

‘I’m glad we did this,’ he mumbles against your lips, using his thumbs to work bruises into the flesh of your hips.

All you can manage is a mindless nod, the motion sending your nose bumping into his as you press yourself harder against him. Smirking, he angles his face downward, kissing at the spot just below your ear. Electricity saunters down your synapses, and you thug your bottom lip between your teeth, uncertain how much longer you will be able to maintain this teasing game. You, above all else, are an impatient woman, deciding that which you crave most and claiming it for yourself.

Now, you want him. You want him to lay you on this couch and peel your clothes off with his teeth. You want him, his cock, so deep inside your cunt you can taste him on your tongue. You want him, his skin against yours, with no space for air to slip in between.

You have always been impatient, but Hoseok is a master of his self control, always more composed if not patient; always in command of his expression of thirst, and he pulls back slightly as he feels your slow wiggle of restlessness against his thighs.

‘Never thought we’d be a couple that has to make time for something like this,’ he comments, as though you have not soaked the very tip of his cock through his sweatpants, as though he cannot feel it at all.

With each rock of your hips, your underwear slides over your folds. Now coated with the slick substance of your juices, the thick juices spill out from the sides and onto your thighs. Your leggings, too, are drenched, a sensation that would otherwise be uncomfortable were it not for the way Hoseok rolls up into you in time with the movement of his tongue over your neck. Your sense of awareness has scattered, absconded to the parts of your body where only his touch exists. He is all you can focus on, all you want to focus on, the feel of him on and against you deemed the most important of all.

It takes work finding words to muster a reply, and you hate that he is so skilled at maintaining stability in his voice. You are best at sparring matches, at defending your worth and value, a tension you have become expertly accustomed to. From the moment you first kissed him, felt his tongue at the tip of yours, felt his muscles beneath your fingers, you have learned tension of this kind is your great unmaking.

Frustrated you huff through your nose, a noise of annoyance diminished immediately by a moan of ecstasy as the tip of his cockhead presses roughly against your covered clit. Scratching your nails into his skin and hoping the marks will last, you struggle to gather your composure, wanting to play his game as well as he. Yet, when you open your eyes, you are confronted with the impenetrable black of his dilated pupils - his tell - that he is just as ravenous as you. Always, he wears the light as though it was born from him, made by his joy alone, but when he wears the sheer darkness of his appetite he becomes utterly exquisite, a sinister promise of his wish to unravel you.

Swallowing thickly, you tilt your head to the side in mock consideration.

‘I think every couple is at some point,’ you muse, feigning a pensive tone as you grind roughly into his cock. Hoseok bucks upward, whispering quiet expletives as his eyes widen. Your smirk of victory is a tempest, an ignition of gasoline to the fire he keeps beneath his skin, and he holds you in place against him, preventing you from moving. ‘They just don’t talk about it.’

Hoseok hums in consideration as he moves his lips to the center of your throat, right over the place where your voice echoes. As he drags his teeth over the tendons, your head falls back, clenching your thighs around his.

‘I’ve missed you.’

He presses the words into your skin, embedding the rich tenor of his cadence directly into your blood. Your pulse quickens, directly responding to the feel of him replacing the oxygen in your vessels. Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging him upward and hoping to ease him back to your hungry mouth, wanting to kiss him again. But he pulls back, regards you through the length of his eyelashes and shifts his hips, moving the tip of his cock down towards the center of your folds. He lingers there for a moment, and you curse the clothing that separates you with a whimper of annoyance.

His hands move from your hips to the ample flesh of your ass, where he grips your cheeks with vigor and rolls your body forward. ‘I have half a mind to fuck you right on this couch.’

Eyes fluttering closed, you lick at your lips, all swollen and red, sighing in pleasure. ‘Then why don’t you.’

‘Because I have another surprise for you.’

Abruptly you open your eyes, feeling the mood shift as your arousal is put on pause. Lowering your gaze, you eye him conspicuously, pulling back enough you are not longer in the throes of his orbit. With each passing moment, the adrenaline in your veins shifts from the eroticism of your carnal longing to dazed confusion, blinking at him as you catch your breath.

Years with him and not once have either of you felt it necessary to buy gifts on Valentine’s Day. You are not a gifting couple, choosing instead to share all the little things that make up the life you have built: your time, a meal, hours in bed together, or hours alone - somewhere special or nowhere at all; a restaurant or your couch, each a persistent reminder that you have chosen one another. The small simplicities of your life and daily routine are more about your love than a gift of chocolate, a card full of words you would rather hear him say. Your commitment to him extends beyond a social media post, beyond a tagged location and the withering petals of discarded roses.

For him to suggest this, after he has already prepared a meal beside you, after you have stained the wine glasses with your lips, after you have told him, repeatedly and ardently, that you love him is a shock to your system.

‘I…’ Your voice fades, the guilt gripping your throat. A lump forms, not of woeful regret but of fear, the utter horror of ever seeing him disappointed. ‘I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry...we said we wouldn’t. We aren’t the type?’

‘No, no,’ he shakes his head quickly, removing his hands from your ass to rub at your arms. ‘I don’t want anything. I’ve had the world since you ordered a negroni in the middle of summer.’

Cocking your head back, you laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. ‘I swear, one day you will move past that.’

‘Never.’ The brilliance of his smile would almost overshadow the intensity of his disagreement, but you find it a compliment, a reassurance that your idiosyncrasies are the things that endear him to you the most. ‘Most beautiful person alive to ever order a negroni.’

‘You’re just saying that cause you weren’t alive in the forties,’ you scoff, though you match his smile, always moved to delight by the sight of him.

Hoseok shakes his head. ‘Even then.’

For a long while, you simply stare at one another, luxuriating in this closeness as you remember: the night you met, the orange peel on the rim, Namjoon - who has become one of your closest, dearest friends - ordering the drink with surprise on his cheeks; Hoseok, leaning over the bar, close enough he could smell you, and both of you, drawn to one another’s orbit, lonely moons fated to collide.

‘But no,’ he sighs eventually, the weight of it changing the mood of intimacy you had cultivated. Not eradicating it, not entirely, but something about the way he looks at you has your nerves resting on edge. ‘It's not a gift. Not really. It’s a drink.’

Leaning back, you settle away from his cock and onto his lap, curious and cautious. ‘For the new menu?’

