#and he pulls his hair back with one hand and i just like. melted out of my chair

[applereid]

— MORNING KISS, SPENCER REID

“Hey… wake up,” you murmur softly, voice still laced with sleep as you lie pressed against Spencer’s bare chest beneath the warm tangle of his dorm room blankets.

He stirs beneath you, one arm curled protectively around your waist while the other lazily drapes across his face. A low, muffled groan escapes his throat as he starts to wake.

You smile and lean in a little closer. “Hi, pretty,” you whisper, brushing a tousled lock of hair from his forehead and tucking it gently behind his ear. Your fingertips trail to his cheek, settling there with affectionate stillness. “Sleep well?”

Spencer nods faintly, shifting just enough to nuzzle into your touch. The action pulls a quiet laugh from your lips.

“What time is it?” he murmurs, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss into your palm.

“It’s only ten,” you whisper back, your nose brushing the side of his face in a silent plea for his attention. “We’ve got time. No need to rush yet.”

He turns his head to face you fully, eyes still heavy with sleep but soft as they take you in. A pout forms on his lips. “Then why’d you wake me?” he asks, voice barely more than a breath.

You lean down, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Just wanted to talk a little,” you say quietly, “before we go all day without seeing each other.”

Spencer hums in acknowledgment, his hand sliding up your back with lazy ease as he settles more comfortably into the bed. “I’ve got class at two,” he murmurs, letting his gaze drift over your face.

You shift above him, drawing the blanket up as you straddle his lap. The movement earns his full attention. His hands instinctively find your hips, fingers tracing the familiar curves of your skin.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice hoarse with confusion.

“My first class is in thirty minutes,” you admit, a note of regret curling your expression.

He blinks. “Baby. Go get ready!” he laughs, his voice lifting slightly with amusement.

You tilt your head, letting your smile soften into something more mischievous. “I was thinking… I might skip.”

Your voice dips lower, quiet but undeniably suggestive. His fingers tighten just slightly at your waist in response, a flicker of something waking behind his eyes.

You lean down, lips grazing the corner of his mouth as your hair spills over his shoulders, forming a curtain between you and the soft morning light filtering through the dorm blinds.

Spencer exhales slowly, eyes locked onto yours now, fully awake. “You really want to skip for me?” he asks, voice low and warm, laced with a quiet disbelief that never seems to fade no matter how many mornings like this you share.

“I really want to stay,” you whisper back, brushing your lips along his jawline, pausing just below his ear. “Just for a little while longer.”

His hands slide up your sides, fingertips gliding over the dip of your waist and resting just beneath your shoulder blades. The blanket shifts with you as he lets out a quiet sigh, equal parts affection and surrender.

“You know I can’t say no to you,” he murmurs, and there’s a smile in his voice now— sleepy, adoring, a little wrecked already. One of his hands moves to cradle the back of your head, guiding you down as his lips meet yours, slower this time. More deliberate.

You melt into the kiss, your hands braced on either side of his chest. It deepens naturally, wordlessly, as his thumb strokes the base of your spine, coaxing you even closer.

Spencer’s breath hitches when your hips shift slightly above his, and the sound of it— quiet and involuntary— draws something deeper out of you.

You kiss him again, harder this time, your fingers tangling in his hair as he lets his hands wander freely now, mapping familiar territory like he’s learning you all over again.

And when you finally lift your head, lips parted, pupils blown wide, Spencer’s voice cuts through the silence, barely above a whisper.

“Stay.”

You smile, letting your forehead press against his.

“I was never planning to leave.”

[archivegyu]

masterlist

tailored for you

The Manhattan skyline glittered against the evening sky as she gazed out of the penthouse suite window. The sun was setting, casting golden hues across the city that never sleeps. In a few hours, the Metropolitan Museum of Art would be hosting the most prestigious fashion event of the year—the Met Gala—and her childhood sweetheart, now the love of her life, would be making his debut on the iconic steps.

She turned away from the window to look at Choi Seungcheol, better known to his fans as S.Coups, leader of the globally acclaimed K-pop group SEVENTEEN. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his custom-made BOSS suit for what must have been the twentieth time in the past hour.

"Is it too much?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "Maybe I should have gone with something more... conventional?"

She smiled, walking over to stand behind him. Her hands reached up to smooth down the shoulders of his impeccably tailored jacket. The designer had created something truly special—a modern interpretation of this year's theme, "Superfine: Tailoring Black Style" (or "Tailored for You"), fashioning an elegant gray suit with elements inspired by traditional Korean hanbok. The clean lines, and subtle asymmetrical closure evoked his heritage while the refined tailoring showcased Seungcheol's strong frame and commanding presence.

"It's perfect," she assured him, her voice soft but certain. "You look incredible."

Seungcheol's reflection offered a shy smile, but she could see the anxiety swimming in his eyes. This was different from performing on stage with his members. Tonight, he would be representing BOSS as one of their global ambassadors, walking the Met Gala carpet solo, surrounded by Hollywood A-listers and fashion royalty.

"I keep thinking I'm going to trip on the stairs," he admitted, turning to face her. His hand reached up to ruffle his perfectly styled hair—a nervous habit he'd had since they were children—but she caught his wrist just in time.

"Don't you dare," she laughed. "Your stylist will have a meltdown."

Seungcheol pouted, and for a moment, she saw the same boy who had climbed the tree outside her childhood home in Daegu to leave little notes on her window sill. The boy who had promised, at just thirteen years old, that one day they would see the world together.

"How is it that twenty years later, you still get that same look when you're nervous?" she asked, cupping his face with her hands. "The same pout from when you were about to perform at the school talent show and thought no one would like your rap."

His expression softened into a genuine smile. "And you're still the only one who can calm me down."

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the moment. Seungcheol glanced at the screen and chuckled. "It's the guys," he said, using his affectionate term for his fellow members. "Probably calling to wish me luck... or to make fun of me."

He answered the video call, and immediately the room filled with the chaotic energy of nine excited voices.

"HYUNG!" Seungkwan's voice dominated initially. "Show us the outfit! We've been dying to see the final look!"

Seungcheol laughed, some of his nervousness visibly melting away as he propped the phone up against a vase and stepped back to give them a full view of his ensemble.

"Wah, as expected of our leader!" Mingyu exclaimed, his handsome face filling most of the screen as he apparently leaned too close to the camera.

"Ya, move back, we can only see your nostrils," Soonyoung's voice commented, pulling Mingyu away.

"Hyung looks like James Bond," Hansol added appreciatively.

"Better than James Bond," Joshua corrected with his signature smile. "Our Cheollie is going to be the best-dressed man there."

She watched from the side, heart full as she observed the genuine brotherhood between these men who had spent their youth chasing dreams together. Now in their thirties, SEVENTEEN had achieved more than they had ever imagined—multiple world tours, numerous awards, and global recognition that extended well beyond the music industry into fashion, film, and philanthropy.

"Noona!" Chan, the youngest member, spotted her hovering at the edge of the frame. "You have to send us pictures! We know Seungcheol-hyung won't because he'll be too nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Seungcheol protested unconvincingly.

"Your left eye is twitching," Joshua pointed out in English before switching back to Korean. "It always does that before big events."

"Make sure he doesn't drink too much champagne," Jihoon added with a mischievous grin.

She stepped closer to the screen, smiling at the faces of the men who had become like family to her over the years. "I promise I'll keep him in line and send plenty of photos."

After a few more minutes of teasing and sincere well-wishes, they ended the call. Seungcheol's shoulders seemed lighter, his stance more relaxed.

"Better?" she asked, knowing how much strength he drew from his members, even from thousands of miles away.

"Better," he confirmed, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head. "Though I'm still not convinced I belong at something like the Met Gala."

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Choi Seungcheol, you've performed in stadiums in front of tens of thousands of people. You've spoken at the United Nations. Your group's music has broken cultural and language barriers that people thought were impenetrable. If anyone belongs on that carpet tonight, it's you."

He gazed at her with such tenderness that her heart fluttered, just as it had when they were teenagers and he first told her he liked her more than just a friend.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?" he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Twenty years of practice" she replied with a soft smile.

[dannyriccsystem]

First off I wanna congratulate you! So so deserved and I can't wait to see you grow more! So I was thinking... 22, 42 and 47 for Oscar I need to ruin him idk

THAT GIRL IS POISON..!

1K SPECIAL - OP81

Rough make out session + “Fuck, sweetheart” + Femdom

SUMMARY: Oscar likes to think he’s in charge, but as soon as you take control, he’s putty in your hands.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

WARNINGS: Smut, P in V, Femdom, overstimulation, Sub!Oscar

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

NOTE: HI TYSM SULI!! I love submissive Osc

OSCAR ALWAYS FOUGHT YOU FOR CONTROL. He was constantly looking for the time to dominate you, waiting for the proper moment to initiate something so he can ensure he’s the one in charge. It was his fatal flaw, and unfortunately it never fully worked out for him. Like right now as you sat atop him, his entire body melting at your touch.

“Mnnnh,” He whined into your mouth, his lips agape enough to let your tongue slip past. Your bodies were pressed together in a heated kiss, your legs tangled up; you rubbed your knee against his growing erection, feeling his lower extremity muscles twitch, including the jerking of his hips to softly grind against you. Oscar’s hands held your hips tight, nails digging into the fat of your skin.

You could feel the breath from his nose just below yours, a soft tickling sensation against your skin. His soft, pillowy lips moved sensually as you pressed kitten licks to them, your own actions rough and greedy. Your fingers carded through his freshly cut hair— which was soft to the touch— and lightly tugged at the ends.

You pulled your lips off to sit back, gazing at his hazy expression. His eyes were soft, lips red and swollen— still softly wetted by your saliva— and his mouth agape. He squeezed his gaze shut as you pushed your knee against his hard-on. “Yeah?” You responded to a guttural moan in a teasing tone. Your head ducked down, tonguing at the pulse of his neck before kissing it. “You like that?” Your lips trailed to his ear, nibbling the lobe.

“Love, I-” Oscar tried to talk, his tone demanding, but he was cut off by a sharp gasp when you bit down on his collarbone, which you knew was particularly sensitive. “Fuck,” Oscar rarely cursed, but when he did it was fucking hot.

He tilted his head back, panting as he traveled his gaze down to peer at you where you sat, hovering over his crotch. He grabbed you by the wrists, guiding your hands down to the buttons on his jeans. You took the hint, and wrapped both your index fingers around his belt loops, tugging his hips upwards. “Hm?” You intentionally moved your hips against his hardening cock, strained against the constricting fabric of his boxers and jeans.

“Cruel,” He muttered in a shaky tone, eyes struggling to stay open. You giggled, releasing your grip on him and moving to unbutton and unzip his jeans. He helped you slide them off, but when his hands pawed at the waistband of his own boxers, you lightly smacked them away. You locked eyes, and Oscar propped himself up on his elbows to watch you slowly lower yourself. You licked a stripe up his cock through the boxers, tasting nothing but fabric. Still, you could feel the arousal through his underwear. “That’s just mean.”

“Be patient,” You hummed, despite the way you moved to finally rid him of the pressure. You released his dick by tugging on his boxers, tossing them off to the side. You easily could have teased him more, but you were growing impatient yourself. Suddenly the growing wet spot in your own panties felt unbearably obvious. So, you shimmied out of your underwear and simply hiked your skirt up. “You want it?” You teased, brushing your folds against his tip.

You expected him to go along with it, so when Oscar grabbed your hips and slammed you down onto his length, you were incredibly taken aback by the sudden force. A sharp cry of pleasure left your lips, and your whole body shuddered involuntarily. He had that fucked out expression already, like he was trying to seem dominant but was really just desperate for you. “Fuck, sweetheart…”

He moved your hips for you, his hands helping you rise and fall on his thick cock. You let him have your fun, but after a few thrusts, you grabbed his wrists and pinned them beside his head. He tried to push back, but gave up when you intertwined your fingers and used your full weight to press them back against the mattress again. “What’s this?” You spoke in a sultry tone, your eyes full of lust as you slowly gyrated your hips, your pussy squeezing him. “Think you’re in charge all of a sudden?”

“Please..!” Oscar looked so greedy, biting his bottom lip hastily. Before you could even ask, he answered, “Please fuck me, sweetheart.” It’s like he could read your mind.

For that reason alone, you chose to reward him. You picked up your pace, your ass slapping down against his hips with every single bounce on his cock. He, again, tried to push against you to reach for your body, but you kept his hands pinned down and under control. Oscar could easily throw you off, but he didn’t. Because deep down, he liked this dynamic.

“Do you remember our safe word, Osc?” You asked him so sweetly, your voice like honey. It certainly wasn’t helping in his endeavors to last as long as he can. He nearly busted right when you opened your mouth.

“Yes,” He whined pathetically. “Red.” It was the basic traffic light system. Sometimes he liked to tell you to stop, but he didn’t really mean stop. If you heard your poor thing frantically shout red, then you’d know it was time to back off and stop.

“Good job,” You praised, kissing his jawline to pair with your sweet reassurance. With that set in stone, you got more aggressive with your movements.

You liked to watch his facial expressions, because it was always easy to tell when Oscar was about to come. His eyes would twitch, and he’d momentarily roll them back. His lips would drop down into a wide ‘O’, then he’d dart his tongue out to wet them before spilling deep inside you. You watched the sequence, giggling in a lust-drunk manner as you felt him twitch and spurt deep inside.

But you didn’t stop. He recognized this quickly, and his eyes shot open again. You continued moving, milking him dry. It hurt, but the good kind of pain— otherwise he’d be aggressively tapping out and calling out that word. He wasn’t afraid to use it, and you knew that.

He could barely think straight anymore. His eyes found yours, and he stared endlessly, trying to keep them open long enough, but with every thrust down onto his cock, they grew more and more droopy. You let go of his hands, giving him the ability to roam freely with them, but still he kept them fanned out to his sides.

Your orgasm started to form deep in your stomach. You leaned down, pressing your face into Oscar’s neck as you finally reached your own peak. His arms shakily moved to hold your hips again, carefully lifting you off. He could feel his own cum dribble out from your hole in a soft patter against his thigh.

“Good job, Oscar,” You praised highly, gently running your hands through his hair. He responded with a soft grunt, which you took as a positive sign.

He fell asleep while tracing soft shapes into your bare hips.

[bachshot]

Imagining late nights in the watchtower with Bob...

