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prael · 2 months ago

Text

Delicacy

ILLIT Moka x male reader smut

Happy (kinda late) Moka Day!

Masterlist word count: 5,401 Kofi(donations/commissions)

"Ladies and-a gen-entleman! Step right up! Ge-get yourself a-a mystical item today!" The old Murgo's voice is loud, his tone is jovial. His accent is hard to understand and his stuttering speech patterns would indicate a man who is not well-educated, though you've always expected he puts it all on for show.

His skin is scruffy, full of moles and unkempt facial hair that creeps down to his thin neck. The elderly man's uniform consists of a long, purple-sleeved coat—sleeves that fall every time he waves an arm at the next item he tries to flog.

"Y-you sir! Consider this, this is truly a-a magical mirror, for as long as you lo-look into it, it will make you b-beautiful." He smiles at the group before him, pearly white teeth contrasting with his murky skin colour. They are the only noteworthy things about him, other than his height, a whole foot smaller than the usual man.

The rough-looking labourer by your side mumbles, "What a crock of shit!"

While the bald man at the front calls "I'll take it!"

Murgo, as Murgo so often does, announces the catch, "Very wise pu-purchase. Now, just remember, the m-magic only works if you look a-at in complete darkness."

Murgo collects his due payment and the man at your side shakes his head as he turns away. "Idiots," he grumbles before he walks away.

"You there!" Murgo singles you out. "Do you fancy trying a-anything?" He asks you with a smile.

Murgo's entire stall is packed full of oddities, and none of them are ever what they seem. You may not believe in Murgo's little items, but it's always interesting to come and see what he has to sell today. It's nice to consider his fantastical excuses and embellishments.

"M-may I interest you in a fan-antasy?" He sing-songs. "You must ha-have a wish to make come true? Consider this ma-magical music box! One wish! M-Make it come true!" He boasts about another silly item, something that always leaves you rolling your eyes. Wishes cannot be bought.

"Tha-that's a look of uncertainty. Well, how about this." Murgo holds out a hand containing a single chocolate. A perfect, colourful item shaped like a square. "Gen-entleman, please m-may I present, a most magical item to y-your attention! A chocolate! Bu-but not any chocolate! They say this one tastes of m-mocha, and its ingestion a-allows you to live a fantasy."

You scrunch your brow.

"Ingested fantasies might seem an im-impossibility, but I have p-proven through a rigorous scientific process..."

You know he's lying, as always, but you're not about to interrupt though. You doubt the old man actually has much training in anything even related to science, and everything about him can only lead you to believe that he doesn't own many resources to test things on anyway.

"...so, sir, I urge you!" Murgo finishes his meaningless rambling by saying, "Try and taste your fondest dream. Try the ma-magical wonder and live a dream so real, so plausible that y-you'll forget who you are!"

Live a dream so real... He's definitely lying, but you are curious as to the taste of his chocolate.

Your eyes switch from Murgo's insistent, excited stare to his chocolate, and back to Murgo's knowing smile. "Just this once," you tell him.

You sit at your kitchen table, staring at the little rectangular block that rests on the wood.

"A fantasy, huh?" you contemplate. You lean in close and give it a sniff; it certainly smells like chocolate, with a hint of mocha.

Shrugging, you hold up the chocolate and drop it into your mouth. Immediately, it melts away and you're overpowered by the delicious flavour. It's milk chocolate, but you find hints of cocoa and coffee mixed between your lips.

You chew a few times and then swallow. At that moment, Murgo's words ring around your mind. 'Live a dream so real,' they repeat.

You sit and you wait. Staring expectantly at the table, you blink blankly at the slab where the chocolate once rested. You tap your fingers. You scratch the back of your neck. And still, nothing.

"Wow." You shake your head, chastising yourself for thinking so optimistically, and push out the chair.

As you stand, your head spins. The world about you warps into another form, a dark space resembling nothing you have ever seen.

The ground crunches beneath your feet. Gravel, perhaps? Black grazes at the surface, but you can't quite make out any details. As if a curtain has fallen to obscure your vision.

You spin around and wave your hands to find a purchase with something.

And then you feel it. Feel... her?

Small, smooth hands in your own. They let go before too long, and then those hands brush up your forearms.

A shadowed girl—clearly a girl by her soft curves—gently touches your cheek, and you grab her hand again. A soft gasp escapes her, and then she giggles. "Do you know how hard it's been, to be stuck inside a piece of chocolate? Of course, you don't. Why would you?"

This... isn't real. Could you be dreaming? Could you be high, or drunk, or passed out? Perhaps poisoned? You bring your fingers to your face to ensure you're not gushing blood or anything odd. Nope, normal. Completely and utterly normal, so... what the hell?