‘No.’ Once more, he shakes his head, slowly, seductively. The movement of his head, the way the hair falls into his eyes as he smiles and smiles dances over your heart, a thunder against your sternum. ‘No this one is just for you.’

‘All these years,’ you smirk, ‘and still you think you can pull me away from my negroni?’

Now, it is his turn to laugh, a hearty sound that has you moving back over his cock, victorious.

‘Baby, trust me, I’ve long since given up that fight.’ Again, he regards you, though this time you catch traces of all the thoughts that race through his head, a glint of affection matched with a glimmer of something hopeful, though you cannot imagine why he finds a drink so serious. ‘This is different. This drink comes with a set of requirements.’

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you tilt your head to the side in question, but he says nothing. Instead, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips as he taps his hands on your thighs, a signal he wants you to get up. Swinging your leg over his thigh, you settle on the couch, folding your hands in your halp expectantly, but he does not linger beside you. Rising to a stand, Hoseok grabs both your hands and pulls you up to meet him.

‘What’s going on?’ you ask, glancing around the room, bewildered.

‘So many questions,’ he sing-songs, pressing his hands to your shoulders as he turns your body you are facing forward, away from him, and begins walking you through the living room.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you do your best to regard his expression but he lifts one hand and taps your cheek gently, wordlessly advising you to face forward. His thumbs rubs slow circles into your shoulders as he walks you to your bedroom, where he lowers his hands to your hips and pulls you against him.

Immediately, you recline into the toned muscles of his chest, resting your hands over his as you sigh in delight. Relishing the closeness, you breathe together for a moment, enjoying the silence and the air of romance he so easily rekindles. It’s always been like that with him, so simple, all your passion and all your ardor brough to the surface the moment he lays his hands on you.

It’s different in this room, where the blinds are closed, where the world is cast out. In the living room, your longing had space, room to breathe and crevices to fill. Now, it clings to your skin, cloying in the way it moves through your pores and into your lungs. Every breath you take is filled with his cologne, every exhale is an utterance of your need, a whine at the back of your throat that threatens to disrupt the quiet way you take your time savoring his attention. Still, he does not give you the opportunity to consider the room beyond these feelings, nor does he allow you to turn and face him, to regard the face you long to kiss and kiss and kiss until he is a permanent fixture in your spirit.

Easing your hair over your shoulder, making space and granting himself access to the supple skin that so often goes untouched, he kisses deftly at the back of your neck as he moves a silk blindfold over your eyes, blocking your vision. The silk cools your heated cheeks, and in this darkness the smooth texture feels almost forbidden, clandestine in the way he removes your senses and demands that you trust him, implicitly. Raising your hands to touch it, you slide your fingers over and over along the threads as he ties it securely at the back of your head.

Furrowing your brow, you cannot help the chuckle that blossoms at your sudden realization. ‘Is this one of your ties?’

Burying his nose in the crown of your head, he nods, nestling it into your hair as he breathes in deep. ‘Looks better on you, in my opinion.’

Instantly your mental image of the bedroom dissolves, fading into nothingness until your senses are overwhelmed with all things Hoseok: the rich clove and bergamot of his cologne, the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your back, his lips as he wanders down and down to the shell of your ear. Even still, you see him with your whole spirit, his smile against your skin entering your heart, taking root and filling the nodes of your lungs with visions of his euphoria.

‘I want you to strip,’ he commands, voice low and full of gravel. A growl lingers at the back of his syllables, and your mouth runs dry. ‘Get undressed and stay silent. I want you naked and waiting on the bed for me.’

Against the blindfold your eyes open, and your eyelashes struggle against their confinement, another wave of arousal dripping through your folds at the sound of his voice. You are aware of absolutely everything, all the way down to the fibers of your clothes, senses brought to attention by the implication of his words. Hoseok has adopted the tone he only uses when he means to make you kneel in worship, exerting his dominance as a show of the magnitude of his affection. So rarely does he speak to you with such power and control, your muscles tense in willing obedience.

His voice saunters through your very existence, your nipples erect and sensitive as they press against the cotton of your tee shirt bra. You hadn’t planned on wearing lingerie, haven’t needed to since your first Valentine’s together when he said it didn’t matter what you wore or how you dressed, all he wanted was you naked beneath him and anything else deterring this was viewed, in his eyes, as an obstacle. Had you known he was planning something, you’d have planned, too.

‘Be good for me,’ he whispers, nipping at your earlobe before he departs from the room entirely, your body shivering in his absence.

The seconds that pass feel like an eternity, your heart racing as you gather the strength of your senses, reigniting the muscle memory of your bedroom. All over your body, you sense the energy of things, objects, certain you are near the bed without even feeling it. Diligently, you begin to undress, hands shaking as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Careful not to shift or undo the blindfold, your slow removal of your clothing feels ceremonious, a ritual of preparation for something holy. In the darkness behind your eyes, this room becomes your sanctuary, each removal a prayer of obedience and commitment.

As you ease your leggings down your legs, the strong scent of your arousal reaches your nose, and you part your lips from the intensity. You’ve been on edge from the very moment you felt the first stirrings of Hoseok’s cock within his sweatpants, from the very moment your tongue met his. When he returns to the room, he will smell how terribly wet you have become, how much of a mess you have made of yourself just for him, because of him.

Stepping out of your leggings, you reach behind your back and undo the clasp of your bra, each touch of your own fingers sparking a new world of lust as colours bloom behind your eyes. Your hands tremble, but your heels press into the hardwood of the floor, rooting yourself within the gravity to ensure you do not drift from the force of your desire.

Discarding your bra, the air hits your breasts and you move to cover yourself, only to ball your hands into fists and return your arms to your sides. Hoseok does not like it when you hide, a habit you have learned to unmake beneath the heated intensity of his unwavering, loving gaze. With him there, you have learned not to cover yourself, but when there is only nothing, you wonder now why your first instinct is to hide, why the vulnerability of such exposure has you feeling young, unfamiliar with the significance of such eroticism.

Relying on muscle memory, you move towards the bed and perch carefully on the edge of the mattress. The air in the quiet room is wrought with unprecedented tension, your senses scattered to every surface as your hair stands on end.