Sleeping never came easily to you, as a mercenary you had countless amounts of blood on your hands and no one could blame you for it eventually getting to your head. But everything was fine now, right? You had saved New York and now you were an Avenger so everything should be fine, but you never really had that kind of luck.

It was too quiet... Too peaceful, before the watchtower you had lived in a studio flat downtown where there was always some kind of commotion outside but so high up in the tower it was rare you heard anything from the streets so far down, and that left you way too much silence for your thoughts to run wild in.

It was nights like this, restless whilst you tossed and turned endlessly with countless memories of your past mistakes flashing through your mind, where you found yourself padding quietly from your room to the towers kitchen to fix yourself a drink and admire the skyline views of New York. Usually these hours were spent alone, tonight wasn't following that formula.

As the kettle you're boiling softly whistles you hear a creaking in the floorboards behind you causing you to turn around, shoulders hunched with defence but quickly dropping when the culprit is revealed to be Bob. Clearly he's having a similar problem, his hair a mess from endless turning, bags under his eyes, and crumpled pyjamas too baggy for his body making it all the more obvious. On instinct he starts apologising, hands waving in defense in front of him,

"I heard your pacing in the hallway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He explains, a clear nervousness in his tone that you both knew he didn't need to have... He was just like that, and in a sense it was endearing.

You'd explain you couldn't sleep with a shrug, nightmares you'd clarify, as you grab a second mug to accompany the one you'd already gotten out for yourself, it only natural to make Bob a drink too if he was here. Once again his face would be guilt striken, he didn't remember the specifics of what had happened a few weeks ago when the void took over but he'd been told and part of him felt that that was responsible for your recurring nightmares. He looks like he's about to apologise again but you're quick to interrupt him.

"It isn't your fault, I always get them." And if they had been reoccurring more often since that day you still couldn't find it in yourself to blame him, "why are you up?"

Like you he's plagued by similar dreams, earning a sympathetic smile. You hand him the spare mug you'd gotten out, now filled with a warm drink that was meant to be soothing, and as your knuckles brushed in the exchange you couldn't help but notice while a few weeks ago he wouldv'e flinched away from the touch now he allowed it to linger just long enough for it to be noticeable.

It's too late to really go back to bed, but too early to get up and be productive so you make your way to the couch with Bob hot on your tail. Something about it is so natural, past the previous pleasantries you don't have to talk about what's wrong just being in eachothers presence is enough to lift the other. Eventually the conversation turns, and something Bob says has you raising a brow,

"I've always found it easier to sleep with someone else, it just feels secure."

The confession is made without much thought, and when you take a second too long to respond he almost regrets it. But then you look him in the eye and there seems to be a mutual understanding as something calls within you to pull him closer and he readily follows, leaning back on the couch with him over you one arm wrapped losely over his midsection and the other finding it's way to his hair.

Something you'd noticed about Bob is that he tends be to a fidgety guy but as you hold him close he goes still almost melting in to you, you hate to admit but he was right about it feeling more secure than laying alone. Maybe you should talk about what this means but neither of you say anything, it just feels right and for once you don't hate the silence that comes with nights in the watchtower. You don't mean to drift off, but at some point both your movements still as you're taken over by a much more pleasant sleep than you'd previously had.

If the rest of the team finds you the next morning, limbs tangled in a messy pile on the couch, soft snores leaving your mouths as Bob's head burrows into your chest and your chin tucks into his hair, they decide to hold off on the teasing knowing the two of you need the rest... At least until after morning training.

[jarofstyles]

Picture blurb time! I take a photo someone submits or I find myself and write based off of whatever inspo the picture gives me.

Check out our Patreon for early access to our writing and hundreds of exclusive writings and series! (Sign up on your browser to save $$)

—-

“I hate to say it!” He yelled over the sound of the rain. “I don’t think my jacket is doing shit to keep us dry!”

Y/N couldn’t help her laugh, the buzz from the wine making her much more agreeable than she had been when they’d first gone out. She would admit she could be a little grumpy when she was rushed and Harry had been hounding her about getting there in time, but he also knew a little red wine and a good serving of bread with the garlic and oil combination would calm her down. It always did.

“No shit!” She cackled, though made no attempt to remove it from their heads. Her entire body was soaked. Dress dripping, droplets over her hair as it bunched together in sopping strands. Her sandals were useless to protect her feet from the wet, cool rain and their traction was shit. Thankfully the cobblestones had some sort of grit.

When she'd agreed to take a spur of the moment trip with her boyfriend, she hadn't expected to be walking back to the apartment he owned in the small coastal town in Italy in pouring rain- but it was something she knew she would probably remember forever.

"It's not that bad though!" He spoke loudly so she could hear him over the rain. "At least it isn't freezing. Got caught in a downpour in London a while back n'I got that nasty cold. Remember?" Y/N did remember. He was a big baby when he was sick and it had been the first time she had taken care of him. It was only when she called his mum for her soup recipe that she filled her in on how Harry milked it for attention. She still indulged regardless.

"Okay, true, but I want to get back so can you walk a little faster?" He was a little too slow for the pace they should be going. "Having those long giraffe legs should help you out!"

"Giraffe legs?" He sputtered, stopping in the middle of the street. Y/N yelped as he pulled the jacket down and the rain drops began splashing directly on her head and face. They were big, bouncing off her skin as she lifted her hand over her forehead to try to keep her eyes clear.

"Harry! What is wrong with you?"

"You said I had giraffe legs! We're on a romantic walk back in the rain during the Italian summer n'you're going around calling me an animal."

"I never said you were an animal, you pest! I said you had the legs of one-" Y/N couldn't finish her sentence. Slightly cool, soft and most definitely wet lips found hers, the hand protecting her eyes pulled down by his hand as he tugged her body into his own.

It was like everything she was saying left her brain. Getting a kiss from him as the rain poured down over them seemed to reset her, body melting like the wicked witch into his body. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, she lifted up on her tip toes and kept the kiss going regardless of how soaked her face was getting. Tasting the wine on his tongue was far more important.

A whimper left her throat as he pulled back from her with a smile, nose nudging against hers. "Shush. Just let me be romantic, yeah? Can tell me all about what animals I remind you of tomorrow. Just want to kiss you for a minute."

[jungwnies]

branded | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : boyfriend!kimi x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : jealousy and a few well-placed hickey's

୨ৎ : genre : angsty romance ୨ৎ : word count : 469

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

you were sulking.

not just annoyed — full-blown cold-shoulder, not-speaking-to-him sulking.

which kimi noticed the second you stepped into the hotel room and refused to meet his eyes.

“still mad?” he asked, voice calm, already toeing off his shoes.

you didn’t respond. just tugged the collar of your hoodie higher and crossed your arms.

he sighed quietly and set his phone on the table. “they were looking at you.”

“they always look,” you muttered. “doesn’t mean you had to brand me.”

he didn’t laugh. not even a smirk. just stood there, watching you with those quiet eyes of his. the kind that always saw more than you wanted to give away.

“i didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said after a moment. “i was… annoyed.”

you turned to him, arms still crossed. “you left a mark. four marks. i had to change outfits three times because NOTHING hid them.”

he blinked. “didn’t know they were that bad.”

you pulled the hoodie down just enough to reveal the edge of one — deep purple, right on the curve of your collarbone. kimi winced.

“…okay. i went too far, but you look…well…you look amazing.”

you gave him a dry look. “i looked like i lost a bar fight with your mouth.”

that got the smallest twitch of a smile. “to be fair, my mouth did win.”

you stared at him.

“…not helping?”

“nope.”

he walked over slowly, movements careful, like approaching a cat that might bolt.

“i was jealous,” he admitted, voice softer now. “you were laughing with one of the photographers. he looked… interested.”

“he was telling me about his baby,” you said flatly. “he showed me photos. of his kid.”

kimi frowned. “he should still keep his eyes off you.”

you rolled your eyes and turned away again — but this time, he wrapped his arms around you from behind. gentle, warm, familiar.

“i don’t like sharing,” he murmured into your neck. “not even attention.”

“you left bite marks.”

“i was drunk on you,” he said, lips brushing your skin. “still am.”

you let out a slow sigh and leaned back into him just a little.

“you better fix it.”

“i will.”

he nudged your hair aside and kissed just below your ear — the kind of kiss that melted more than it bruised.

“no more hickeys?” you asked.

“no more visible hickeys,” he corrected, a hint of mischief returning.

you turned your head to glare, but he just kissed the corner of your mouth, feather-light.

“let me make it up to you,” he said. “no hands. just apologies.”

you rolled your eyes again, but it was useless now. you were already soft for him. you always had been.

“…fine,” you mumbled.

he smiled and took your hand, pulling you toward the bed. “promise. no teeth. unless you ask.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[dollyfiles]

darling!reader surprising bsf!rafe with a handmade gift

darling!reader mlist

cw: fluff, teasing banter, explicit language

the second you heard the familiar rumble of rafe’s truck pulling up outside, you bolted out your front door, practically hopping down the steps two at a time. the night was already warm, the air sticky with that salty sunmer heat, but you barely noticed — you were buzzing with excitement.

you clutched the little paper bag to your chest, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. you had been dying all day to give this to him, even though you pretended to act casual in your texts — “nothing big lol” you’d written, as if you hadn’t spent hours stitching and re-stitching every detail.

rafe was leaned back in the driver’s seat, one arm casually hanging over the wheel, the other scrolling through his phone. when he looked up and caught sight of you practically skipping toward the truck, he smirked like he already knew you were up to something.

you already yanked the passenger door open before he could even lean over to unlock it—even though he always did, like clockwork. “what’s with the face?” he teased, glancing over at you with that easy, lazy smirk he reserved just for you.

you practically dove into the passenger seat, tossing your tote bag down between you two. “i have something for you.” rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “oh, god. is it contagious?”

“idiot..” you shook your head playfully, giggling as you shoved the bag into his lap. “just open it.”

he gave you a dramatic sigh, like you were such a burden, but the way he was already tugging the bag open betrayed him. you watched, practically vibrating with anticipation as he pulled out the dark blue baseball cap.

he turned it over in his hands, brows knitting together like he was trying to figure it out. across the front it read, in your slightly imperfect but charming embroidery:

north carolina.

classic, easy. something he’d actually wear.

rafe smirked, but when he flipped it over, his thumb caught on the tiny, hand-stitched lyrics along the back strap:

“take a bite of my heart tonight.”

your stupid, favorite song — animals by neon trees — the one you always blasted at full volume at two in the morning with the windows down, screaming the lyrics into the night like maniacs.

you couldn’t help yourself, you were was already bouncing in your seat, waiting for his reaction. but when rafe went quiet for a second, your heart nearly cracked in half. was he about to hate it? was it too much?

rafe sat back, twirling the hat on his finger with a completely unreadable face. then he let out a very fake, very loud groan.

“ugh,” he finally said, dragging the word out dramatically, setting the cap on his knee. “this is ugly as shit,” he announced flatly.

your face fell for a good 5 seconds. “rafe!” you gasped, hitting his shoulder, “you liar, don’t even—”

“i mean…” he tugged the hat low over his messy hair, looking at you sideways. “you spelled ‘north carolina’ right, so, like… that’s a win for you.”

you smacked his arm hard, making him laugh — really laugh, that rare full-body kind where his head tipped back against the seat and he barely caught his breath.

“you are such a jerk,” you said, but you were laughing too, cheeks burning, heart flipping in your chest.

“yeah, but i’m a jerk with a sick new hat,” he said, readjusting it so it sat backwards on his head, the lyrics facing out. he pulled down the sun visor to check himself in the mirror, grinning at his reflection. “this is fire. like you really made this?”

you practically melted into your seat, “you like it?”

“like it?” rafe asked, chrcking himself out. he tilted his head toward you, flashing that smile — the one that could knock the air out of your lungs if you weren’t careful. “i’m gonna wear this every damn day.”

you made a little squealing sound and bounced in your seat, unable to hide how thrilled you were. you reached over and fixed the way the cap sat, fingers brushing his hairline.

and then rafe caught your hand before you could pull away, twisting your fingers together for a second. his touch was rough but warm, and lingering. his thumb stroked the back of your hand once, then twice, slower than necessary.

it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

but neither of you said anything about it. just like always.

“seriously,” he said, voice softer now, his eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips for a split second before he grinned again. “best gift i’ve ever gotten.

you ducked your head, cheeks burning, but you didn’t pull your hand away just yet. you didn’t want to. and neither did he.

the moment stretched—long enough to feel it, to know it—but then rafe squeezed your hand once and let go, tapping the bill of his new hat.

“c’mon,” he said, that familiar teasing glint back in his eye. “let’s go show off how good i look and make top and kelce jealous.”

you sat back in your seat, cheeks still burning, heart thudding a little too hard, trying not to smile too much as rafe drove you two towards the country club, his brand-new hat proudly perched on his head.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @rafecami @isasweetie @beausling @rafesheaven @rafesbowbunny @rafesangelita @drewsephrry @rafessecret @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @rafeysbangs @lacyydollette @nemesyaaa @bruisedfig @tinythebunni @rcsbabydoll

[lustlvii]

Ateez members when you squirt. Ft maknae line

Including: San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho x fem!reader (all separate!)

Warnings: porn no plot, Squirting, nasty nasty nasty, degradation, dirty talk, use of names (slut), mention of passing out but you don't (San) cocky!wooyoung, size kink (mingi), oral (f, mingi and wooyoung), like one pussy slap (wooyoung), daddy kink (mingi and wooyoung), this is just messy and nasty I didn't proofread so lmk if I missed anything!

Authors note: English isn't my first language. I think I went overboard . . . Especially with mingis 😔😔🥴🥴

San.

“Again,” he growls, breath hot against your shoulder as he slams his hips into yours with bruising force. “Fucking again, baby—don’t stop now.”

You can’t. You’re sobbing, face twisted in pure overstimulated bliss, thighs twitching, soaked and ruined and trembling as another gush of wetness sprays out from between your legs.

“Ohhh fuck—there it is,” San groans, head thrown back, hips grinding through it like he’s ossessed. “That’s it, baby. Made a fuckin’ mess for me, huh?”

You try to answer, but you can’t form a single coherent thought. Your eyes roll. Your fingers claw uselessly at the sheets beneath you.

San just laughs. It’s feral—guttural.

“Dumb little thing,” he snarls, reaching down to slap your twitching clit, watching your whole body spasm from it. “You like being fucked stupid, don’t you?”

You nod. Barely. More of a shake. Your lips part to speak—nothing comes out but a whimper.