She whispers as her fingers move along the waistband of your pants, "Did you like the taste of the chocolate? Of... Moka?" She laughs. "My name is Moka, do you understand? Mocha and Moka!"

She has the cutest laugh. Soft, genuine, and one that leaves you smiling. Smiling? You ask yourself what you're doing and how you possibly ended up with some mysterious woman pawing your crotch. Regardless, you answer.

"Yeah," you say, her laugh encouraging you to express honesty. "Definitely not a bad product at all."

"Of course not!" Moka cheers. You catch a glimpse of a smile in the shadows that surround her. "After all, I was made with all the finest ingredients to give a taste that absolutely anyone can enjoy! And you're no exception, are you?" Moka's weight presses against you, and she leans close to your ear to murmur, "This little bump in your pants proves that."

You let out a sharp breath, but no denial. Moka may be shrouded in darkness, but you don't have trouble appreciating her presence. You can feel the warmth from her body, her rounded breasts that are all too tempting to touch.

"I'm so confused..." you whisper.

"Good." With the utterance of one word, you see the brightness of a smile. How wonderful and expressive her face is. The darkness clears and the mystery goes with it. The girl in front of you can only be described as utterly breathtaking. She's wearing this smile that turns up a little more on one side of her mouth than the other, and you're absolutely enchanted by its beauty. There's this beauty mark on her nose, such a cute mole. And then her eyes... you could very happily lose yourself within them.

"So incredibly confused," you repeat, and watch with fascination as a lock of her dark hair slips past a black strip and over her flushed cheek.

Moka kisses you. A gentle, testing peck, but there's no time for timid, because she pounces, and suddenly you're drowning under her affection. Kissing her like this is all you can think about, and the way she tangles her small tongue around your own is wildly erotic, both innocent and sinful at the same time.

You are too complacent, but then Moka brings her body flush against yours. You don't know where she came from, you have no idea why she's here and what's going on, but your body is certainly not questioning that right now. Her lithe form under your touch is as smooth as the chocolate she came from.

"Take me," she all but purrs, "It's what I'm here for."

"But you're..."

"Not real? A fantasy? Exactly. That's all the reason you need to let go," she whispers and there is a clarity that brings her words like truth.

Real or not, you can't deny it. You want her, this exotic enigma. You tug her close, fingers tracing a curve, your lips following a line. Her body, her skin, you adore her. Every facet, every inch, you crave her. You take hold of Moka and lift her, she lets out the gentlest of squeaks but instantly wraps her legs around you, and just the sound and feeling of her draws a shudder out of you.

"I spent months in Murgo's storage, just waiting for someone like you. Every single day growing more and more frustrated as I waited. You can't imagine being that pent up, can you?"

She's taking off your shirt. Impatiently running her hands down your torso, like she can't get enough. You stumble until you plant her against the wall, holding her firm and kissing her with all the frustration she feels, biting and sucking and leaving her breathless.

Moka wraps her arms around your neck, curling her heels, pulling you close.

"I can't imagine it, but you don't have to wait for another second though." You squeeze at her taut thighs, making her whimper with delight.

"Taste me," she whispers and you take your lips to her neck. It's not exactly what she has in mind, but she knows it's inevitable. All roads lead between her thighs.

So you fall to your knees before her. Hands up her thighs, driving up the frills of her skirt. She's a delicacy, soft and pink, beautiful, just waiting to be savoured. And the moment your lips touch the inside of her thigh, she gasps, one palm smacking the wall behind her. The tension, the excitement, the breathless little whimpers that escape her, every little thing, has you completely engrossed.

The whole time you press a barrage of kisses against her thighs, moving closer to her core with each passing second, but the light, teasing kisses draw a litany of frustration out of her.

"P-please..." Moka whimpers.

The breath from her plea leaves her in a shudder. She huffs, already trembling. You test how wet she is with your fingers, feeling her damp warmth, her sticky arousal coating your digits. You're unable to resist running your fingertips up the folds of her pussy, using the natural slickness to help move, dancing around her clit and drawing cries from the breathless girl. Her pleasure is plain to see, the rising blush reaching her chest and the deep breaths escaping her.

You slide a single finger inside her, then quickly two, slowly finger fucking her pretty pink, twisting around and feeling her wrap around you.

"You like it?" you murmur and it's not like you could call anything happening now an act of romance, but you turn your head and kiss her thigh. Such a tender moment is shared despite the sordid acts.

Moka huffs, her fingers clinging to your shoulder. "I need it." She sputters, moaning and thrusting down to meet your slow motions. "Oh... It's so good..."