Even though it’s unnecessary, even though the silk blindfold is heavy against the bridge of your nose, thick enough to block out all the light, you still keep your eyes closed. The silence of your bedroom is deafening, oppressive in its effort to intensify the eroticism of this darkness. Gnawing your bottom lip, you strain to hear just what he could be doing in the kitchen - what else there is to be done - but you hear nothing. All the quiet seems to accomplish is heightening the ever growing reverberation of his command in your mind, an echo control that haunts even the marrow of your bones.

Like always, Hoseok inspired the full totality of your obedience with just one sentence, stripping his voice of all sunshine, all warmth, rendering you naked down to your nerves; the only one to ever live inside you, so deep. Your neck still burns, right above your pulse, right where he’d kissed his words, the fire of his open mouth removing all your clothes before your shaking hands could undo the rest. The fervent laughter that always nestles in the end of his syllables, in the corner of all his smiles, was absent, and now you are left anticipating him, craving him, hoping that you will be good for him - that you will be the wick he decides to ignite.

Rolling your shoulders back, you raise your breasts and keep your posture straight, poised, hoping that he will be pleased when he sees you. You cannot remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly raw in your nakedness. When you came home, the apartment felt too warm, the heat raised to a limit that always makes you feel uncomfortable. Now, you are trembling within it, skin and nerves tender, forced to acknowledge the full length of your body; the supple texture of your sinew, the voluptuous curve to your breasts, the slope of your hips, the dripping folds of your sex.

In this silent loneliness, you are left to contend with the reality of yourself - to recognize all the pieces of you he adores.

Still, the anticipation of his touch, his breath, has your hands fisting in the sheets, and you laugh. He’s changed them, the fabric of the duvet softer, smoother than the thick cotton you often prefer. The texture against your skin raises gooseflesh along your arms, a shiver taking its time to walk up the length of your spine. All of this softness, all these delicate fabrics against your skin, and all they create is a cage of your longing. Too long have you been left wanting him, missing him, and now he means to entrench you in it.

Now, he demands that you experience just how badly, how desperately, he has been wanting you, too.

The bedroom door pushes open, a sound usually so innocuous, so meaningless, causing your walls to clench around nothing. Grimacing, you take in a sharp breath to apologize or comment on the messiness of this reality, but you remember that he told you to remain silent, and so you force your lips to close. The sheets will be stained by the end of the night - of this you are certain. Nothing, you’re sure, will wash away the remnants of your desire.

The further he walks into the room, you are overcome with the intense aroma of peach and cinnamon. Such delicate scents overtake the space, maximized in their power, wafting over and into you, until you’re certain you could taste it on your tongue. Hungrily you salivate, and so too does the wetness between your folds seep leisurely through your slit, as if motivated by the ghost of flavor within your mouth.

Accompanying this scent is the light clinking of glass, and your ears perk up at the first trace of noise. Hoseok remains silent, but you can distinctly make out the silver swizzle stick he uses to mix drinks gliding along the rim of a glass. Recently you’ve heard it in the late hours of morning, before dawn has the opportunity to kiss the sky. He stirs and stirs, your bed empty and your hand resting on the space where his body had been, mattress still warm. Usually, this very sound eases you back to sleep, a comforting night song that kisses your sense when he cannot.

Now, the high pitched rattle is a sting against your nerves, a call to attention and reverence.

But this too does not maintain your attention for long. There are other noises, other clattering sounds of metal, plastic, and something else you cannot quite make out that alert you to an assortment of items - a tray, a selection, and, suddenly, mist. As Hoseok approaches where you sit, a gentle, cool fog passes over your skin, and you reach your hand forward to let it slip between your fingers. It sticks to the all the minute, normally unnoticeable crevices of your skin before dissolving, a whisper of sugar and honey that settles against you as if by magic. Before you, hidden behind a blindfold, a rich meal, a just dessert, has been laid out, while Hoseok views you in kind.

Tendrils of mist add to the moisture and heat in the room, the sweetness raising the temperature against your skin as your arousal swirls expectantly in your belly. The darkness that surrounds you has your skin feeling tender, ripe muscle taught with wanting, and you lean forward, seeking the relief of Hoseok’s lips against your soft, malleable pieces.

Reaching forward through the mist, you seek the tactile solidness of his touch. ‘Hoseok?’

You cannot help the exclamation of his name, an oath of allegiance and questioning of what mystery he has brought into the room, hoping he will say your name to fill the room with his voice.

‘Ah, ah,’ he cautions, and though the commanding nature of his voice still lingers, the sound of something other than your beating heart in your ears is an extraordinary relief. ‘I said to remain silent. Only speak unless I tell you to.’

Pouting, the retraction of your hand is swift, and your fingers furl into the bed sheets as you acquiesce to his wishes.

Hoseok moves the swizzle stick through the glass, once, twice, before he hums pensively. ‘Do you know why I became a bartender?’

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shake your head, certain that any answer you would give is not the one he is seeking. When you were new together and newly in love, you asked this question as you laid with him in bed, running your finger over his heartbeat. So much of your first start was centered around you, the war you waged with your father, your question of worth for things that chose you instead of you taking it as an act of defiance. You wanted to spend the rest of your days learning about him, learning his thoughts, his war, and his answer was a journey of money and consequence.

Over time, you’ve learned the journey was one creation, of inspiration as much as necessity.

‘Do you have a guess?’

Parting your lips, you focus on finding your voice, the stimulation surrounding the darkness so potent all your words come slowly. ‘You like making things. You like pleasure.’

‘Good,’ he praises, and you preen delightedly, offering him a wide smile full of love and pride. ‘Do you know why I became a mixologist?’

Hoseok places the tray on what you presume is the top of your dresser across from where you sit, but you both feel and hear him move to the side where places something in the nightstand at his side of the bed. You focus your attention on these movements, letting your mind come to several of its own conclusions, all wholly unrelated to his question.

Had he also stripped while he was away from you? Is the amber golden texture of his skin on display, concealed from you by a simple strip of fabric? How does his tattoo shift in this light, the blossom of the bird of paradise just as rich as the fruit that fills the room?

You imagine all of it - every color and texture and shape of his body, certain you have learned every nuance of his being down to the very bone. These thoughts entice you, but so too does the thought of another of his praises, an encouragement that has you hurriedly responding to not keep him waiting any longer.

‘Passion.’