“I said don’t stop.”

He flips you onto your back, grabs both your ankles and spreads you wide, cock already rock-hard again despite the fact he just emptied himself inside you not even two minutes ago.

“You thought I was done? You thought one little squirt show was gonna be enough?”

He lines up again, sinks in without warning. No mercy. You scream.

“Fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re still squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

Your entire body jerks. Nails digging into the mattress.

He leans down until he’s nose-to-nose with you. Grabs your jaw hard enough to ache. Forces you to look at him.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see how dumb you look when you come.”

Your lashes flutter. Your lip quivers. He starts pounding into you like he wants to break the bed—slamming his hips, skin clapping against yours, sweat dripping from his forehead to your chest.

“San—Sannie please—I-I can’t—!”

“You can.”

He presses his hand to your lower tummy, feels how swollen and full you are.

“Feel that?” he grunts. “That’s me. Right there. So deep inside I’m practically part of you.”

He fucks deeper. Harder. Faster.

“You’re gonna squirt again. You’re gonna cover my cock, the sheets, everything. Make a mess like the filthy little slut you are.”

You’re wailing now, words melting into cries and breathless mewls. He snakes a hand up to your throat, squeezes just enough to make the edge of panic blur with the pleasure.

And then—

“Fuck—yes,” he growls. “There it is. Pretty little pussy fuckin’ exploding for me—holy shit—look at that.”

You squirt so hard it splashes against his thighs. He doesn’t even stop. He shoves your knees to your chest and keeps fucking through it, watching your face twist, your mouth open wide in a soundless scream.

“Again,” he spits. “Fucking again.”

You can’t even fight it. Your body obeys him before your brain can catch up. Another wave crashes over you—wet, hot, helpless.

He moans loud, cock throbbing deep inside you. “You’re mine. You get that?”

You whimper. “Y-Yes—San—fuck—yours—”

He bites your neck. Hard. “Say it.”

“Yours! I’m yours—I’m only yours—”

He kisses you like he’s trying to consume you.

Then he pulls out, drags you to your knees by your hair, and shoves his cock back into your ruined cunt from behind—still gushing, still twitching.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls. “Now keep squirting until you pass out.”

Mingi.

He’d been down there for a while.

Palms spreading your thighs wide, tongue lazily lapping at your clit like it was breakfast, chin shiny and eyes half-lidded in pure obsession. You’d lost count of how many times your hips bucked or how many times his tongue teased your folds before dipping in—deeper, deeper, until your whole body was convulsing.

“Mingi, wait—fuck, I—something’s—”

That’s all it takes. The tremble in your thighs, the way your belly tightens…

And then it happens.

Your body arches, the pressure snaps, and a sudden wet gush bursts from you—hot and clear and everywhere.

“Oh…” Mingi stops, stunned for a second. His mouth parts, brows lifting slightly as he pulls back to look. Your thighs are soaked. His face is drenched.

Then:

“…Holy shit.”

He grins. Wildly. Tongue darts out to taste you again—licking his cheeks where the mess landed.

“Baby…” His voice drops lower, cock already rock hard against the bed. “You never told me you could do that.”

You whimper, dazed, humiliated, but so high on it you can barely think.

“I—Mingi, I didn’t—I’ve never—”

He growls. That’s the only word for it. Like you just unlocked a kink he didn’t even know he had.

“Fuck, you’re unreal.”

And then he’s on you.

Flicking your clit, tongue rolling filthy patterns over your overstimulated cunt, groaning against your skin like he’s starving. His big hands are clutching your hips down so hard it stings.

You squirt again. And again. It’s automatic now—he demands it.

“Mmhmm, that’s it… so fuckin’ wet for me.”

You’re barely breathing when he finally lifts his head, face dripping, lips swollen and red, pupils blown. He’s panting.

“You’re a goddamn fountain.”

He strokes his cock, lets it slap against your slit. “Wanna see if this pretty pussy squirts like that with my cock too.”

You moan. Shake your head. “Mingi, you’re too big, I can’t—”

“Oh baby.” He leans down, voice a whisper, thick tip teasing your entrance. “You’re gonna take it.”

He starts slow. Just the tip. Then another inch. And another. You’re already clawing at his arms, panting, your eyes rolling.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “So tight. I can feel your heartbeat in this cunt.”

He bottoms out with a brutal thrust. Your body jerks. And he laughs.

“You’re so full, huh?”

You sob. “C-Can’t—Mingi—too much—too deep—”

He cups your cheek. Kisses you softly. Then ruins you again.

His hips slam into yours at a vicious rhythm, skin slapping, the sound of wet squelching echoing off the walls. He’s obsessed—watching your pussy swallow every inch of his thick cock, watching how each thrust pushes more slick out of you.

“You gonna squirt on my dick, baby?” he groans. “Gonna soak me like you did my fuckin’ face?”

You do. Screaming his name, gushing hard enough to leave his lower abs dripping.

He doesn’t stop. Won’t let you come down.

“Shiiit, you’re fuckin’ gushing,” he moans. “Look at this mess. Look what you did.”

You cry out. Your body convulses. Another orgasm barrels through you like a freight train.

He pulls you up by your waist, fucks you like a ragdoll, moaning into your neck, whispering filth between praises.

“Dirty little thing… makin’ a mess all over daddy’s cock like you need to be ruined.”

You’re babbling now—nothing makes sense. “Mhm—Mingiii—ah—f’so good—feels—ah—f-fuck!”

He bites your shoulder. “You love it.”

You nod wildly.

He grabs your face again, eyes dark. “Then squirt for me again, baby. Right now.”

Wooyoung.

“Already?” He says it with a cocky laugh, like watching you tremble under his mouth is funny to him. Your thighs are clenching around his head, stomach twitching, and you can’t breathe through the sounds you’re making.

“Mmh—fuck, Woo—ah, I—!”

He pulls back with a string of spit clinging to his lips, face glossy, tongue dragging over the corner of his mouth like he’s still hungry.

“God, listen to yourself. You’re gasping like you just ran a mile.” He rolls his eyes, leans down, slaps your pussy lightly with two fingers. You jolt.

“This got you that fucked up? From just my tongue?” He smirks, tapping your clit with lazy precision. “What’s gonna happen when I put my cock in, huh?”

“D-Don’t say shit like that—”

“Why not?” He spits directly on your folds, lets it drip down before rubbing it in with his thumb. “Gonna make you squirt, pretty girl. Wanna see how fucking messy I can get you.”

And then he’s diving back in.

Tongue rapid, focused, filthy—like he knows exactly what your body needs before you do. He groans deep against your cunt like it’s his favorite meal, and your hips jerk off the bed.

You feel it coil in your stomach again, tight and terrifying.

“W-Woo, wait, I think I—”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t care. He wraps an arm around your thighs to lock you down and moans loud into your clit. That’s what pushes it over.

You squirt. Hard.

Gushing up into his mouth, thighs convulsing, head tossing back into the pillows as you scream. He keeps going. Licks it up, grinds his chin into your pussy, rubs you through it like he’s got something to prove.

“Fucking knew it,” he pants, chin soaked, fingers already replacing his mouth. “That’s it, messy girl. Drip for me.”

You try to close your legs, overwhelmed. He slaps your inner thigh.

“Keep ‘em open. Don’t be shy now.”

And then? Then he fucks you with his fingers until you squirt again.

You’re crying. Moaning slurred nonsense into your forearm as your thighs tremble.

“Oh, poor baby…” he coos, fake pout on his lips. “Too much for your dumb little pussy?”

Your only reply is a hiccuped whine.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He sits up, starts unbuckling his belt. “And now…”

He slaps his fat cock against your overstimulated slit, groaning when it twitches from the contact.

“Now I fuck you stupid.”

You scream his name. Again and again. You lose track of time, lose count of how many times he makes you squirt, how many times he moans right in your face, laughing when you can’t form full sentences.

“W-Woo… ngh, c-can’t—d-daddy please—!”

“Shhh, you’re fine. Just a dumb little slut with a squirty little pussy, huh?”

He grabs your face, shoves two fingers in your mouth and spits on your tongue.

“Now take it.”

Jongho.

“You didn’t tell me you could do that,” Jongho mutters, voice low—dangerous—as he stares down at your soaked thighs.

Your chest is heaving, whole body trembling. You’re still recovering from it—your orgasm, your release—your squirt.

It had surprised even you.

One moment his thick fingers were pumping slow and steady into your cunt—pressing right there, right there—and the next? You were shaking, crying, spraying his hand, his wrist, the sheets under you, everything.

And Jongho hasn’t said much since. Just breathing. Watching. Processing.

Then he wipes his soaked fingers on your inner thigh.

“You’re going to do that again,” he says flatly. Not a suggestion. Not a request. A command.

You whimper. “I… I don’t think—”

His hand snaps around your jaw.

“I didn’t ask you what you think.”

He grabs you by the waist, flips you like you’re weightless. You gasp. He pulls you into his lap—his cock already achingly hard, thick against your soaked folds.

Then, with terrifying calm, he slides in.

You scream.

Not loud. But wrecked. Like your body can’t decide whether to panic or worship him.

Jongho groans low in his throat. Hands gripping your hips so tight it hurts.

“You squirted all over my fingers. Let’s see if I can make you do it on my cock.”

He doesn’t move at first—just sinks in deeper. Slow. Unbearable. Stretching you open inch by inch until your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

Then he grinds.

Your body jerks.

“Ohhh—Jongho, I—”

“Eyes on me.”

His hand fists your hair, pulls your head back until you’re forced to meet his gaze.

“No hiding,” he whispers. “You’re going to look me in the eyes while I ruin you.”

Then—he fucks you.

Hard. Precise. Deliberate. Each thrust perfectly angled to bully your sweet spot, to force a reaction out of you.

You’re gasping, sobbing—fingers gripping his arms like a lifeline.

Jongho’s not sweating. Not moaning. Just breathing. Focused. Like he’s studying you.

“You’re going to do it again,” he murmurs. “I can feel it. You’re pulsing.”

You cry out. Your legs are shaking.

“Say thank you.”

“W-What—?”

Smack. His hand lands on your ass—hard.

“Say thank you for your cock.”

“Th-thank you! Ohmygod, thank you—!”

Then—you snap. Again.

A burst of slick soaks his thighs, your body twitching uncontrollably.

And Jongho smiles.

Dark. Satisfied.

“I knew you could.”

He pulls out—just to slam back in. You wail.

“N-Not again, I can’t—!”

“You can. You will.”

And he keeps fucking you. Pushing. Over and over.

Until your voice breaks. Until your body stops responding.

And when you finally pass out in his arms, he kisses your forehead.

“Next time, I want three.”

Writing by @lustlvii please do not translate or publish anywhere

[synity]

SUNKISSED

(Dino x FemReader)

*fluff, slow burn, vunerability, Exploration of love, fear, and emotional intimacy in a realistic setting, Emotional vulnerability and deepening feelings*

You didn’t expect him to be this good at volleyball. Shirtless, skin glistening in the afternoon sun, Dino leaped up and spiked the ball like he was performing on stage competitive, beaming, and smug.

“I win again,” he grinned, jogging over to where you stood, a cocky twinkle in his eye. “Loser owes the winner shaved ice. Deal’s a deal.”

You rolled your eyes, already digging through your beach bag. “You only won because I was distracted.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “By what?”

“…By you being annoyingly hot.”

Dino blinked, then burst into laughter the kind that made your chest feel full and your face burn under your sunglasses. He leaned in, voice low and teasing.

“So you admit it. You think I’m hot.”

You tried to look away, but his hand caught your wrist. Gently, not possessive just enough to make your heart race. He pulled you a little closer, sandy feet barely touching yours.

“You know,” he murmured, “I didn’t bring you to the beach just for volleyball.”

You arched an eyebrow. “No?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to see you in the sun. Laughing. Smiling. Relaxing. You’ve been working so hard, you don’t even realize how tired you look. I wanted to spoil you a little.”

The words knocked the breath out of you.

You tried to respond, but he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead first. Then one on your nose. And finally, a soft kiss on your lips warm, slow, and laced with salt from the sea.

The beach was loud with music and voices, but in that moment, it felt like the world quieted just for you and him.

“Let’s go get that shaved ice,” he said, fingers lacing through yours. “Then we can take a nap under the umbrella. You’ll let me hold you, right?”

You didn’t say anything just squeezed his hand tighter as the two of you walked toward the stand, barefoot and barefoot-in-love.

The sun began to dip lower, casting golden streaks over the horizon, painting Dino’s features in the softest light. The shaved ice in your hand was starting to melt, but neither of you cared not when the air between you felt this light.

You were sitting on a beach towel under a striped umbrella, the sound of waves humming gently behind you. Dino was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, just… watching you.

“Why are you staring?” you teased, scooping another spoonful of mango ice into your mouth.

He tilted his head with a sheepish grin. “You’re just really pretty like this.”

“Like what? Sticky and sweaty and full of sugar?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “exactly that.”

You let out a soft laugh, but then your gaze dropped to the sand. Something in his tone made your heart flutter differently not like the flirty rush earlier, but slower, deeper. He sounded… tender.

“Do you really mean it?” you asked quietly, fiddling with the plastic spoon. “That I look pretty like this? Even without makeup and… all the stuff?”

His smile faltered not in a bad way. Just enough to show that he was listening, seriously.

“Of course I mean it,” he said, voice lowering. “I like the version of you who’s not performing. Who’s just here. With me. Even if you’re tired, even if your hair’s a mess. I think you’re the most beautiful when you’re just being you.”

Your chest tightened. No one had ever said that to you before not like this, not when you were stripped of all the things you usually relied on to feel confident. The sun. The sea. The wind messing up your hair. He saw all of it, and still chose to say you were beautiful.

Dino leaned closer, brushing a grain of sand off your cheek with the back of his fingers. “You don’t have to try so hard around me. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, eyes stinging just a little. He didn’t miss it. His fingers slid down to intertwine with yours, giving your hand the softest squeeze.

“Wanna lie down with me?” he asked gently.

You did.

You lay next to him, your back to his chest, his arms around you like a warm blanket. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and every now and then, he pressed a quiet kiss to your skin no words, just comfort.

“I think I could stay like this forever,” he murmured after a while.

The sky above was turning lavender. The waves whispered. His heart beat softly against your spine.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe.

The sun had long disappeared below the horizon, but you and Dino stayed. The beach emptied out until it felt like the entire shoreline belonged only to the two of you.