"It's about to get even better," you say.

You lap your tongue along the seeping moisture of her beautiful cunt, and you lick over her slick folds and lap up everything she has to offer. With deep, intense licks, you give her pussy the attention she's been begging for.

"Ahh! Oh, yes!" she shrieks, falling back against the wall and panting with pleasure.

The sweetness of her nectar assaults you, and your tongue finds the little spot that has her moaning each time you lick near it. Faster and faster you circle her clit, watching as her knees quiver and twitch. Closer and closer, your tongue working her into a frenzy.

"More... I-I... yes, don't stop!" she cries, pulling your face against her. She wants more, she won't wait, and she twists and tangles her fingers into your hair, pushing and grinding her dripping sex against you. "Can you imagine it? I was made for pleasure. To give and receive, only to be forced to hide away, all alone? To suffer every day, tortured by my need?"

Moka whimpers and struggles to keep her breath even. You must want to do something about that, don't you?

You grab her thighs, lifting her off the ground and shifting your hands under her, grabbing her soft, plump ass cheeks. She cries at the movement, but then her legs are wrapped around your shoulders, clutching you to her desperately. You eat her little pussy out furiously, ravaging her drenched folds as she cries out, screams filling the room as you pick up the pace. Your tongue dances around her clit, your fingers sinking deeply into the soft flesh of her cute little ass.

"Oh god... I can't stop myself," her desperate cries fill the room.

You cannot deny this girl, even if you wanted to, so you devour her sweet cunt, and watch as her eyes close, the pleasure becoming too much as her body explodes with euphoric release. She screams, desperately riding your face, her entire body quivering and twitching as she cums. The juices drip down your chin as she rides the wave of intense bliss, rolling her hips, indulging in it, prolonging it for as long as she can.

Finally, the surge of her overwhelming orgasm ends, but she slumps, nearly lifeless in your grasp. You struggle to keep her up, and she keeps trying to grind her sensitive folds against you, but her exhaustion finally hits her. So you take her, back in your arms, and toward your kitchen table.

There she lays, shaking and sweating, struggling to catch her breath, and you want nothing more than to pry her delicate figure from that dress. You strip her, your mouth kissing every newly exposed surface of her perfect body.

"This is how things should have been, how life should have been," Moka mumbles, her dark hair swirling beneath her as she lays across your table. Her sweet skin comes into sight and you can't help running your hands along the feminine curve of her stomach. Her perfect breasts fit in the palms of your hands and you trace circles around her taut nipples as she sighs happily.

You undress, and she watches, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Her expression is suddenly guilty, as though admiring a man naked isn't something a girl should do. But you caress her face, she's your beautiful enchantress, and that moment of hesitation seems to pass as she leans into the palm of your hand. Her eyes shimmer with acceptance, and she's accepting of all the dirty things she's thinking, all the things she's about to say. "I...I want you inside me," she whispers.

Your cock is erect and eager, so hard, aching, throbbing with the desire to know her warmth, and you line yourself with the wetness between her legs.

Gently, you lean forward, pressing the tip against her tightness. "Are you ready?"

"For however long I've waited," she breathes.

She's quivering under you, full of tension, gripping the edge of the table tightly. The expression on her face is so vulnerable, open and raw, so beautiful. Her chest rises and falls with her need, and there's a hunger burning in her, a fire begging to be ignited.

"Please," Moka begs.

"Gentle..." you tell her, though who it's meant for, you're not entirely sure. But you take a deep breath and ease into her slickness.

She gasps, her grip around the side of the table tightening. It takes a moment, but she grows accustomed, her tension dissipates and her trembling is overcome. She laughs, and the sound is nothing short of stunning. Chime-like, the light, airy melody fills the room as she touches herself. Cupping her supple breasts, and tugging her pink nipples, she indulges in her lust and rocks gently against your hard shaft.

"Fuck away my lusts. Fill the void, be the man I've needed so badly," her sweet voice begins to sing with pleasure, her pitch rising.

Her cunt is so warm and inviting, so wet, stretching tightly around you as you pump back and forth. Wet noises sound with every pass. Moka's eyes glaze over and her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you even deeper.

Your thrusting finds a comfortable, easy rhythm, and soon your hips are slapping eagerly against her every time you push in. Wet noises fill the air each time you drive into her deepest parts.

"God, yes..." her desperation only heightens, "Use me, please. Don't stop, fuck me."

"How could I ever?" you pant, both leaning in, sucking the taste of her chocolate mouth, twirling her tongue, drinking her intoxicating exhales.