‘Close. Similar.’ Hoseok moves to the tray on the dresser, and you strain to discern the things he touches, unable to come up with anything beyond the obvious drink he had created. ‘It’s like perfumerie,’ he explains, shifting items along the tray and stirring the drink once more. ‘I think everyone, at some point, wants to bottle the thing they find most beautiful. They want to wear it, permanently. They want the smell to wet the tongue, to inspire the possibility of skin on skin, to provoke the curiosity of more. Mixology is like that, but you don’t wear the drink, you taste it. You have to hold it in your mouth, until it becomes a part of you.’

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you wait patiently for the closeness of his body in the ensuing silence and consider his explanation. He’s always been like this, passionate to a point of burning, his drive running deeper than you can ever comprehend. Every time you come close, it has changed, his every moment of creativity sparking a more enduring affection for his craft.

Hoseok walks closer to you, but still chooses to remain just out of reach, far enough you can feel the magnetic chemistry of his closeness and your skin begins to ache. Childishly you raise one hand, reaching for him and hoping to pull him against your skin, but he does not move, only chuckles at your display of indignant neediness. Instead, he releases a slow hum of breath through his nose and taps the swizzle stick against the rim of the glass, delaying your reunion even further.

‘You’re like that,’ he continues, the rich intonation of his voice a thick syrup that molds over your skin. Placing the swizzle stick back on the tray, Hoseok inches ever closer, the pads of his feet against the floors a rhythm that incites a riot of excitement in your heart. With him, he brings more mist, more spice, more peach, all of it waftering onto your chest and mingling with the perspiration that has started to coat your sinew. A moan of thirst worms its way through your chest, a keening, tiny sound of impatient defeat.

Finally, when he is close enough the steady exhale of his breath joins the fog in tracing patterns over your sternum, your jaw, your lips; his presence, an instigation of juices that drip once more through your folds and onto the sheets. You want to say his name, want to talk, want to reach your hands out and cup his cheeks to bring his lips to yours, but with each continued speech, Hoseok sounds more and more serious, and you obediently remain quiet.

‘That is what you are,’ he repeats softly. ‘A whisper that is always on my tongue. A taste I can’t seem to quit.’

He bumps against your legs, and immediately you spread them wide, luring him into your orbit. The act separates your folds, allowing more of your thick juices to drip into the bed and changing the scent that fills the room. The mist is persistent, a tingle of pleasure that walks down your nerves, and now with Hoseok between your thighs, the warmth that radiates from his aura overtakes your senses. He’s everywhere, nowhere, a ghost that haunts your bones and spirit, and you tilt your head back, looking upwards into the nothingness, waiting for his lips.

‘I made this for you, because it is you,’ he murmurs, though the proximity of his voice is a wildfire. ‘I call this drink the Whisper Blend. It’s how you taste to me, how you make me feel. I wanted to bottle you for myself, to keep you with me, always.’

HIs hand comes to cup your chin, guiding you in a direction you imagine is perfectly poised to accept his tongue, his mouth, his soul.

‘I want you to taste yourself.’ All the gravel of his voice, arousal and seductive intent, reaches into the caverns of your heart, gripping you completely. ‘I want you to taste how you make me feel.’

Gripping the edge of the mattress tightly, you lean forward, pressing your chin into his fingers. Your nerves run haywire, electric and scattered, and you are certain that were it not for your bones your spirit would erupt absolutely everywhere to press itself against him. Hoseok takes a slow inhale, long and deep, and lowers his mouth to your lips. On instinct, you part for him, expectant and eager to experience the way he feels when that is all there is - no sight, no sound, just his touch, holding you because he can, and because he wants to.

Still, he does not kiss you - not really. Gently, he exhales, and an abundance of peach fills the cavern of your waiting mouth, the rich flavor invading the crevices until it dissolves leaving only his breath. The cocktail smoke dissipates on your tongue, a sweet residue left behind that has you humming in pleasure. Pulling back, he breathes in again, the smoke shifting around your body as it is pulled into his mouth. When he returns to you, he presses his lips to yours, this time pausing in the contact of this kiss, before he exhales once again.

Unable to help yourself, your hands come to cup his face, holding him there as you inhale, moving your lips in a slow, reverent motion. Again, the smoke dissolves into the ether, leaving just the distinct, sweet flavor of his mouth against yours. His fingers massage slow circles into the bones of your jaw and chin, his own sigh a waterfall down your open throat. When he pulls away, you suddenly feel disdainful of the tie that covers your eyes, wanting to take your time admiring him, the flush at his cheeks that you feel beneath your fingertips, the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.

The third time he returns to your lips after a full inhale of the mist, he comes to you and lets his tongue press languidly against yours amongst the smoke. You hadn’t expected the intrusion, moaning in utter satisfaction at the fulfillment of your desires. Idly, he strokes his tongue over yours as he kisses you, exploring the parts he had coated with sugar and peach. With each motion, your inner walls clench around nothing, folds slick with and sticky against the bed as your parted legs do their best to hold him in place. You’ve become utterly overcome with the intimacy of sharing breath, and sharing yourself, your heart racing to shatter the hard bone of your sternum.

Desperately, your cunt aches for this kind of attention, for the invasion of something solid and thick, stroking at the places that live deep inside of you. Focusing on the emptiness of your core, you moan dejectedly, walking your hands into his hair where you fist handfuls of the strands to deepen the kiss. This, he only allows for a moment, relinquishing his tongue only to bite at your lip before sucking eagerly at it. And all too quickly, he pulls away and guides your chin upward to carefully tilt your head.

‘Drink,’ he commands, pressing the cool glass to your swollen bottom lip.

With your eyes closed, it’s difficult to drink and anticipate the flood of liquid, but Hoseok maintains complete control, sustaining a slow flow of the cocktail into your waiting mouth. On impact with your tongue, colours blossom behind your eyes - rich crimson of cinnamon, pale yellow, purple for the floral of lavender, and clear white for the sharp bite of vodka that lingers after the sweetness fades.

Hoseok has bottled a dessert, a warm summer that bleeds into the first chill of autumn. In a single glass, he has contained an aroma of life itself, a richness full of crisp dreams that refuse to fade over time, zeal and ardor, passion in a glass that overwhelms the difference between life and living. He said this was you, your taste, and you choke slightly on the drink as emotion wells in your chest, the action causing some of the cocktail to spill out from the corners of your lips, down your jaw as it drips onto your chest and breasts.