A small bonfire flickered in front of you, the wood crackling softly as Dino shrugged off his light hoodie and draped it over your shoulders. “You’re cold,” he said simply, tugging the zipper up halfway and brushing your hair aside to warm the back of your neck with his palm.

You turned to look at him, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “You always know what I need before I say it.”

He smiled, but softer this time the kind of smile that comes when words aren’t enough.

Then, the two of you lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky. The stars were faint, washed out by the lingering haze of city glow far in the distance, but enough still glimmered to make you sigh.

Dino reached over and laced his fingers through yours, thumbs brushing lazily.

“You ever think about the future?” he asked quietly, as if he was afraid the ocean would steal the question away.

You blinked. “Sometimes. But it feels scary. Like I’ll mess it up.”

His grip on your hand tightened.

“Then mess it up with me,” he whispered. “I don’t care if it’s chaotic. I just want to be there. I want to be with you through it all.”

Your throat tightened again the way it always did when Dino peeled back his layers and showed you just how soft his heart was, even under all the light jokes and beachside playfulness.

“I’m scared too,” you whispered. “But… I think I want that.”

You turned on your side, facing him fully now. The fire crackled behind you, the stars still blinking quietly above. Dino reached out, cupping your cheek with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

“I’ll make it worth it,” he promised. “Every risk. Every choice. If you let me, I’ll love you like you’ve never been loved before.”

You kissed him.

It was slow not heated, not rushed. Just steady. A promise passed between your mouths. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, as your lips stayed connected through the quiet pull of night.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours. “Let’s stay here a little longer,” he murmured. “Just like this.”

And you did in each other’s arms, under the stars, wrapped in warmth that no beach breeze could ever steal.

The beach had long gone quiet, the fire nothing but glowing embers now. You and Dino walked back to the hotel barefoot, shoes in hand, the salty breeze still lingering in your hair.

He held your hand the whole way not just to keep you close, but to keep himself grounded. Like if he let go, the moment might vanish.

The hotel room was warm when you stepped inside. Familiar. It smelled faintly like sunscreen, clean sheets, and the snacks Dino had bought earlier “just in case.” You both laughed when you saw the untouched bag of cookies on the bedside table.

“I brought those thinking we’d get hungry,” he said, tossing them into the air and catching them with ease. “Guess I was too busy falling in love with you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you.

He changed into his oversized shirt and soft cotton shorts, then turned away while you changed. Dino had always respected your pace never rushing, never pushing and now was no different. When you finally climbed into the bed, he was already lying on his side, arm outstretched for you.

You settled into the crook of his body, your cheek against his chest. His heart thumped slow and steady, like a lullaby you never knew you needed.

“You okay?” he murmured into your hair.

“Yeah. Just... overwhelmed. But in a good way.”

Dino nodded. His fingers moved in lazy circles along your back. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. I get that way around you all the time.”

You tilted your head up. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” He smiled softly, brushing your hair back. “You make me feel things I didn’t know I could. I never thought I’d want something this real.”

There was a vulnerability in his voice, raw and gentle. He wasn’t just the goofy beach boy anymore he was someone who wanted to build something lasting, and he wanted it with you.

“I’m glad it’s with you,” you whispered. “It feels… safe.”

He kissed your forehead and whispered, “I’ll always keep you safe.”

Then he wrapped both arms around you, pulled the blanket up to your chin, and just held you close no expectations, no pressure. Just warmth, closeness, and the soft hum of two hearts beginning to sync.

Outside, the waves crashed gently. Inside, Dino’s breathing slowed, his fingers still brushing along your spine, grounding you in a kind of peace neither of you had known before.

You fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the promise of tomorrow.

[emeraldserenade]

Commando ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you and Joaquín were roommates, why wouldn't you wear your most comfortable clothing around each other

tw: fem!reader, reader wears a nightgown, filthy, Joaquín washed readers hair in the shower (it's not really described but it may not be the most inclusive thing I've written), barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Please forgive me for skipping the smut, it's late and I'm tired. I'll write a smut for you guys to read soon, I promise 🫶 I had too many roommate!Joaquín thoughts after I got a new pj set today

➽──────────────❥

Joaquín Torres was the perfect roommate, he was kind and considerate. He never complained about chores or your obscene amount of candles you liked to have around. However, he loved his grey sweatpants and no underwear combo. It was his apartment too, why wouldn’t he wear his most comfortable clothes? You, however, went feral at the sight. Your mind was plagued with thoughts you shouldn’t have. You were mature, you told yourself. You could handle seeing the most attractive man you knew in that situation, you definitely did not stare at his dick any chance you could. 

Joaquín wore his sweatpants combo because you wore your thin little nightgowns around. Ones that hugged every curve with slits up both sides that went to your hips. Showing that you were, in fact, not wearing anything under them. Joaquín went feral at that, he swore he was mature. That looking at you didn’t give him a raging boner and the thoughts of bending you over whatever surface was closest. 

If there was a third roommate, they would have definitely moved out by now. The lingering looks, the obvious imprint in Joaquín’s sweats that showed just how much he loved you in your nightgowns. However, you two would probably already be together if there was. Then maybe you two wouldn’t be in the situation you were currently in.

It was a chill day for you, one where you didn’t have work or errands. So you stayed home in your nightgown, watching movies and listening to music. Joaquín came home for lunch, Straight Up and Down by Bruno Mars was blasting through your speaker. You were swaying your hips to it, singing softly along with the song as you cooked lunch. Joaquín paused at the sight, his breath halting. You spun and smiled widely when you saw him. 

"You’re home," you made your way to him, pressing yourself against him for a hug. He returned in earnestly, but he couldn’t think of anything but you in the night gown. 

"Yeah, I came back for lunch," he managed to get out, tightening his hold on you. 

"You could have told me," you pulled back and went back to cooking, thankful you made enough to share. 

Joaquín was extra quiet, normally he would be chattering away. But he was just sitting at the table with you as you ate in silence, not that you didn’t like just sitting with him, it was just odd. "Is everything ok? You’re oddly quiet," you pushed your empty plate away from you as you turned to look at him. 

"Just tired," he told you and you just nodded at him. You didn’t fully believe him but you weren’t going to fight him about it. Joaquín was fighting himself, he either had to stay quiet or admit that he can only think about you underneath him.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín took the rest of the day off, he called Sam and gave some bullshit excuse and Sam didn't even question him. You were happy, you got to spend your day with Joaquín. He showered and changed and you told yourself not to stare.

"Fuck this," Joaquín randomly mumbled before getting up from the loveseat and walking to where you were on the couch. You were confused until he sat next to you and pulled your lips to his. You gasped in shock before melting into his embrace.

"What was that for?" You questioned when you had to pull away to breathe.

"You've been wearing those little thin nightgowns with nothing underneath," he told you like it explained everything. He slowly inched his hands up your thighs, pushing the hem of your nightgown up.

"And? You wear your sweats around with no underwear," you shot back. "This is our apartment, can't we wear whatever we reasonably want?" Joaquín moved to hover over you, his hands still slowly moving up until your nightgown was bunched to your waist. You suddenly felt self conscious about not wearing any panties. Joaquín took his eyes off yours to look down and a groan left his throat at the sight. You were squeezing your legs together for some friction and Joaquín had the perfect view of you under him.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he practically sighed before reconnecting your lips. You had half a mind to push him away, demand to know what this meant, but the way he collected your arousal and slowly started to rub circles on your clit made your head dizzy. You finally got control over yourself enough to pull away from his lips.

"Wait," you huffed and he immediately pulled away from you. "This, this means something right? This isn't just a mindless fuck?" You looked Joaquín in the eyes, needing an answer.

"This isn't mindless, I'm in love with you," he admitted and you beamed up at him.

"Then, please, continue because I'm in love with you too," you shimmed closer to him but he grabbed you in a bridal carry. You were taken to his room and placed gently on the bed.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín left you in bed for a moment to get a nice warm and damp cloth to clean you up. You hummed thankfully as he gently wiped you down before he carried you to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet as he started the shower for you both.

"You'll have to hold me up," you rasped, your voice and throat hoarse from the last hour.

"How horrible, I have to hold you," he gave you a flat look and you giggled. The water was warm and you felt so much better with the sweat slowly washing off you.

"I'm going to smell like you," you smiled as he washed and rinsed your hair for you. "Molly at work is going to be jealous, she has a crush on you," you were just talking to talk.

"That's too bad, I've already been taken," he told you and you smiled.

"Mine," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him. You felt him laugh before affirming your word.

"Yeah, I'm yours," he kissed your forehead gently.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[bweeeb]

BOAT PROBLEMS

DBF Joel Miller X Reader

HAWAII SOLUTIONS PART TWO

Summary: After the night before, all you could remember was his hands on you, but apparently Joel was trying really hard not to notice you there, more than you would like.

warnings: hard dick, cock sucking, admit dirty things ,blow job with the door open, maybe some shitty writing. enjoy

Notes: I really don't feel this part two but I did what I could, I hope I didn't disappoint anyone.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

The feeling still burned on my skin

The fleeting memory of his fingers gripping my thighs, my ass, my breasts, everywhere. It still made me want to moan and crave more.

Joel Miller was like a drug—one of those dangerously good men who get you hooked and leave you wrecked when they're not around.I stretched on the bed, breathing in his scent that still lingered on my pillow.

Maybe I had underestimated him, but the man fucked me four times in just a few hours.

Believe me—Joel Miller’s cock takes you to another plane of existence.

"Sweetheart, we're heading down for breakfast."

Two knocks on the door separating my room from Addison and my dad’s. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see either of them right now… or if it was just that growing ache inside me that needed release.

Just when you think things couldn’t get any weirder, it hits you—how weird it feels for everything to seem so... normal.

There he was. Sitting next to my dad, casual as hell, looking at me too casually—if a sideways glance even counts as looking. But what I did notice was him staring at that damn spa lady Addison introduced us to before we headed out to the yacht for the day.What the fuck is this?

“Hey. Sweetheart, why don’t you go ahead with the girls? I need to talk man-to-man with Joel.”

My dad said it, and even as I walked with the two women, my ears were sharp, listening behind me.

“I heard something while we were waiting at the deck yesterday… you and… you know.”

“You know what?”

Dad must’ve gestured or something, because Joel chuckled like the idea was absurd.

“Oh hell no, man. What the fuck?”

“I know, it’s just—she’s my daughter. And you two were… together.”

“She went up to her room. Some local girl showed up, we were talking, and I figured—hey, you only live once, right?”

“Well. Glad you’re having fun, man.”

I don’t know if that’s what I wanted to hear. Joel obviously wasn’t going to admit anything, but still—it wasn’t what I expected. Oh, what was I expecting? Don't even ask. Especially since, as we walked toward the boat, my dad was ahead with Addison, and the bastard stayed back with Miss Sunshine, whose name I didn’t even bother to remember.

If he didn’t care, then I sure as hell cared even less. And yes, I would keep saying that teenage bullshit to myself until I drove him out of my head.

Oh my God. What am I? Fifteen years old, for God's sake.

Hours later, I was sitting at the front edge of the yacht when someone took a seat beside me. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a guy—my age, dark hair, styled like he had money, an open blue shirt, beer in hand, and a smile that could melt panties.

“You’re way too beautiful to be sitting alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

He glanced around. I smiled, turning my back to the sea and facing him.

“Well, I don’t see anyone.”

“Maybe you should be that someone then.”

“Perfect.”

He smiled, hand landing on my waist.

“Where are you from?”

“Texas.”

“You don’t sound Texan.”

“I usually show my Texan side when I’m riding.”

I smirked, and he bit his lip.

“You gonna show me how you ride?”

“Maybe. Where are you from?”

“California.”

“Californians are the best to ride.”

Lies. Joel Miller was the best.

“Ridden many?”

“Californians? Nah.”

“Come on.”

He grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the yacht cabins. But our giggles were cut short by a cough.

“Hey kid, they’re calling for you up top.”

Joel.

“Now.”

His tone was firm. The guy vanished, leaving me irritated, turned on, and did I mention irritated? Yeah. Still fucking irritated.

“Were you gonna fuck him?”

Who cares? I’m in fucking Hawaii.

“Oh my God, you were.”

Joel looked me up and down, shocked.

“Come on, Joel. . You ruin my thing, act like you didn’t do anything, flirt with that hoker the entire day and still think you have the right to say something?”

“You were about to fuck a guy whose name you don’t even know—and she’s the hoker?”

He did not just say that. Okay, it seemed like that, but man, he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't do that.

“So now I’m the hoker?”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head.

“Maybe I wasn’t even gonna fuck him. Maybe I’d just suck his dick. I don’t know. At least he’d get hard faster than you and I’d never have to see him again unlike you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He pointed at me.

“I do. You’re the one pretending you didn’t come inside me four times last night and now acting like you’re gonna do the same with that woman.

”I pointed at him, and silence grew thick between us.

“I wasn’t doing that. I’m hiding.”

“Hiding? "

" Pretending "

" You’re pretending that you’re not into me by getting with her? That’s why your dick’s bulging in those shorts? Because you’re hiding your hard-on for her?”

He stepped in, closed the gap, and pushed me into a cabin, growling into my ear while grinding his hard cock against my stomach.

“Hiding that my cock’s fucking hard as hell for you. Because you keep walking around with those damn tits out, that sweet ass covered in nothing but that see-through shit, and all I can think about is your tits bouncing in my face. You are the fucking problem.”

“Not my fault you can’t control yourself and act like you don’t even know me.”

“Then suck my fucking dick right now so I can stop pretending my hard-on’s for her.”

He ordered, and I was on my knees almost immediately. The cabin door was slightly open, and all I could hope was that no one came by and ruined this.

I pulled his shorts down, his cock slapping up against his stomach, making me let out a nasal laugh.

“Shit, you’re really fucking hard.”

One hand on my neck, the other wrapped around his length. I licked him slowly, dragging my tongue around the tip and spitting warm and slow over the swollen head.

“Quick, baby.”

He groaned, pressing my head down, and I braced myself against his thighs.

“Beg for me.”

I looked up through my lashes, dead serious.

“Come on.”

“Beg for me, Joel.”

I let go of his cock and he groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, please, sweetheart. I need you.”

“You need me?”

“Only you. It’s always been just you.”

He panted, and I smiled, stroking him again.

“How much?”

“I’ve jerked off over a hundred times thinking of you.”

The words fell from him like my touch had unlocked a vault.

“Oh yeah? What else?”