She's a dream, this girl is made for indulgence. Her arms hook under yours, hands grasping your shoulders, digging into your back, desperate for some way to anchor herself. You want to touch every part of her, soak up her delicious little whimpers and commit them to memory. As your breath runs ragged and your heart pounds in your chest, nothing other than her is present in your mind. Nothing else matters. She is the pure embodiment of desire.

As the feverish motion speeds up, her soft breasts bounce and her entire body shimmers. Sweat glistens along her slender form and you push her to limits she's never known. Her cries run longer and louder until she's screaming, moaning your name, muttering incoherent praise.

"Moka..." you whisper her name, lacing her with what little you can say with a mind lost in the overwhelming bliss of her body.

It isn't long before your rhythm begins to break down. A rising and falling beat, speeding and slowing, stuttering with your every breath. She's drowning with you, and yet floating all at once. Latching onto you, refusing to let go. Desperate, clamping tightly onto you as you enter her deeper with each sharp thrust.

Panting, drenched, bodies so close. Your hard, feverish heat, her spiking lust, colliding with explosive fervour as you surge forward, burying yourself inside her and grunting as you shudder.

Unbridled and relentless, the swelling heat pulses through you and down your length. Rippling through her, filling her cunt, pouring into her. Her cries peak alongside yours. She shudders and shakes as your pulsing cock pumps a shockwave of ecstasy through her.

Delirious laughter escapes her when her rolling euphoria subsides, and her satisfied smile when she strokes her hand down your hot chest... everything about her... the delight of satisfaction washes through her.

Just what was that? That woman made you feel desires you could never imagine possible. Never could you have imagined something would make you feel as if you were flying.

Never could you imagine her.

And yet here she is.

"Can we..." she seems uncertain now, nervous, unsure.

You take her hands and kiss them. A delicate display of adoration that causes her nervous smile to transform into something happier, more certain. "What is it, Moka?"

She presses her finger to her lower lip, searching for the right words. "We can do this again, can't we?"

You can't resist chuckling at the blush that reaches her chest and the shy way she turns her head.

"Of course," you say.

Now you understand, even if vaguely, what happened and how things came to be; your actions and hers.

But, as always, the question remains... can a fantasy ever stay?

Moka is sitting outside on the small porch of your humble home. Fond memories occupy your thoughts; nights filled with bliss; mornings spent listening to her joyous voice.

"Are you having doubts?" she asks, unable to meet your gaze.

You sigh and rest against the rail. Her feelings are difficult to understand sometimes, but you have this odd connection, as if an invisible bridge exists between you, allowing you to feel her as she can you. She wants your happiness, you know that, she craves it, and yet...

"Will you stay?" you ask her quietly, a little afraid of the answer.

The setting sun casts pink across the sky. From the lush valley, there's a stream that cuts across the landscape, shaded by the greenery, broken only by the towering tree that stands tall in the distance. Its wide leaves filter the sunlight, casting gentle patterns in the trickling water. It really is such a peaceful place to live.

You stand and enjoy the moment. Fresh air, the calming simplicity of nature.

"I'm sorry," Moka's voice is only a whisper, "I don't know the limits of the magic that brought me here. If I stay, would I be stuck as a human? If I leave your side, would I ever be able to return? It's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you."

"Should I ask Murgo?"

"That fool? He didn't even know the chocolate was really magic. No," her voice grows firmer, "Don't trust the words of that merchant." Her hands clutch tightly at her knees, "I do have this feeling. I can't quite explain it, but, I've been feeling it since you first tasted me."

"Feeling?"

"A pulling—a tug—toward you, away from you too," she says. "Magic, desires, loneliness... maybe they've been woven together. I can't be sure."

"Not sure I understand."

"I feel it now. There's this need to be satisfied. And when I'm not, it feels like the magic will just tear me away."

You push away from the railing and step towards her. She's sitting, knees pulled against her chest, wearing nothing more than a white linen gown. Seeing her so small...

"So, if I just satisfy you..." You reach out and gently brush your knuckles along her soft cheek. Moka leans into your touch, her deep brown eyes gazing up. Your fingertips push through her silky dark hair and cup her delicate chin. As she stares at you, you can feel the deep, yearning emotion within her. "Then you will stay with me."

"I think—"

You interrupt her with a kiss. Softly locking your lips, bringing her comfort. Just a moment, simple tenderness. Then passion, as you open your mouth and taste the pure sugar of her tongue. Slipping around yours, her hot exhale, her warmth, both erotic and meaningful.

You can only pull away by taking her with you, pulling her up from the chair. Eagerly, Moka smiles and steps into your arms. Squeezing her tight, holding her around the waist, breathing her scent, feeling the tension inside yourself. She kisses you back with the same intensity, lips tight on yours, warm and dripping as they open, teasing you with her sweet taste.