Immediately, he pulls the glass away, and you catch your breath only for it to be swiftly taken away. Placing open mouthed kisses across your chest, he laps up the stray remnants of the cocktail, using the tip of his tongue to lave your skin clean. Your hands tremble where they hold his head, breath coming short and heavy in your lungs as he moves down, and down to the top of your breasts. He wastes no time in biting delicately at the supple flesh, leaving a mark against your body for only you both to see.

Releasing his hand from your chin, his touch vanishes for just a moment before he swipes two fingers over your nipple, digits drenched with the cocktail. Swirling them over the sensitive, hardened bud, your body reacts instantly, invigorated by the sudden overwhelm of contact. Bucking your hips against the bed, you urge him for more, wanting his mouth where his fingers rest. Sensing your impatience, he drags his tongue down to the swollen bud and flicks it with the tip before rolling it between his teeth.

‘Lay back for me,’ he commands, pulling away from your breast, and this time you smirk. His voice is a rasp of taught strain, the edges of his control beginning to fray. ‘Lay back and spread yourself.’

Without any hesitation, you obey, releasing your grip on his hair to press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself back and back until the thick cushion of the pillows presses into the base of your spine. Spreading your legs wide, wider than you could before and wide enough you are confident he can see the way your slit glistens with slick, you rest your head against the headboard and lower two fingers to your core. Knitting your brow, the contact with your neglected folds as you gasping in relief, the pads of your fingers gathering all the juices that have gathered, smeared over your thighs, and still leaking from your center. Quickly, they become coated, this likely the wettest you've ever been simply from his endless teasing. Taking two fingers, you rub them over your slit before parting your folds, forming your fingers into a wide ‘V.’ Clenching your inner walls, more juices drip from your core, down your ass and into the sheets, forming a new stain for you both to admire.

As you expected, the sight of your spread cunt has Hoseok growling, and you feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he joins you on the bed. Somehow, you sense that he crawls to you, a hunter on the prowl, and you imagine how he looks now based on the all the times you have seen him like this before.

With your insides still warmed from the cocktail, your skin begins to flare with heat, demanding the feel of his hands against your for fear of your bones coming undone. You can feel him between your thighs, the ripples of magnetic waves of his closeness sauntering through your muscles. So too does his breath tickle the supple sinew at the inside of your thighs, a cascade that seems to travel along your nerves and directly into your opened core. The texture of your fingers at the swollen flesh of your cunt is a tantalizing sensation, though it does not provide the relief you seek.

This stretch is a display of your wanting, but it is not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that lurks in your belly, your core, all the way to the barrier of your cervix. Any other night, and you would demand he fill you completely, but even now you are uncertain you could gather enough strength to be so demanding.

Impishly, Hoseok takes hold of your knee and bites at the inside of your thigh, so close to where you want him most, yet far enough you cry out in shock and frustration. Hands fisting in the sheets at the sensation of his teeth grazing over your skin, a feeling that travels all over your body, as though his teeth are everywhere all at once, your back arches off the bed, presenting your breasts to the open air. His name builds at the back of your throat, the only word you think you could manage, a short set of syllables full to the brim with your primal yearning.

As if sensing your will to speak, always so aware and in tune with your needs and the responses he pulls from your body, Hoseok smiles against your skin, kissing and kissing.

‘It’s okay.’ Your muscles clench, feeling his voice trickle into the marrow of your bones. He kisses his words into the apex of your thigh before running his nose up to your center, where he rests the tip at your parted folds. ‘Say my name.’

‘Hoseok,’ you exclaim, pressing your spine into the bed to shift your parted lips closer to his mouth.

‘Fuck,’ he curses, releasing your thigh and pulling away. He shifts on the bed, reaching for something he unscrews not far from the bed. ‘My name sounds best coming from you.’

Rubbing his hands together, he returns to his position between your thighs, the blindfold preventing you from watching him. This is your favorite sight: him, between your legs, a hungry beast who regards you with his heart first. He looks good between your legs, even better with his lips covered in your juices, and so you wiggle your hips impatiently, running your fingers over your slit before pressing them inside, taunting him.

‘I told you to be a good girl,’ he threatens darkly, pushing your hand away with his wrist. Settling between your legs, Hoseok finally holds your hips, fingers coated with an oil that sends a shiver down your spine. Through the aroma of peach and cinnamon, mint begins to blossom, clearing the air and sending tingles of excitement over your nerves, a winter on the brink of your bedroom’s autumn.

‘Peppermint oil,’ he explains, rubbing his fingers into your muscles in a slow massage. Yet, there is no relaxation to be found. Lowering himself to your folds, he places a wet, open mouthed kiss at your slit, letting the tip of his tongue press at the seam of your drenched core before retreating. Crying out, you roll your hips forward, bucking up to seek his tongue once more. ‘I want you to tremble in it, the warmth and the chill. Do you know how often you unmake me? I want you to feel it.’

Again, he lowers his lips to your folds, stroking his tongue through your slit and against the sensitive walls of your core. A strangled cry rumbles through your throat, a moan of ecstasy at something thick and solid penetrating your core. Unfurling your hand from the sheets, you reach down and rest your hand at his head, intending to hold him there so you can rock your hips against his mouth, but he retreats immediately, clicking his tongue in derision.

‘Are you trying to take control, baby?’ he sneers, his hold on your hips tightening as he rubs the oil deeply into your skin. ‘I know how much you hate to give it up, but tonight your job is to receive.’ You feel his eyes wander over your wanton form, studying the voluptuous curve of your breast, the part of your lips, the perspiration that has gathered at your neck and beneath your breasts. ‘You can touch me,’ he amends softly, ‘but no pressure. Just touch. I’m the one who dictates how hard and how fast tonight.’

With that, he returns his tongue to your slit, curling it inward to collect the juices that have gathered at your core. Returning your hand to his head, you card your fingers through his hair as your cry of ecstasy fills the room. Unable to keep yourself still, you roll your hips forward, into the stroke of his tongue to urge him deeper, and he growls, the vibration of his voice careening through your joints.

‘Oh, fuck, Hoseok,’ you whimper.