I asked, taking him into my mouth and sucking on the pink head.

“Stole one of your panties once. Jerked off with it while listening to one of your voice notes.

I pulled off, hearing a soft ‘pop'

“So filthy. Oh, Mr. Miller.”

I sucked him in again, deeper this time.

“You are… fuck. You’re fucking ruining me, sweetheart.”

“Mmhm.”

I mumbled with him deep in my throat, pulling back slowly.

“What else, Joel?”

I gave kitten licks to his tip. He gripped my hair tighter, making me moan, thighs clenching with how wet I was.

“Remember that night you called me? Drunk? Said you felt lonely and horny? I jerked off with you on the phone. Felt like shit after.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad. I did too.”

“What?”

“I called you because I was horny. Wasn’t drunk at all. Just needed to come with your voice in my ear.”

I smirked as Joel groaned, coming hard and painting my chest with it.

“Fuck. I’m gonna tell your dad. We’re gonna be together, baby. We’re gonna do this right.”

His hands softened, brushing my skin gently—until I looked up.

And saw my dad. Arms crossed. Eyebrow arched. Pissed as fuck.

“You gonna tell me you’re fucking my daughter, you son of a bitch?”

Everything happened fast—Joel was yanked away from me and my dad’s punch landed hard. I froze. Joel didn’t fight back. He just took it.

“Dad!”

I screamed, scrambling from the floor, rushing to them as Addison pulled my dad away.I dropped beside Joel, who looked at me before closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

“You okay?”

I whispered, brushing his bruised face.

“I deserved that,”

he muttered, standing up slowly.

“I’m sorry, okay?”Joel looked at my dad, whose back was turned while he ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re sick.”

My dad hissed, and I narrowed my eyes, pissed now.

Excuse me?

“Dad.”

“No. He watched you grow up. This shouldn’t be happening.”

“Well, it did. And it’s not just his fault.”

“He’s too old for you.”

He shook his head.

“And you’re too old for Addison.”

“So that’s what this is about?”

He yelled, and I threw my hands in the air—

“No, but if we’re playing that card, then maybe think about that for a second”

" Listen, I love her, man, I love her."

Joel stepped in front of me, and I froze, just staring at his back. Does he love her?

" You lied to me. I asked you about this, and you fucking lied to my face."

" You wanted me to admit it? I’m sorry, man."

" You should love her like a niece.My dad yelled, walking closer, pissed off."

" Well, I don’t. I did that once, alright? I didn’t love her when she was a kid, not the same way i love her now. I love the woman she’s become now, and that’s so much more than just sex, because long before this trip, I knew it."

" Damn, you fucked her, man."

My dad yelled, and I just kept staring at the back of his neck like a statue.

When the boat docked at the hotel, the silence stayed until everyone went to their rooms, except for me. I stopped at Joel’s door, and as expected, he opened it.

There I was, cleaning his face with cotton from the mess we made.

" He’s gonna be fine."

I whispered as I wiped his nose.

" At least he didn’t break your nose. I like your nose."

I admitted, and Joel smiled at me.

" I really love you."

He said the same thing from earlier, and I stopped, looking into his eyes.

" I think I love you too. I always wanted you to see me, you know? I thought it was hopeless, but look at us now. "

I said, laughing through my nose as I went back to cleaning his face.

" You’re ready."

I said, getting out of his lap and tossing the cotton in the bathroom.

" You know something you still owe me?"

I said, turning my back to him.

" What?"

" Make me come. I’ve been so horny since the boat ride, and you haven’t done anything."

" Guess I’ll have to take care of that."

The night was gonna be long. How lucky am I

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

a bad ending, sorry. I hope you enjoyed it. Requests are open

@theoraekenslover @hungryforbatboys @tracymbcm

[dannyriccsystem]

could you do ollie with 1 & 3 for the 1k special? tysm <33

WHO’S GONNA KISS THE BROWN-HAIRED BOYS?

1K SPECIAL - OB87

Smothering them in kisses + Soft make out session

SUMMARY: You can’t contain all your love for Ollie! You gotta let him know :)

WORD COUNT: 512

WARNINGS: FLUFF!

FEATURING: Oliver Bearman x Reader

OLLIE WAS YOUR ANCHOR. When the world around you was overwhelming— the lights too bright, the sounds too loud— he was there to be your support system. It was a harrowing day at your internship where you had been mercilessly chewed out by your boss, leaving you to seek shelter in the comfort of your boyfriend.

Showing up unannounced was no longer an issue. His parents gave you a free pass into their home, happy to welcome you with warm hugs and questions that inquired about your day. You were their very sweet son’s very sweet girlfriend, after all.

This time, you were in a visibly bad moon. Ollie was the only one home, which left him to be the only one available to help. You stepped into the threshold of his home, immediately joining him on the couch, your head resting against his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He finally asked, wrapping one arm around your shoulder, rubbing soft circles into the bare skin of your shoulder. You shook your head as a reply, yearning to just wallow in the comfort of your own sadness for a little longer. He chuckled, the sound fresh and warm. “Alright.”

You tilted your head to the side, kissing his jawline. Without realizing, your frown turned up into a soft smile; your lipstick had left a red stain in the shape of your mouth right on the bone. Ollie glanced at you, tilting his head with confusion.

You responded to his silent question with a silent answer: You cupped his face with both hands, pulling him down to continue peppering his pale skin in your light red kisses. His nose, his cheeks, his forehead. He giggled, reaching out to hold your waist as you continued the assault of your lips on him.

Finally, you pressed your lips to his. You meant for it to be momentary, but he caught you fast enough to pull you back in. You melted in his hands as his lips moved against yours, eyes fluttering shut.

You pulled away to whisper into his mouth, “I love you,” and when you connected again, you could feel him grinning like a fool. He wanted to be as close as possible, pulling you up onto his lap, his palms dragging along your sides. Every motion was careful, almost like both of you were afraid of being too aggressive.

“You’re so pretty,” He murmured, nipping at your bottom lip playfully. You giggled as a response. You were both ready to really get into it, but as soon as you heard the front door open, you were quick to practically fling yourself off of him.

You tried to look natural, sitting comfortably. He mirrored you, both of your eyes trained to the TV. You peeked at him, and then snorted into the palm of your hand.

“Oh, looks like you two had fun,” His mother teased as she poked her head into the living room. Your cheeks were unusually warm, and Ollie’s ears were bright red.

Maybe you forgot about the lipstick.

[cameronsbabydoll]

BUFFALO 66 AU — CHAPTER FIVE

WARNINGS: emotional abuse, abandonment, heartbreak, gaslighting, isolation

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting in the booth.
the vinyl is cracked beneath your thighs, sticking to the backs of your knees every time you shift.

the jukebox wheezes some sad, sleepy song that no one really listens to. a waitress with tired eyes pours lukewarm coffee into chipped mugs, and outside the world just keeps turning like nothing happened.
like you’re not about to be left behind.

rafe hasn’t said anything in ten minutes.

he’s just sitting across from you, hands folded in front of him, knuckles scraped, jaw set hard. like if he lets himself relax, he’ll fall apart.

you’re the one who’s falling apart.

he ordered you pie. lemon meringue. said it looked like something a girl like you would eat.

you didn’t even answer. you just blinked at him with your big wet eyes and nodded, because you couldn’t find your voice.

you wish he hadn’t gotten you anything at all. the pie just sits there, all sugary and bright and stupid. the whipped cream’s melting into the crust. you want to throw it at the window.

you want him to look at you.

you want him to stop pretending this was nothing.

“this is it,” he says finally, like a verdict. like he’s been practicing the words in his head. “last stop.”

you try to swallow. your throat burns.

“what does that mean?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

his eyes flick toward yours. and you wish they hadn’t.

because they’re empty.
because they’re not.

“i’m letting you go,” rafe says, like it’s something merciful. like it’s a gift, “you’re free.”

your whole body goes still.

the fork slips from your fingers, lands in the whipped cream with a soft thud.

“why?” it cracks out of you. “why now?”

he doesn’t answer right away.
he leans back in the booth, runs a hand through his messy blond hair, rubs his eyes like you’re exhausting.

“because i did what i came to do,” he says. “i got what i needed. and you—you were just part of the plan.”

you flinch like he slapped you.

“that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?” he snaps. “you don’t even know me. none of this was real.”

you’re shaking now. knees pulled up close. arms hugging your stomach. you feel like a kicked dog.

“it felt real,” you whisper.

he looks away.

your chest tightens. your heart is making a mess of itself in your ribcage. you should yell at him. beg him. tell him he’s wrong. tell him you’re real, and he’s real, and maybe for the first time in his whole goddamn life, this—you—could be the thing that saves him.

but instead, you cry.

not pretty. not quiet.

ugly, gasping sobs that shake your whole frame. tears streaming down your cheeks and whipped cream on your face and you don’t even care.

you want him to hurt the way you hurt.

“please…” you choke out, but the rest gets stuck.

he’s already moving. sliding out of the booth, grabbing his coat.

you don’t look up.
you just sit there, hands over your mouth, trying to hold it all in.

“don’t make me go,” you whisper, so soft it gets lost in the sound of the bell over the door as it swings closed behind him.

and then he’s gone.

and you’re still in the baby blue dress he stared at for too long. still in the booth where he fed you lies and lemon pie and looked at you like you were maybe the only good thing he’d ever touched.

and now you’re nothing again.

just a good girl with a broken heart and nowhere left to go.

[nebularsung]

⭑ jeno and jisung are so obedient for you... ﹙+18﹚

the apartment was bathed in golden light from the setting sun, casting warm shadows over the furniture and painting the evening in soft tones.

it was pretty, cozy, warm… and silent.

you hadn’t even realized how quiet it had gotten until you turned from the kitchen and caught sight of jeno and jisung curled up on the couch together, both watching you like puppies too shy to ask for attention.

jeno sat back against the cushions, arms folded, brows slightly furrowed in that pouty way he got when he was craving affection but too proud to beg. meanwhile, jisung was half-sprawled across the other end, one knee drawn up, chewing lightly on his hoodie sleeve and sneaking glances at you, his cheeks faintly flushed.

they both looked so touch-starved it almost made you laugh. “what’s with the faces?” you asked, walking over with a smug smile. “you two look like i haven’t touched you in years.”

jisung let out a soft, whiny sound and opened his arms toward you like a child asking to be picked up. “you’ve been busy all day,” he mumbled, eyes wide. “i didn’t wanna bother you, but… i miss you.”

jeno scoffed, though his eyes softened. “he’s not wrong. you always say we can come to you, but then you make us wait like we’re being punished.”

“oh?” you raised a brow, climbing onto the couch and settling between them. “so what do you want then? my attention? my hands? my mouth…” your tone is suggestive, amused.

jeno swallowed thickly. “all of it.”

jisung was already crawling into your lap, hiding his face in your neck. “please…”

you ran your fingers through jisung’s soft hair and tugged jeno closer by the collar of his shirt. both of them leaned in immediately—eager, pliant, aching for touch. for your touch. jeno nuzzled at your shoulder, his breath catching when your hand slid along his thigh. jisung sighed contently when you cupped his cheek and whispered, “good boys.”

their shivers were immediate.

jeno kissed your collarbone, voice low and breathless. “please… let us make you feel good too. we’ll be good. just tell us what to do.”

and you planned to. slowly. thoroughly. letting them prove just how sweet and obedient they could be when all they wanted was to be wanted.

you tilt jisung’s chin up, brushing your thumb along his bottom lip, smiling when he parts them instinctively, eyes glassy and reverent.

“needy thing,” you whisper, and he nods before you even finish the sentence, cheeks pink, lips already trying to chase the pad of your thumb when it pulls away. “and you…” you glance over at jeno, who’s gripping the edge of the couch cushion like he needs something to hold onto. “you’ve been pouting all evening.”

“i wasn’t pouting,” he mumbles, but he leans in anyway, lips brushing your shoulder as if asking for forgiveness. “just… wanted you. missed your voice too.”

your fingers curl into jeno’s hair, tugging just enough to draw a quiet gasp from him. he melts into your touch instantly, kneeling on the couch so he can press closer—his breath stuttering when your other hand cups the back of jisung’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

it’s soft at first. just enough pressure to make him sigh. he tastes faintly of the candy he’d been snacking on earlier, lips cool and sweet and trembling against yours. when he whines, you let your tongue brush past his, just once, and he shudders with a soft sound that goes straight to your core.

“such a good boy, ji…” you murmur against his lips, and jisung groans like it physically affects him.

jeno watches hungrily, eyes dark, chest rising and falling fast. his hand finds your thigh, tentative, fingers squeezing like he’s grounding himself.

“don’t be shy now,” you purr, turning toward him. “come get your share.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice. jeno’s mouth crashes against yours, eager and desperate, like he’s been waiting hours just for this moment. he kisses you deeper—his tongue slipping past your lips, his hands clutching at your waist, pulling you closer like he wants to disappear into your skin.

jisung, flushed and dazed, buries his face into your neck again, lips trailing wet kisses across your skin, whispering breathy praises in between.

“you taste so good,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “you’re so warm. can’t get enough of you…”

with both boys pressed against you, hands trailing under your shirt, mouths worshiping every inch of you they can reach, it’s overwhelming in the most divine way. they're not demanding or rough—just worshipful, gentle, letting you set the pace as they melt under your praise.

two good boys, soft and obedient.

your fingers slip beneath jeno’s shirt, dragging upward over the taut line of his stomach. he shivers as you feel the way his muscles twitch beneath your palm—he’s tense, holding back, waiting for your permission like the obedient boy he is.

“take this off for me,” you murmur, and he follows instantly, sitting back just enough to strip the fabric over his head before returning to your side, panting lightly like the act itself had flustered him.

you glance at jisung, who’s still nuzzling into your neck, lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. “you too, sungie.”

he nods, cheeks flushed, and hurriedly pulls his shirt over his head—almost fumbling with it in his eagerness. he looks so pretty like that: eyes wide and warm, collarbones on display, breath caught in his throat as he waits for you to touch him again.

“mmh, look at you,” you whisper, letting your hands glide down their bare chests. “so good for me already. just wanna be praised, don’t you?”

both boys nod—jeno swallowing thickly, jisung murmuring a soft “yes, please” like it’s a prayer.

your hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting over jeno’s waistband as he bucks slightly into your touch. you smirk.

“so sensitive already?” you tease.

“i—i can’t help it,” jeno breathes. “you haven’t even really touched me yet and i’m already—”

you hush him with a kiss, slow and deep, while your hand cups him through his jeans—feeling how hard he is, how desperate he’s getting. his hips twitch, needy, but he doesn’t move more than that. he’s waiting for your permission.

meanwhile, jisung is practically vibrating beside you, watching intently as you work jeno up. you don’t forget about him—your other hand reaches for him, pressing flat against his lower stomach, slowly trailing downward until he gasps at the pressure of your palm over his aching cock.

“g-good girl,” jisung whispers without thinking, so drunk on the moment that he forgets himself.

you still for a beat, tilting your head to look at him with a slow smile. “oh?” you hum, pinning him gently under your stare. “is that what you think i am?”

he goes red to the tips of his ears. “n-no, i mean—i just—i didn’t mean—”

“you meant it,” jeno cuts in, amused and breathless. “she’s our girl. but she’s the one in charge.”

you grin, proud. “exactly.”

and then you press your palm firmer over both of them at once—two hard, desperate lengths twitching under your touch. their moans mix together in perfect harmony, and it’s nothing short of beautiful.

“lay back,” you instruct, voice velvet-smooth, coaxing them both to stretch out across the carpet. “i want to see everything.”

they do exactly as you say, side by side, pupils blown, bodies already trembling with anticipation.

your boys. eager, beautiful, and all yours.

and you’re going to make sure they know it—every inch of their bodies worshiped and wrecked by your hands, your voice, your love.

their bodies stretch across the carpet—bare skin glowing in the golden light, eyes on you like you're something holy.

jeno rests on his back, his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. jisung lies beside him, turned just slightly toward you, lips parted, his eyes flicking between your face and your hands like he’s starving for your touch.

you take your time crawling between them, fingers trailing along their thighs, gentle but firm. “you two look so pretty like this,” you whisper, and they both shiver under your praise. “so obedient. so needy.”

“only for you,” jisung says breathlessly, reaching for your wrist before catching himself—and waiting, like a good boy, for permission.

you smile and guide his hand up to your waist. “that’s right,” you murmur. “only for me.”

then your hands move lower, undoing jeno’s jeans first—slow, teasing—watching the way he squirms when your knuckles brush the line of his boxers. you free him from the fabric and his cock springs up, flushed and aching. he groans, head tipping back into the pillows, hands still clenched because you haven’t told him he can touch you yet.

you turn to jisung next, giving him the same slow treatment, savoring the way he whimpers when you finally wrap your fingers around him. he’s already leaking, so sensitive you barely need to stroke him for his hips to jerk up.

“please…” he whispers, voice cracking. “i wanna touch you so bad.”

you lean down, lips brushing his ear. “you’ll get to, babe” you promise. “after i’m done playing with you.”

you stroke them both together—one hand wrapped around each cock, watching how their bodies respond in perfect contrast. jeno bites his lip, barely making a sound, but his thighs tremble under your grip. jisung is vocal, soft moans spilling from his mouth, little whimpers and desperate gasps.

they’re beautiful like this—spread out for you, desperate for you.

“such good boys,” you praise, letting go just before they can get too close. “you’re going to make me feel so good tonight, aren’t you?”

they both nod frantically.

“yes,” jeno groans. “anything you want.”

“everything you want,” jisung adds.

you guide them gently, firmly, crawling forward to straddle jeno’s lap. he gasps when your damp panties touch his throbbing cock. fists clenched, like he’d unravel the moment he touched you.

jisung watches from the side, completely transfixed, one hand stroking himself slow and desperate as you hump jeno. you reach for him too, keeping him close, letting him feel your skin, guiding his hand between your legs to touch you through the flimsy fabric of your underwear.

jeno lets out a trembling breath, chest rising as he struggles to keep still beneath you. his eyes are glazed, jaw tight, every muscle in his body wound up like a spring—like he’s holding himself back just for you. you tilt your hips slowly against him, dragging your damp heat along the thick, wet length, teasing both of you with just enough friction to make it unbearable.

“doing so well for me, baby,” you whisper, stroking his cheek with gentle fingers. he leans into your touch immediately, like he’s starved for it, eyes fluttering shut as if your praise alone could undo him.

jisung watches helplessly, lip caught between his teeth, hand now moving faster over himself as you beckon him closer with a crook of your finger. he shuffles forward on his knees, eager, his breath ragged as you take his wrist and bring his fingers right where you need them. the heat of his skin through the soaked fabric makes you moan softly, your body twitching with need.

“touch me like that,” you say, gaze flicking between both of them, “and don’t stop until i say so.”

jeno’s grip tightens on your hips, but he doesn’t move. he’s trembling, needy, letting you grind against him slowly, his restraint deliciously obvious.

jisung, on the other hand, is falling apart just from getting to feel you—his eyes are wide, filled with awe and hunger as he focuses completely on the way your body reacts under his fingers. “you feel so…” he tries to say, but his voice breaks off into a whine.

“say it,” you coax, leaning down between them, lips brushing jeno’s jaw before shifting to hover near jisung’s ear. “tell me what i do to you.”

“you make me crazy,” he whispers, breath hitching as he strokes you more confidently now. “i can’t think when i touch you…”

you smile, slow and wicked, before rolling your hips again—drawing gasps from both of them. your boys, eager and obedient, desperate to please.

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 found the taglist doc again cheers! so im tagging y'all again finally (sorry guys) if you wanna be removed just tell me!

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire @onriyuview @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @jungaji @sinisxtea @jirsungs @polarisjisung @chenlezip @ayukas @leleszn @mystverse @hibernatinghamster @kj-kts @nctrawberries @peterm4rker @ant-onie @lovesuhng @haechanahceah67 @jeonghansshitester @hyusun @ncthoe69 @dawntyun @snowyseungs @n0hyuck @nahyuckers

[kisblle]

Dark Paradise IV

Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word Count: 7,396

Summary: You're reminded that happiness doesn't last forever, especially with Arthur Morgan.

Tags: Heavy angst, pnv, toxic relationship, smut, porn with plot, 18+, MDNI

Author's note: Sorry this took longer than usual to get out, I really wanted to perfect this one because I've had this chapter and the next in my drafts since I got on Tumblr, I just decided to merge it into this story line. Also life has just been so draining lately with my new job and all, I make a lot of money, but at what cost? I feel like I have little time for enjoyable things nowadays.

In a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Arthur moves inside you - again and again. His sweat slicked skin sticks to yours with each powerful thrust, droplets rolling down from his forhead not only from the intensity of your bodies merging, but from the thick, humid air that laces the land of Lemoyne.

He looks down at you gorgeous, wild, and undone. Naked as the day you were born, your hair sprawling like a halo across a patch of shaded grass on the bank of Ringneck Creek. Your breasts bare to the breeze, your warmth wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. The green hues of the grass blend beautifully with the glow of your skin, your eyes telling him everything.

Just the two of you, naked and untamed, lost in the wilderness like creatures meant to mate under open skies. Feral. Primal. Right. Wild. Just animals ritualistically fucking in nothing but the bodies they were born in.

With one final thrust, his eyes lock on your lip between your teeth. “I - I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking as he reaches his climax, pulling out to spill across your soft, heavy chest. He collapses beside you moments later, the earth cool beneath his back, breath catching in his throat as he stares up at the blue sky broken up by branches swaying in the soft wind above him.

Had he really just said that?

Your stomach flips for a moment before he exhales slowly, still smiling, before turning on his side to face you. You wanted to say it back, say those three little, enchanting words as he stares at you completely spent. But something had stopped you. The nerves maybe, or the way he had said it almost too casually, like it had slipped out by accident. But soon, you're not even sure why you're arguing with yourself. The moment fades, lost in the way his lips curve into that boyish grin. He doesn’t bring it up again, and either do you. But those three little words still hang at the end of your tongue, waiting for just the right moment to say them back.

“Lucky no one saw us,” he mutters with a chuckle, breaking you out of your daze. Without thought, he lifts up his hand and scratches his day old stubble before resting his hand on your thigh.

You arch a brow with wide eyes, “You said this was some secret spot you found?”

Arthur laughs, running a hand through his messy hair as he glances toward the pond that curls off the creek. He just laughs, “It's actually a real popular fishin' spot Javier showed me some time ago."

“You bastard.” You purse your lips, pressing a hand to your chest to try and protect your non-extistant modesty as you scan the nearby grass for your discarded dress.

But Arthur only grins wider. Catching your hand before gently pulling you back onto his lap, your bare body melting into him. “C’mon,” he groans softly. “Let’s enjoy it a bit longer. Take a swim? Cool down?”

And when you look into those deep pools of blue when he smiles at you with that chipped tooth grin - it’s damn near impossible to say no.

He holds you bridal style in his broad arms, standing up as he walks to the creek bank, wading in slowly before the sting of the cold pond water hits your bottom, and in a second he drops you from his arms. The chill of water making your nipples peak, catching the attention a a certain pair of wandering blue eyes.

It felt like living inside a storybook, a fairytale you never expected to be part of.

It hadn’t been long since Clemen’s Point, maybe a month and a half, but in that short time, Arthur had done his best to keep the promises he'd made to you. He cared for you in every way he said he would. Steadily and real, like he had promised.

When Sean died, he didn’t pull away like you'd feared. He held you close instead, comforted you not just with touch, but with presence and support.

And then, as the gang's luck soured further, Shady Belle became the saving grace that everyone had needed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, life had rhythm. You were still on chore duty most days, same as always, but Jack was home and safe, and the boys were mostly just laying low. A robbery here, a stagecoach there - even a fancy party hosted by some Brönte guy you knew little about. And for once, everything felt right. Right in a way your godforsaken life rarely allowed.

Maybe it had taken Arthur nearly dying to shake something loose, to snap the both of you into reality. At first, you kept yourself guarded, unsure whether to give him all of you. But slowly, in the quietest ways, you began to trust him.

Falling asleep in his bed. Riding along on his little side quests. The way he actually looked at you like he liked you - needed you, even.

It was such a stark contrast from the months before, it almost felt like he’d turned into someone entirely new, but not new, just changed. His rough edges were still there, his sharp tongue and occasional arrogance - but all of it felt familiar now. Manageable. Nothing you hadn’t already endured.

Arthur smiles as he lowers himself into the water, vanishing beneath the surface for just a breath before rising again, water trickling down his chest and stubble. He gives himself a quick, careless rinse - splashing under his arms, through his light facial hair, and even lifting the girth of himself to splash down there too...his version a bath apparently.

You roll your eyes before dipping lower, letting the cool pond water wash his spend from your body. The tips of your long hair dance across the surface before dipping beneath the waterline, the cool sensation absolutely heavenly against the humidity. You fall into the moment, letting the cool water baptize your skin, letting each curve of your body fall to refreshing sensation.

That is until a strong, wet hand seizes your arm and yanks you up with a jolt.

“Arthur!” you snap, voice sharp with surprise.

“Shhh,” he hisses quickly. “Someone’s comin’. Go hide behind that oak, I’ll grab our stuff.”

Without a second thought, you scramble from the water, feet slipping in the grass as you make for the tree. Behind you, Arthur snatches your disgarded dress with one hand and the rest of his belongings in the other. And just as he fumbles behind the large oak, two men mosey down the creek with fishing poles resting on their shoulders.

They’re too far to see anything crude, but Arthur is still smiling like he's gotten away with murder. Which he has....several times. The cowboy lets out a soft chuckle as you rip your dress out of his hands and quickly slip it over your slicked body, the fabric catching on your curved body from the droplets of water still scattered across your frame. The dress is all that hides you - no bloomers, no chemise, just the thin cloth of light blue dress, one that nearly matches the soft glow of Arthur Morgan's delicate eyes.

“That was a close one,” he laughs, pulling his corduroys over his bare hips, reaching down his fly to adjust his member as he smiles at you with a toothy grin.

Your lips purse under a furrowed brow as he buttons his pants, his eyes not leaving you as he reaches for your hips to pull you close. In a swift motion he pins you to the tree, locking his lips to yours as you wrap your legs around his frame. Wild and free.

You swear there’s a part of him that likes being nearly caught. No matter how much he insists it’s embarrassing, there had been too many close calls for it to just be an accident. Too many actual incidents for you to know that he really doesn't care if he gets caught anyway. Sure there was the incident with Ms. Grimshaw, but that incident with Dutch....that had been too far for you. Yet here he is again, with a grin and flushed cheeks. Like he’s chasing the thrill of being seen out in the open with you, doing something utterly vulgar with two sets of unknowing eyes just a few yards away.

Still, he doesn't care.

It's several minutes before his mouth leave yours, your lips sore and red from how he curls around you. He drops you to your feet, all smiles before he places two fingers between his lips, eyes still focused on you; whistling for that damn nag of his

-

By the time you and Arthur return to Shady Belle, the sun dips low behind the moss covered trees. The air is still thick, but the worst of the heat had passed. Your heart is still heavy and your mind still swollen frome those three little words he had said to you just a few hours ago - but you try and act like you hadn’t even heard them. Arthur dismounts his nag first, then takes you by the waist and lifts you down gently - hand lingering just a second too long as he palms your ass with a firm, deliberate squeeze.

You swat at him, “Oh, stop it,” you scold with a soft laugh, stepping ahead of him with your head turned over your shoulder.

He doesn’t apologize, just watches you walk away with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly who you belong to. Like he enjoys annoying you.

But the tender moment is short lived.

“Arthur,” a familiar voice calls out.

It’s Hosea, standing at the edge of the bridge, tipping his hat as you pass. Then his eyes settle on Arthur. “Mind if we have a chat?”

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you, almost as if he's asking for your permission. You turn over your shoulder with a smile, still not used to the way he's become almost so attached he doesn't want to leave your side. But with a raised brow, you smile. “I’m gonna find Mary-Beth.” Excusing yourself into camp without another word.

Arthur watches you walk away for a few beats too long, dazy smile resting on his face. Utterly hyptonitized by the way your hips swing back and forth, turned on knowing there was nothing beneath that dress of yours.

But Hosea’s already walking, motioning with his head toward the small dock poking out near the Lannahechee River.

The gunslinger follows, completely ignorant to whatever Hosea plans to chat about - his mind still only focused on one thing; you.

“What’s this about?” Arthur asks, half paying attention, half not.

Hosea doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the river, at the soft ripples reflecting the light of the dying sun.

“You remember Bessie, Arthur?” Hosea says finally, turning to the outlaw with a wise smile.

The gunslinger is taken aback, but he answers, "How could I forget?"