He sets a steady rhythm with his tongue, plunging your folds with a vigor that feels almost brutal. Having no real contact to your cunt for so long, wanting him for so long, and no longer being able to see him, you cannot remember the last time the feel of his tongue inside you was such an intense sensation. Warm and wet, the muscle explores your core, your walls clenching around it as a new wave of juices leaks from your cunt into his waiting mouth. It soaks the flesh of your ass, his lips, the bed. Over and over, he pushes his tongue into your cunt with unfettered ardor, thrusting ever deeper with piercing intensity, doing his best to collect every drop while simultaneously stroking every nerve that comprises your walls.

Tension builds in your muscles, thighs taught with the magnitude of your arousal as you drag one foot over his ribs, over the smooth muscles of his back. In silent praise, Hoseok removes a hand from your hip and walks it up your side to cup your breast. The oil at his fingers chills the swollen nub of your nipple, and you clench once more against his tongue, quivering with fervor. Between the knuckles of two fingers, he clinches your nipple, the slight pain of oversensitivity combatting the unbridled pleasure at your core so harshly you moan out his name, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes.

Pulling his tongue from your folds, he moves it to your clit and begins the same attention, flicking it with his tongue. Shuddering, you fist one hand in your hair as your other clings to his for some semblance of sanity. But your Hoseok is always relentless in the way he delivers pleasure, in the way he chooses to pleasure you, and the remaining hand at your thigh drifts away for just one moment. The pressure does not leave the bed, and so you know he has not gone far, but against the blindfold your eyes widen into darkness at the sudden click of a vibrator.

Brows raising to your hairline, your breath catches. ‘Ho-Hoseok?’

Wordlessly, he simply rolls his tongue over your clit in time with the way his knuckles massage at your nipple. You hear the sound of the vibrator inching closer until, all at once, it is pressed to the barrier of your slit as he sucks harshly on your clit, nipping at it gently. The tremors from the toy ripple up into your thighs, juices spilling out from your slit as your arousal courses through the totality of your existence. You suppose you have always been in this state, have always been trapped in such a volatile state of craving, your spine pressing into the mattress to ground yourself to reality.

Without any warning at all, Hoseok sucks deftly at your clit once again as he presses the head of the vibrator through your slit. Your walls part around the toy, its vibrations cascading even into your bones, and you clench around it, hoping to lure it deep inside of you. Biting your tongue, you keep yourself silent, wanting to say more than his name, more than just a few curses. Pleas for him to fuck you ruthlessly live and smolder to ash against your teeth, an impenetrable barrier of obedience you are unwilling to break.

Palming your breast with the whole of his hand, he massages the oil into your skin, another shiver of frost against the bruising summer of your flesh that has you groaning. As you grind down against the toy, he proceeds to trace figure eights with the tip of his tongue against the hardened bud of your clit, thrusting the toy all the way into your cunt. The thick girth of the toy and the vibrations now filling the whole of your core have you releasing a scream of surprise, back arching off the bed once more as though preparing to sprout wings.

Hoseok fucks the vibrator into your relentlessly, almost ruthless in the pace he maintains in time with the motions of his tongue and the hand at your breast. Your orgasm builds just as mercilessly, a tightening coil at the base of your spine that turns your muscles to steel. Juices spill over from your foils, the damp patch of sheets beneath your waist soaked, and you’re certain he must be soaked as well, the mental image of it inspiring a choked gasp within your lungs.

He knows you like it this way, intense, unforgiving, each thrust bordering on painful to ensure that you will feel the ache deep within for days. Long after he is gone, you want to resonate with him, haunted by the ghost of his seductive prowess, unable to liberate yourself from his clutches. With each inward thrust of the vibrator, your walls clench, hoping to hold it in place as the whisper of your orgasm builds within your muscles. The heat is almost oppressive, your breath a heavy fire in your lungs, tongue slick with the embers of each howl of pleasure you have worked to contain.

The vibrator is not set to a very high level, this toy one of your shared favorites. You have grown familiar with the sound and the shape and the feeling, but somehow no longer seeing the toy or seeing Hoseok as he uses it has every aspect of it feeling new, foreign, the level of this toy infinitely stronger than any other you might own. And, paired with Hoseok’s skilled mouth, you doubt anything could ever compare again.

The curl of your fingers into his hair is a give away, the muscles of your arm sore with the effort of not pressing him harder, deeper against you, and your hand quakes with the effort of remaining the pretense of passivity. Instead, you direct this motion into the roll of your hips, meeting the toy thrust for thrust as you rock against his open mouth, fucking both the toy and his tongue as he suck s your clit. Sensing your impending orgasm, Hoseok growls, the rumble joining the vibrator within your walls.

‘Oh,’ you cry, soft enough you think it might be missed over the sound of his wet sucking and the thrum of the toy. But still this exclamation is a betrayal, and you are swiftly proven incorrect.

Releasing his lips from your clit, he rests his head against your bent thigh and breathes heavily. ‘Are you looking to cum?’

Unable to speak, you nod furiously against the pillow, the swell of your impending climax lurking just at the edge of your perception. Yet, he is dissatisfied with your silence, and abruptly turns the vibrator up to another level. The sudden increase in intensity sends a quake through your thighs, your hand releasing his hair as you slap the bed, groaning in response.

‘Talk to me,’ he urges, gentle yet still maintaining his tone of authority. ‘Use that pretty mouth of yours.’

‘Please, let me cum,’ you cry, caught in a battle of holding yourself back, panting into the open air and unashamed of how depraved you might look. ‘I need to cum.’

‘You know this is all for you, baby.’ Moving off your thigh, you feel his breath return to the wetness of your core, each exhale from his nose cooling the drenched spit and slick at your clit and slit. ‘Make sure to leave some for me though.’

Offering a rough flick of his tongue to your clit, he sucks at the bud and thrusts the vibrator into your cunt, turning up the notch one more time. The blunt head of the toy brushes against your spot, pulling a choked moan from your chest in surprise. Eyes wide, yet empty, you peer at the expanse of black in a daze, mouth opened in a silent scream. Your orgasm comes swiftly, violently, shattering all resolve you had managed to maintain. Rivulets of your juices spill from your cunt, and Hoseok’s lips suck diligently at your clit, occasionally letting his tongue drift downward to join the toy at collecting the traces of your cum.