Hosea chuckles for a moment “Course you do.” His eyes seemingly fogging over like he's trying to recall a distant memory. "I remember when she nearly tossed your entire wardrobe into the Montana, claimed it was too smelly for her to wash."

Arthur lets out a soft humorous exhale, recalling the moment from his boy hood. "Woman knew how to make her point."

Hosea's eyes lose the memory, turning to Arthur with a stiff, serious presence. “I loved her you know." The old man waits a few long seconds before turning his gaze deep into Shady Belle. “And that girl of yours… she make you happy?”

Arthur scratches at his beard, caught off guard by the question. He might have been flaunting you around camp these past two months, sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and chat about his relationship with you, especially not with his patriarch.

Still, Arthur follows Hosea’s gaze back toward camp, where your laughter carries from the porch. You’re leaned over with Mary-Beth, face glowing, mouth wide open in pure joy as you hit her arm in amusement.

God, you’re beautiful. You were finally starting to get that glow back you once had before he took it all away from you, all those months ago.

With a soft hum and a smirk he doesn’t even realize he's staring as if he's hyptnotized by your laugh. Shaking himself out of his daze before responding, "she's a fine woman.”

Hosea’s eyes flick back to him in a matter of seconds. “But do you love her?"

Arthur’s caught off guard again, brows furrowing as he tears his gaze from you and focuses back on the older man, his voice sharp and confused. "Now why you askin' me a question like that?"

Hosea just chuckles as he notices his son's discomfort, "Cause she brings out somethin' in you that we'd all thought you lost Arthur."

A line forms between Arthur's brows before Hosea lets out a loud exhale. "You were goin' down a bad path for a while son. We all saw how you treated her back at Horshoe Overlook."

A blush of embarassment creeps onto the cowboys cheeks, knowing Hosea wasn't wrong. But even more, recalling all the unwanted chaos and hurt he'd brought you by his actions, and how embaressed he was that he was even capable of such acts.

"I know," Arthur manages to say, voice low and rough.

"She's a good girl that one. Not like you and me." Hosea goes on, his voice soft but positive. "Reminds me of my Bessie."

The cowboy looks down at the tips of his boots before shaking his head back and forth, only looking back up at Hosea as his lips part. "Now I mean no harm, Hosea," he says, squinting slightly as he hooks his thumbs into the loops of his gunbelt. "But why we talkin' bout this?"

Hosea just shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the setting sun bleeding over the river. "I went to pick up the mail yesterday, Arthur," the older man says, straightening up a bit.

Arthurs lips part, but he doesn't make a sound.

Hosea hesitates, then reaches into his satchel, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary. "Now, I know you're a grown man." he says, voice low and rough. "And you don't have to listen to an old fool like me."

Slowly, he pulls out a letter, the edges brushing against his wrinkled fingers. Hosea studies the envelope for a long moment, thumbs gently tracing the smooth paper, as he stares at the handwriting. But finally, his gaze lifts, steady and weighted with meaning. "I'm trustin' you not to hurt that girl again," Hosea says, voice stern with something between caution and warning.

The old man presses the envelope into Arthur’s hands, his touch firm, before throwing him one last hesitant look. And before Arthur could even reply, the patriarch turns and walks away, disseapearing back into the heart of Shady Belle.

Arthur’s eyes drop, shoulders stiff as he stares down at the letter in his hands. That damned pale purple envelope. He doesn’t need to open it to know who it’s from, he’d recognize that messy curl of handwriting anywhere.

Mary Linton.

He sighs, long and tired.

What the hell did she want now?

Part of him wants to rip the thing to shreds and throw it into the river without even opening it. But the other part, the bitter, bruised part of him remembers her voice too well. Remembers that last day in Valentine, the look in her eyes before she stepped onto that train like everything she'd ever gone through was his fault.

And it pisses him off.

But worse.

It makes him curious.

His thumb runs under the wax seal, opening the letter against better judgement. And then he’s reading it, eyes skimming over Mary Linton's wonderfully messy handwriting like she was writing to him like they were twenty two again.

A thanks for helping Jamie.

Blaming him, again, for not being the man she could marry.

And a new request; come see her in Saint Denis.

Of course she’s in Saint Denis.

Out of all the places a woman of her standing could be, she just had to be in the same city Arthur was no more than an hour's ride from.

Of course it had to be like that.

It didn’t matter where she went. Mary Linton could’ve written from the edge of Earth, and she knew Arthur Morgan would find a way to get to her. That was the kind of man she had made him into.

Nothing more than a pathetic dog.

But this time, something felt changed.

He’s read that damn letter four times before he lifts his head up from it, holding it tighter than he should have. And as he walks back into camp, he can't help but to feel completely conflicted.

His heart doesn’t belong to Mary anymore, not all of it at the least, Maybe half. Maybe less. The rest... that part was yours. You’d stolen it so quietly he hadn’t even noticed how far it had slipped out of his control.

Hosea had been right, he had become a miserable bastard. But with you, things felt... less so. You made him better. Or tried to. And he wanted to be that man, for you.

But still.

He felt torn in two. Like a man wrestling with a giant.

He shoves the letter into his coat pocket, muttering a curse under his breath, as he trudges towards the center of camp. The cowboy grabs a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling over the open flame, and then a bottle of warm beer from Pearson’s wagon, doing his best to try and clear his mind, and fill his stomach.

He finds the table at the center of camp, empty besides a couple scattered dishes. It only takes a handful of minutes until his spoon is scraping the bottom of the tin bowl as he takes his final bite, but his mind is still caught in the mess of the past. Confliction and guilt tearing him up inside .

But then theres you - bouncing over, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the whole damn world. You drop into his lap with a laugh, arms winding around his neck, eyes soft and wide.

Still wearing nothing underneath.

Your fingers trace his chest, up to his chin, thumb brushing against the roughness of his jaw with a smile. You hesitate for just a moment before saying the words that have been eating you up inside since the afternoon.

“I love you too.”

Four words. Light and easy. But to a man like Arthur Morgan, it was nothing but bullets raining from your mouth.

The gunslinger stiffens. His brow furrowing, nose scrunching like he’s confused, irritated even.

“Why’s you say that?” he mutters, voice low and almost offended.

Your smile instantly drops, freezing for just a moment in his arms before slipping out of his lap and standing up. Blinking at him like he's pulled out his Cattleman's Revolver and shot you straight in the gut.

“Well... this afternoon...” you swallow uncertainly as a worry line forms between your brows, thumbs tangling together in something between frustration and worry.

And then, in the midst of everything, he remembers what he said when he was inside you just hours ago. Flushed and stupid, in the heat of the moment.

He hadn’t lied.

But he also never planned on saying those words so carelessly. Forgetting that he had even admitted that so recklessly to you. The words had flowed from his mouth like instinct, yet, he hadn't thought you'd take them seriously.

For god sake's he was balls deep inside you - you should have known better.

“Yeah, I remember,” he interupts you, much colder than what he means to be. “Just... don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Your jaw sets and something tightens behind your ribs.

Don’t wanna talk about it?

Talk about what?

Could he not even say it to you?

You fold your arms, bitter laughter bubbling in your gut before you can stop yourself.

“What? Can only say you love me when you’re eight inches deep?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing as his fingers reach for his temples, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”

But you do. You do know. Because this is Arthur Morgan. And no matter how much you love him, no matter how much he'd swear he's changed. He hadn't. Wouldn't. And more than likely - couldn't change. And tonight, he makes you feel like a fool for trying to believe otherwise.

Without thinking a bitter scowl deepens on your face as you grab his beer and dump what’s left of it on his shirt, dropping the glass bottle rather dramatically on the grass next to him. The stew stained tin clatters as he pushes back from the table, arms jolting as he tries to shake off the warm beer now soaking his chest. His jaw sets like stone as his eyes cling to you with nothing but frustration. But before he can say anything, you turn around and shuffle away with tears in your eyes.

“Stupid whore!” He barks after you, the words cutting much deeper than they would have just months ago, when things weren't so serious.

And it’s not until you’re far enough away to cry without being seen, that it really sinks in.

Arthur Morgan couldn't change.

...

It feels like he’d been punched in the gut.

Arthur drags himself up the splintered, rotting staircase of Shady Belle, the weight of everything on his shoulders making him feel that with any step he could fall through. And against better judgement, halfway up the staircase he yanks the damn letter from his pocket again, eyes scanning the words he already knew by heart.

Mary Linton.

God, he was such a fool.

Why hadn’t he just said it back? Why couldn’t he have been normal for once - just said I love you, kissed you breathless, carried you upstairs and fucked you so good you’d say it again and again until he forgot anyone else ever existed?

But no.

You had to say it then, when Mary was still sitting heavy on his chest like a ghost that refused to let go. Right when his heart was stuck in a tug of war. Unsure if he was ready to let go of the past or ready to start really choosing you.

And now, with you gone and that broken look still burned in his memory, all he had was silence. And no matter what the silence meant, he knew one thing.

That his small bed would feel much bigger without you in it tonight.

Arthur tosses the letter onto the chipped old armoire in the corner his room, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He strips off his beer soaked overshirt, finding his way to his bed as his rubs at his temples. Everything from Mary Linton to you, running a marathon through his brain.

And it isn't more than a few seconds later that he leans back, trying to atleast dream to forget the day.

...

Arthur wakes up later than usual, head foggy, and eyes heavy. Light from the cracked window bleeds into dusty room like some open wound. He blinks, the slight haze from his tired eyes clearing just enough that he could sense movement.

His body stiffens.

You were there.

Standing near the armoire, you're wearing nothing but a thin, pale chemise that catches the light just right. Your nipples peak through the silky fabric in such a way that Arthur almost forgets yesterday as a whole. You look like an angel, something so pure, so opposite of the man he was.

But your eyes... your eyes were wide and wet, lip trembling as he watches you gulp in horror.

And in your hand.

That letter.

He sits up fast, breath catching in his throat. A surge of heat burning in his chest. Guilt, rage and shame. Twisting together into something dangerous.

Your eyes catch him, looking down at him as if he's shot you like some dirty O'driscoll.

“Came up here to apologize,” you gulp, voice cracking like you might break in two. “Don’t even know why" you nearly laugh as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. "Apologizin?...... Apoligizin' for tellin’ you I love you…”

You wipe several tears away with the back of your hand, trying to hide the emotion now lacing your voice. “Well now I know why.”

Arthur’s jaw ticks.

Doesn't speak.

After a nearly restless night, Arthur had decided Mary wasn’t even worth the trouble in the end. But if you were so damn hell bent on painting him as the bad guy then fine. He’d play the damn part.

He's always been good at it anyway.

He sneers as he gets up from the bed, angry that you were already throwing baseless accusations at him at the crack of dawn. But as heat stirs in his chest, he ruffles through his wardrobe anyway. Searching for some nice overshirt that he'd know Mary would at least appreciate, and maybe one that could teach you lesson.

For snooping. For touching things that weren’t yours.

It didn't take a scholar to figure out that he was pissed.

Not just at you for going through his things but at himself, for leaving the damn letter out in the first place. For getting close enough to you that stupid shit like this even mattered. It was Mary for god sake, it's not like she'd even ever want him back.

Just a game of back and forth that they'd always play, and he'd entertain.

You step toward him as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Don’t ignore me,” you snap, voice cracking under the weight of every emotion you've ever had for him.

He turns to you slowly, something hard and venomous behind his eyes and the look he gives you is poisonous.

“You had no right to go through my things,” he growls, nose flaring like a wild dog. “Ain’t your business what I do. Think just ‘cause I fuck you that means you get to own me?”

The words were sharp, cruel, meant to slice deep. And as much as every flick of his tongue stabbed you, you couldn't help but to feel that he was lying.

You had seen it for a while now, last night even, when had asked you with his eyes for permission to talk to Hosea. Deep down you knew he was just projecting.

But you still flinch, lip trembling again, eyes wide with something between disbelief and heartbreak. Mary's letter still fresh on your mind, his words still bleeding you dry.

And without another word, he brushes past you, out his bedroom door, down the creaking staircase.

You don't hesitate to chase after him. Mary’s letter still crushed in your fist, your feet pounding down the stairs after him. You loved him for god sake, you refused to believe any of his fighting words. Refused to believe that he would choose some ghost of a woman over you.

He storms through the front doors like he was being chased by something a hell of a lot worse than the woman barely stumbling behind him. But your mouth still spits hell fire. "You goin’ to see her?" you accuse him.

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn't even look at you.

You follow him into the heart of camp, the morning air cool and damp against your bare feet. Your voice raising, louder now. Angry, so that anyone could hear.

“So all of this... nothin’ to you?!” Your eyes widen in worry as you march after him like a bat out of hell. "Jus' some waste of my time?"

People turn and watch, but Arthur doesn't stop. Face laced with an etched scowl, eyes locked on his Turkoman and nothing else.

"You bastard!" you shout, grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. Stop him from leaving. "Least look at me! Say it to my face! Tell me I wasn’t enough! Tell me you don’t want me.”

He turns so fast you take a step backward on instinct. His glare vicious, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. An entirely different man than you'd come to know...come to love.

“You weren’t,” he snaps, voice low and mean, like he wantsto hurt you. “And you’ll ain’t ever be her.”

Your mouth drops open, wind knocking from you like a punch to the ribs.

Sure, you’d never be Mary. But you swore that what you and Arthur had shared was more real than the dress sitting on your damn body, then the mud stained to his boots.

You had seen it. Saw it. Nursed it back from the fucking dead.

Just to lose him to some woman that'd never let him go.

In one last act, you grab at his shoulder, letting him hear your final plea as he starts to mount his horse. You heart nearly breaking in two.

"If you ride off to see her, I'm done, Arthur," you spit, voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness. "I’m leavin'.... won't be here when you come ridin' back."

Arthur’s hand freezes on the reins.

Then, slowly, he looks down at you.

Sneering.

With a jerk of his arm, he violently pulls his arm out of your grip - hard enough to send you stumbling. You trip on a raised root, falling straight onto your behind in the overgrown grass. Legs cocked open pathetically, palms weighing heavy on the ground. Gulping like he'd shoved you down with the force of a million words.

He leans forward in the saddle, adjusting himself as his cold eyes stare at your sad excuse of a body.

“And where you gonna even go?” he asks, voice sharp and cruel, almost as a laugh because in reality he knew you had no one. He gives you one hard stare before digging his spurs into his nag. Leaving you with nothing but the echo of his departure, and the last pieces of your dignity.

For moments you sit there, on the knotting grass. Horses shuffling all around you as tears stream hot down your flushed cheeks, fists clenched in the grass, chest heaving with the reality of your situation.

Caught up in a mess of Arthur Morgan once again.

And the worst part?

He was right.

You had nowhere to go. And he knew it. Knew that you couldn’t go if you tried, no money, no family, just the familiarity of the Van Der Linde gang that was starting to eat each other from the inside.

But in a mess of feelings and tears, you feel the rush of a set of arms engulfing you into a warm hug. It’s Abigail Roberts, her frame slight but her hold firm. She sits with you, stroking your hair, whispering soft comforts even as her voice shakes with something that sounds like fury. “That no good son of a bitch,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to wipe away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes meet hers, they're icy and firm, telling a million stories but also a million warnings. “I love him,” you croak, barely able to get the words out.

Abigail had known that kind of heart splintering pain. She’d felt it more times than she could count with John. But you? Still young, still unshackled, no child clinging to your hip, no ring on your finger. The black haired beauty was smarter than what she gave off, she knew what had to happen.

“You gotta get out of here, darlin’,” she says, rising to her feet and offering a hand to help you up.

You sob.

That was your last promise to Arthur anyway, wasn’t it?

“He's right. Got no money. Nowhere to go,” you cry, shaking your head, voice breaking as all you wanted truly was to be gone. Forget him. Forget everything. Respect yourself enough to stop playing outlaw.

Abigail’s mouth tightens, leading you beneath the shade of her tent, easing you down on her cot. She rifles through her wardrobe as broken sobs escape your mouth. But in the midst of it all, she pulls out a thick, lumpy sock, and turns back toward you. “Was gonna use this for myself, once upon a time,” she says, tugging out a fistful of cash, slapping it on her hand a few times. “But it’s too late for me. Not for you.”

Your eyes are wide, still glistening, staring at the chunk of bills resting in her hand. Your lips parting as she attempts to slip the wad into your hand.

“I - I can’t...” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears and hesitation.

“No, you are,” she cuts in, firmer than you’ve ever heard from her. Something maternal in her tone, something resolute. “Trust me, a girl like you’s got a future. A bright one. Brighter than whatever all this is.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “And Arthur....better leave now before you wake up a few days late with a swollen stomach."

Your gaze locks with hers, wide and wordless.

Her words hit you harder than you thought they would.

And suddenly you understood.

It was time to go.

...

Twenty minutes later, you’re back in the room you’ve shared with Arthur for the past month. His clothes are still scattered around, his beer stained overshirt from last night crumpled at the foot of his bed. You wonder who’ll wash it now, it wouldn't be you this time.

You gulp and reach beneath the bed, pulling out the old suitcase you brought with you to Milwaukee all those years ago, chasing something better. It had belonged to your mother before Typhoid took her.

You pop it open. Inside: a few forgotten pieces of a past life. A locket with your parents’ faces inside. A shirt you never wore but couldn’t throw away. And a small black and white portrait from Blackwater, the one you took just hours before Arthur took your innocence.

You stare at the photo. Less than a year had passed, but you hardly recognize the girl in it. Smiling, light still untouched. So different from who you are now. Used and broken.

And before you pack the last of your things, you set the portrait on the table beside Arthur’s bed.

You wanted to forget him, forget the hurt.

But part of you, wanted him to remember.

Wanted him haunted.

...

Outside the rotting mansion, Hosea stands waiting. Pulling you into a soft, fatherly hug, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmurs.

He’d seen it all. Last night’s heartbreak, this morning’s silence. He watched Arthur ride off, watched Abigail hand you that money with trembling hands and a tight jaw. Heard her beg you to go. Guilt weighing on his shoulders as he knew the cowboy would still be here if he hadn't handed him the letter.

But Arthur was a god damn adult. And Hosea had agreed with Abigail, better to leave now before other circumstances could tie you to him.

And as much as it hurt Hosea to see you go, he couldn't help to feel relieved. To at least know someone was getting out, someone good.

You swallow hard. Tears gone, but grief remains.

You weren’t just leaving Arthur.

You were leaving the only family you’d known for years. The people that had taken you in when you had nothing to show, and no one to care for you. Family more than friends at this point.

“Say your goodbyes,” Hosea says gently, rubbing your arm with his thumb. “I’ll take you to Rhodes. Buy you a train ticket to wherever you need to go.”

...

The streets of Saint Denis buzz with life, hooves clicking on cobblestone as the sun shines high in the midst of the Lemoyne sky. Mary Linton’s delicate arm loops through Arthur’s as they step out of the Rauler Theatre, both of them smiling.

Arthur could admit it, he’d had a good time. How could he not? Mary had once been his world. Maybe part of him would always feel something for her. But as they strolled toward the trolley stop, shoulder to shoulder through the heavy air of the city, something felt utterly different.

Hollow.

There was no fire in his chest. No ache. No heat behind his eyes.

It felt less like love and more like memory, a good time with an old friend. Sonething he could cheerish, but didn't need to survive.

And that’s when he remembered you.

The way you made his pulse jump with just your smile. The way your voice sounded like angel's singing, even if you were just telling him off. He remembers the way you smiled even when he didn’t deserve it. And then, above everything, he remembers the way you looked at him the last time. Eyes full of hurt, mouth trembling as he shoved you away.

While Arthur just didn't want to feel controlled, you felt betrayed.

And now all he felt was sick.

His boots slow on the busy sidewalk. Coming to a full stop without truly realizing where he was or who he was with.

“Arthur?” Mary’s voice breaks through his deep haze.

He blinks, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had said since they left the old threatre. “Sorry,” he mutters.

She watches him for a beat, her chocolate eyes unreadable. “I said... is it too late for us?” Her voice cracking slightly, more a plea than a question as she holds his hands tighter.

Arthur inhales through his nose, heavy and ragged. He knew the answer. Had known it for a long time.

“I can’t lie, Mary. I... I got a woman back home” he says quietly, almost embaressed. Gently slipping her arm from his.

Mary’s expression falters for a brief moment, her face clearing from any found emotion. But in a few short seconds she grins with a sense of meloncholy.

“And I ain’t even really sure why I’m here,” Arthur adds, voice breaking with sudden clarity, the weight of his betrayal sinking in. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry.”

Mary nods, her composure surprisingly steady despite the slight shimmer in her eyes. “Treat her better than me,” she says simply.

And in a second, Arthur turns and leaves, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

He’d fucked up.

But more than anything did he want to fix it.

Not with words. Not with excuses. But with a promise.

By the time he reached the jeweler, his hand was already on the wad of cash. He didn’t want something stolen. Didn’t want some rag tag ring from a fence.

No, this had to be real. Something with weight. With meaning.

Something that said: I’m yours. For good.

Something with a promise.

...

Back at the train station, the sky had started to turn grey. Rain slightly drizzling over the covered platform as Hosea tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle as always.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, a small tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m scared,” you admit, glancing down at the train ticket in your hand. You hadn’t told him where you were going. You figured it was safer that way, for everyone involved. Hosea hadn’t asked either. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he just didn’t want Arthur beating it out of him in the long run.

It didn't take much for you to imagine the storm of Arthur riding back into camp. Throwing tongue every which way when he realized his bed whore had gone missing.

The twisted thought slightly comforted you. You knew Arthur well enough to atleast know he would be mad at your departure, no matter what he had told you before he left

“You can always write,” he says, voice full of hope “Don’t know how long we’ll be at Shady Belle, though. You know Dutch.”

You manage a watery laugh." Oh, I know." You falter for a few moments as you gaze into the wisdom laced eyes of Hosea, his soft look sending you into a spin of tears. “I’m just scared of being…”'

"Alone," he finishes your sentence.

He chuckles. “We can’t be such a great bunch that you think there’s no one better out there.”

You give him a humorous look, tears still staining your cheeks. A happy goodbye. “You know that ain’t what I mean.”

The train’s whistle shrieks in the distance. Passengers begining to stir from their seats, grabbing bags, shuffling to the edge of the platform.

Hosea turns to face the tracks, then glances back to you. “Promise me one thing,” he says, his voice low and firm.

You look up, eyes wide like a doe.

“Don’t come back lookin' for us. Save yourself."

...

Arthur’s horse thunders down the muddy path toward Shady Belle, his coat soaked and his wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. The gold ring in his pocket - a golden band with a pearl in the center - feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He imagined you wearing it. Naked on the banks of Ringneck Creek, riding him, the ring catching sunlight as your hand brushes over his hair.

Utterly his.

The camp is quiet as he gallops in. He doesn't even bother to untack his horse, too charged with excitement. He leaps off and storms through like a mad man, eyes scanning the outlaw camp for a sillouette of you.

You weren’t there.

But your strange dissapearence doesn't even register until two small fists beat into his back.

“You no good son of a...”

He spins, catching Abigail Roberts wrists mid swing. She thrashes against his grip, wild with rage.

“What the hell?” Arthur stammers, confused and surprised it wasn't you beating on him. He would understand if it was you, warranted in fact.

But Abigail?

“She’s gone, you bastard!” the black haired beauty snarls, driving her boot into his groin as hard she can.

Arthur collapses, wheezing as he drops her arms from his grip.

From across camp, John jogs over, pulling his wife's arms behind her back in anyway to control her outburst.

Arthur's painful wheezes dissapear in a moment's time, turning to an almost panic.

“What...what she mean? She's gone?” he coughs as he looks up at John for clarification, moving back to his feet.

John grimaces. “She’s gone, Arthur. She left."

Arthur froze.

Gone?

No.

You didn't know how to ride, wouldn't dare try to find your way in swamps like these. And above everything - you had said you loved him, just last night.

You wouldn't leave.

And he was ready now. Finally ready to love you back the way you deserved.

His stomach twisting, panic shifting to fury, anger.

He turned to John, eyes flashing. “Where did you take her? Couldn’t stand that I was happy for one good time in my life.”

John face drops, angry at just the accusation. "I ain't take nowhere," John sneers, continueing to hold Abigail back from trying to rip Arthur to pieces. "But I don't blame her for leavin' you either."

If John hadn't been using Abigail as if she was a human sheild, Arthur would have torn his brooding equal to shreds at that very moment. But before he could push the black haired woman away, a gentle voice cuts through the shouting.

Arthur turns, all eyes finding the small frame of Hosea Matthews. The old man sits at the dominoes table, calm as ever. Standing up and pushing his chair in without his eyes leaving the game.

"I took her to the train station in Rhodes," he speaks

Arthur’s anger breaks, replaced by something broken and raw. Lips parting.

“I told you not to hurt her,” Hosea says, eyes finally meeting the cowboys. More dissapointed than ever.

Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze. His eyes dipping to the tips of his boots. Shame rolling over him like a wave. If it had been anyone else -John, Bill, even Dutch, he’d have thrown fists.

But it was Hosea.

The one who warned him.

The only who told him to do better.

Arthur’s voice cracks as he breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Where is she?”

Hosea shakes his head.

“Gone, she's gone Arthur."

[fligniuz]

hi here’s the drabble i wrote for luigi’s birthday this one goes out to my insecure artists who like making things for people but doubt the value of their work💪😳

sfw

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @mrs-cactus69 , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading , @theloverfiles , @luigis-wetdream , @difensore-del-popolo (comment to be added)

Luigi is home.

Luigi is home, and he is one year older—although he certainly doesn’t look it. If anything, he’s more youthful than before. He is home from work, and you are holding his gift in your warm palms, and it’s nothing, nothing at all. Just a stupid knick knack you made.

But it’s all you have to give.

“Baaaabyyyyy,” he chimes from the foyer.

It’s better than nothing at all.

You emerge from your shared bedroom, the gift cupped in your hand and hidden behind your back. Luigi smiles wide when he sees you, transferring what looks to be a boxed cake to the granite kitchen counter as you approach.

“There you are!” he exclaims. “Look at what everybody at the office got for—what do you have behind your back?”

Well, shit. You hoped this could have been a bit more ceremonial; you already wished him a happy birthday this morning, so to give him your gift now feels a bit like a strange choice. Whatever. Better late than never.

“Um,” you start, “I didn’t have much to splurge on you—”

“Oh, baby, please,” he sighs, grimacing. “You really didn’t have to get me anything. I told you just getting to spend the day with you is enough!”

You shake your head. “No, that’s the problem. I didn’t get you anything. I—I really wanted to, and you know I would have if I—”

“Stop it!” he interjects, not at all angry. “You’re perfect and I love you.”

“—but I still wanted you to have a present from me, so…Um��Imadeyousomething.”

The words hardly come out as a sentence. You’re surprised your gift hasn’t melted in the sweat practically dripping off your hands.

“You made me something?” Luigi repeats.

You nod.

“Well, let me see, baby!”

Carefully, you take a deep breath and pull your hand away from your back, bringing it forth and unfolding your fingers to slowly reveal what’s hiding in your clammy palm.

Your gift. A handmade sculpture, depicting a mushroom-like creature with sharp feet and a bulbous tail, carefully painted pale green and hints of pink. It is small—small enough to fit snugly beneath your clasped fingers. Days of work, spilled into one tiny creation that you hold in your hand.

His smile is almost immediate, spreading to his ears as he reaches forward to hold your gift in his own hands. When you pass it to him he looks closer, examining its detail with cute squinty eyes and pursed lips. He is exceptionally cautious.

“You made this for me?” he asks, seemingly in disbelief. “Like, with your own hands, you made me my own little Breloom?”

“I thought maybe you could keep him on your desk, or something,” you blurt, as if to explain yourself. “Do you like him?”

“Baby…”

Luigi waddles over to the counter and ever so gently sets down your art on its mini pointy feet—and then he turns back toward you and engulfs you in a tight hug, squeezing you so hard it almost sucks the air from your lungs.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he whispers into your hair. “Thank you. I’m gonna keep it forever.”

You sigh in relief.

Before he pulls away he kisses you on the cheek.

“How long did that take you?” he asks.

You shake off the question. “It was worth every second.”

“I love it,” he says. “Thank you so much, il mio tesoro. You’ve made my year already.”

Shrugging, you smile slightly.

Luigi pinches your cheek. “Breloom can be a ‘she’ too, by the way. All Pokémon can.”

“You sound so woke right now,” you quip.

He pulls you closer to him by your waist, this time kissing your lips.

“Whatever you say,” he murmurs. “Are you gonna eat this cake with me, or what?”

il mio tesoro = “ my treasure”