In the aftermath, you convulse into the bed, and Hoseok pulls the toy from your core. Crawling up the bed, lays his body over you and finally you can feel that he, too, has been naked this whole time. Skin against skin, he holds you against him, rubbing his hands over your ribs as you quake with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Limbs feeling boneless, heavy, you wrap your arms around his back and cling to him, tears drying against your cheeks.

The head of his cock lingers at your entrance, threatening to breath through your sensitive folds. Burying his face in your neck, he breathes against you, tossing the toy to the other side of the bed.

‘I need you inside me,’ you announce, driven to a brink of insanity in the throes of your climax. Forgetting the rule to remain silent, you toss it aside, damning it, needing the girth of his cock bearing down at your cervix.

‘Did I ask you to speak?’ he rasps into the tendons of your neck, where he bites.

‘No,’ you manage, ‘but I’m going to.’

Removing a hand from your side, he burrows his hand between your bodies and slaps at your clit. The sudden pain against your swollen, sensitive nub has you calling out his name. The sensation of your tenderness wanders all the way up into your throat, your lungs reverberating with the harshness of his slap.

‘You want me to fuck you?’ His words come with an impish smile, followed swiftly by a bite to your pulse that has your hips bucking up against his cock.

The head of his cock protrudes deeper through your folds, but he pulls back and once more slaps your clit, a tap to the nub that has you groaning.

‘Please,’ you whimper. ‘I can tell you want it, too.’

Gliding your hands down the expanse of his back, you palm the cheeks of his ass with your full fist, guiding him closer in the hopes of pressing him inside. Hoseok releases an expletive against the beat of your pulse, the flow of your blood rushing to his lips, hoping to be kissed. The feel of his teeth grazing over the thunder of your pulse has your legs widening to ease him deeper, muscles straining at their limit. Kissing down your neck to your breast, he sucks the erect nipple of your opposite breast into his mouth as the engorged head of his cock sinks deeper into your core.

‘Just fuck me already.’

Pushing down on his ass, you force him all the way into your cunt, pressing his head right against your cervix. His concentration snaps, his eyelashes grazing your skin as he squeezes them shut, shuddering against your hips and thighs. Feeling victorious, you smirk into the darkness, clenching your walls around his cock. Moaning your name, he rolls his hips forward in warning. Hoseok’s moan is an avalanche against your skin, an earthquake of violence that rumbles into your lungs.

‘Don’t do that,’ he threatens. ‘I won’t last.’

Taking back control, you clench your walls again and meet the roll of his hips with yours, taking him deeper. ‘That’s the point.’

Bunching the sheets in his fist, Hoseok sets a punishing rhythm, thrusting abruptly against your cervix and ensuring your walls feel the veiny texture of him drag against the sensitive nerves. Unable to speak, you simply breathe together, sharing breath and sharing life, hoping that the smell of him remains on your skin for all eternity. Every thrust has your thighs shaking, the heavy sack of his balls slapping against your ass. The sound of it joins the moans you release with every press of his cock into your spot, your voice loud and unashamed. You don’t care who hears you, don’t care who you wake, you ensure the celebration of your voice rolls off his skin and into his heart with each gasp of his name.

Hoseok moans in harmony with you, garbled and broken, as the vice grip of your walls clench his heavy cock. Pleasure ripples within and through you, spreading all the way from your core to the crown of your head, all your senses heightened. No trace of light penetrates the blindfold, and so your mind wanders to every fibre and sense of your body, aware of every texture of his cock, every press of his fingers into your skin, every burn of oxygen in the vessels of your blood.

The wet sounds of your fucking only serve to reinvigorate the traces of your orgasm. It becomes impossible to focus on anything other than this - the rough pound of his hips against yours and the stretch of your walls around his heavy girth. The brutal pace of his hips sends the bed frame into the wall with each inward thrust, and you relish the pain that comes with his unrelenting force.

‘Fuck, Hoseok,’ you cry out, digging your nails into strong flesh of his ass. You press crescent moons into the supple skin, leaving your mark against the sun.

The perspiration that gathered at your hairline grows into beads of sweat, the exertion of meeting his pace causing your body to melt beneath his warmth. Hoseok pants his gasps into your skin, an added wetness as his saliva trickles from his open mouth and down your neck and chest. The liminal space of this fucking nearly unravels you, so used to the feel of his cock buried inside you while certain you have never experienced the totality of it quite this way. In the darkness, there is only this lust, only this passion, and the very weight of it consumes you from the inside, building your orgasm to new heights.

Hoseok fucks you open, ensuring that no one will ever have you again - as if you would ever let them. Each brush of his cockhead against your cervix is a declaration of possession, a promise of an eternity with his marks against your skin and bones, and behind the blindfold you see your whole life stretch out before him from this moment up until the very last, when your atoms are scattered in their search for his. Reality beyond the border of your body dissolves, your universe beginning and ending where his hips meet yours, and the immensity of the love and lust you harbor for him nestles your impending climax directly at the center of your core.

Thighs shaking, you clench around him again in warning. But as deeply as you know Hoseok, know the nuance and details of his very existence, he knows you too. Releasing his hand from the sheets, he scratches at your ribs before moving it between your joined bodies, using the blunt edge of his knuckle to massage your clit once more. Still raw and tender from your first orgasm, the contact sends a jolt of pain through your nerves, a yelp of shock bleeding into a cry. Your grip tightens on his ass, and your thighs close tightly around his sides, latching him in place.

‘Let go of control,’ he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss at your lips with every word he speaks. ‘You’re close, I can feel it in the way you’re shaking.’

Certain that your reality is crumbling, your hands move from his ass to the middle of his back, clutching him as your whines increase in pitch and frequency. You feel yourself become dizzy, the scent of him, the scent of peach, the scent of mint, the scent of vodka all over your skin and all over him has your mind fogged with little other than the intense stimulation he provides.

‘I’m gonna cum,’ you whisper, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

Your orgasm threatens to unmake your very existence, a silent revolution inside the marrow of your bones, and you fight it back just long enough to obey any of his possible commands. But still, it keeps you burning at the edge, a flame only the stroke of his cock against your cervix could coax into an inferno.

Pressing his knuckle deep into your clit, Hoseok urges you to cum without words, without encouragement or instigation from his authoritative tone, easing his tongue into your mouth. Stroking at the muscle, he swallows the scream of your orgasm as your release undoes your sense of reality. The world behind the blindfold erupts, a kaleidoscope of colour brought to life by the swirl of his hand against your clit and the piercing thrust he delivers to the barrier of your cervix, demanding entry to your womb. You want him there, want him inside you always, and you clench around him tightly as your orgasm overtakes your muscles. Your body is an earthquake caged in his arms.

You, a perfume and a drink, a war and a victory, an earthquake and a hurricane, every season belonging to him alone.

As you come down from your high, Hoseok only increases the pace of his thrusts, somehow gaining strength at the feel of your juices dripping around his cock. The stimulation stings, and he pulls his tongue from your mouth to let you both catch your breath, your whimpers of pain an echo of the intensity of his cock stretching your walls. The bulbous head of his cock is unforgiving, picking up speed as he breathes against your cheeks. Still, you can feel his own limbs begin to shake, and you attempt to soothe his tremors with tender massages of your fingers into the wings of his shoulders.

Grunting with exertion, Hoseok becomes speechless as he chases his high, and the tingling pain that once lived at your core soon gives way to another orgasm within your belly. How starved have you been for him? How long have you wanted him? It does not matter, you think, the removal of distractions and the urge to focus only on him has your body pouring its lust into the feel of his cock at the entrance of your womb. Whining, you cling to him once more, joints taught in preparation for another, sudden orgasm.

The feel of your walls gripping him so tightly causes his hips to stutter, and the incoordination of his impending climax overtakes the power of his movements. With your own orgasm readying in the base of your spine once more, you hold onto him tightly and roll up into his hips yet again, matching him thrust for thrust.

Only three strokes more and you both come undone, the searing heat of Hoseoks’s cum filling your core as his body shudders in your arms.

‘Fuck, shit,’ he moans, burying his face into your neck as he thrusts each spurt of cum into your cunt.

Wetness greets your cheeks, the tears from your eyes flowing freely, a surprise and a shock without any vision for them to blur. Together, you breathe in unison, riding the aftershocks of your orgasms until the walls of your cunt burn with the force of your clenching. He collapses against you, breathing heavily as your hand comes to stroke absentmindedly at his core. Every now and then, your walls clench, his cock presses deeper, his cum dripping from your walls to greet the mess you've made of the sheets.

Time presses on, the world continues to turn, but behind your blindfold the universe is on pause, suspended in only this moment in which you are holding him, he is inside you - softening, but still yours - and there are no gaps between your bones for air to move between. Idly, you suppose this is the paradise many so often speak - an empty mind, a comfort in your limbs that comes only with immense peace, a contentment to your heart that says you are both seen and safe, with no difference to be found between the two.

Eventually, Hoseok removes his hand from your core, easing it up to the blindfold. You smell the traces of your juices on his fingers, and you part your lips, readying to taste yourself as he so often commands you to do. But he bypasses your mouth for the bone of your cheek, where he toys with the edge of the fold. Easing it away from your eyes, he pushes it back to the crown of your head, and you blink rapidly, readjusting to the world. Immediately, you lower your gaze to his face where he rests at your side.

In unison, you smile at one another, everything looking precisely the same, yet wholly, irrevocably, different.

‘Hello,’ he whispers, the intimacy of his quiet greeting causing your chest to swell.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you trace his brow with your thumb, smiling deliriously. ‘I missed you.’

This time, there is a difference to this missing, and he chuckles quietly at your joke. You luxuriate in the act of admiring him, taking in the depth of his features. Redness lives beneath his cheeks, a glistening sheen to his skin of perspiration; his hair has been mussed several times over by the fore of your hand and never, not once in the time you have known him, has he ever been so beautiful. Glancing down further, you regard his arm where it drapes over your waist, the tattoo that bleeds up his muscles and over into his back.

All night you have pressed your fingers into the bird of paradise painted on his skin, but it was not what you saw or envisioned at all. It crosses your mind that perhaps what you envisioned was his spirit, the very essence of his soul - scatterings colours and energy that are both formless and yours.

Almost too soon, he looks away from you, turning to face to the right at the end table. With your vision obscured by the crown of his head, you cannot see what exactly he reaches for, and so you continue to admire the mess of his hair with a small chuckle. He takes his time gathering the item, grasping it tightly in his hand before turning to face you. Slowly, he eases his softening cock from your core, repositioning himself on the bed to linger at your side, legs sprawled carelessly over yours.

‘I don’t have a speech planned,’ he begins, suddenly sounding terribly disappointed.

Furrowing your brow in worry, you regard him with confusion, cocking your head to the side patiently.

Hoseok raises his eyes to yours, his irises glassy with emotion. ‘We’re not the type, are we?’

Still uncertain what he means, you shrug in reassurance. ‘We’re not the type for a lot of things,’ you suggest, and he nods, seeming distant.

Moving his hand into your view, he reveals a small black box. Breath halting in your lungs, you regard it for a long moment, suddenly aware all over again of the weight that encapsulates the room. Using his thumb, he flicks it open, revealing a rich sapphire ring, dotted on either side with sparkling diamonds.

‘Will you marry me?’ he asks, looking at you with an intensity you’re certain could rival the sun.

He must expect you to be shocked, must expect you to have to gather your words, because your immediate, resounding yes, has him blinking wildly, in the same rapid fashion as when you were finally allowed to see again.

‘Yes,’ you repeat, sliding back against the bed to sit up. ‘Yes, yes.’

You don’t really think there’s anything else to say, not really. If the universe of your love could be contained in three simple letters, you would give them to him over and over again, until only they comprised your language, your alphabet.

Wasting no time, he pulls the ring from the box and slides it over your finger, taking his time to let his fingers stroke over your skin.

‘Mine,’ he mumbles to himself.

The word takes you all the back to the first time you slept with him, to a day when you had been burning with torment, wet from the rain and wet with a passion for a world you wanted to claim. That day, he asked you to be his, and you said yes, an echo of this moment in which you somehow knew it was the only choice to make. Your past self and yourself in this moment are one and the same, time becoming a construct that is meaningless when it comes to him.

‘I told you the first time I was,’ you tease.

‘I know,’ he says, leaning up to kiss deftly your jaw. ‘I just wanted to join you in the war.’

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