You stumble back towards the railing, bodies entwined. Tilting your head, her chocolate flavour can make anyone addicted. Kissing her, nipping, sucking, biting her lip. Sinking into her warmth, her body. Lifting the hem of her short gown, running your fingers along the silky skin of her thighs. She arches back into the wooden railing, and you break apart the kiss as she sinks into the support behind her.

You take hold of her shoulders and turn her. She braces against the railing and leans forward, showing off that inviting, delicate shape. Between the arch of her back and the curve of her cute ass, she begs to be taken. And that thin linen may as well not even be there; it's so taut, so transparent.

You move behind her. In the fading light of the evening, the shadows reveal more than they hide. Lifting the cloth and leaving her bare. Running your hands down the lines of her hips and sides, your fingers lightly trace back up her ribs and finally, you cup one of her light breasts. Her nipple presses into the palm of your hand, and she's so sensitive, arching at even the slightest touch.

She looks back at you, her eyes longing, knowing what comes next. Spreading your fingers down between her legs, you run them along the slick, wet flesh waiting for you. She's already ready, dripping, and your fingertips only tease her. Bending, lining up your rigid cock against her wetness. You place your other hand on her hip and ready yourself, preparing to push forward.

"I'll never grow tired of this," you say.

Moka looks back at you, blushing, hair over her face as she tries to look through the veil. Before she can respond, you push, and she lets out a sharp cry at being filled. With her firmly held, you slide in and out of her dripping cunt. It's not a frantic, hurried pace, but deep, intense thrusts that give Moka what she needs—give her relief.

"Ah! That's so deep... so deep."

Her moans spill out without restraint. Such a vibrant voice, full of the lusts she's harbouring. Holding her firmly, plunging deeper and faster, her tiny pussy wrapping tightly around you. Wet, slippery squishing echoes through the empty air. Slaps sounding with every time your crotch strikes hers. It's all so lewd and brings you ever closer, keeps driving you.

The deeper her chest falls, the more she arches, and a deep moan escapes as her body shakes. Her orgasm comes strong, fast, and powerful, making her legs quake and her voice stutter. But you hold her and keep fucking. Slipping against her back, clinging to her waist, burying your face in her hair. Her trembling sex tenses and flexes and still she moans, incoherently telling you just how good it feels.

You've lost track of the number of times you've filled her tight cunt in the past few days, so this is just another one of many. She loves it, though; loves feeling you pour so deeply inside her. She'll do anything to feel it. So you fill her. Firm thrusts as you pump her full of your cum, right there on the porch.

During the moments she spends staring out the window, you run your hand down Moka's back. She hums a little sound, appreciating the act, and snuggles into the blanket further.

"Cold? I could go get the fire going again if you like."

Moka stares blankly, fixated on a flower just outside the window. She blinks and laughs suddenly.

"Hm? Sorry, what did you say?"

You repeat what you said and she quickly responds.

"It's alright, but there's something I need you to do."

"What is it?"

"Lie on the bed, let me ride you. I want to feel you fill me. I need it." She reaches a hand up and cradles her own breast, grasping at it and squeezing the supple mound.

It's getting worse—her constant need. Like an itch, she says. Something has to constantly be done to keep it from being painful. It's barely been two hours since you were last inside her, and it seems to be the only thing she can think about.

"Please. I just need a little more..."

You can't bring yourself to deny her. Not when she looks at you like that. So you stumble backwards, pulling her naked form along with you, and ungracefully land on your back. Already you're growing hard, just from looking up at her dainty body and recalling all the wonderful acts you have performed and thinking of what is yet to come.

Moka runs her hand through her hair and gazes downward, a serene look washing over her delicate features.

"Smiling suits you," you tell her.

Again, you watch her eyes light up at that little kind of praise. "Thank you," she says, blushing as she clambers across the bed to kneel above you. She fixes her knees on either side of your hips and runs her palms over your chest, teasing your body as her breasts sway before you.

"Oh..." she purrs as she rocks back and forth, rubbing her bare sex up and down your length. "Oh, yes..."

You hum with delight, but remain still for a moment, listening to the happy sounds she's making, letting her indulge in the simple foreplay.

Eventually, she can take it no longer. "Here..." She lifts herself with her thighs and wraps a single hand around your hardened cock, steadying it and gripping tight. With a single gasp, she guides you inside her. Her moisture envelops you and she's so tight, the way her pussy seems to suck you in all the way to the base. But once you reach that far point, you both let out a loud moan of satisfaction. She's got all of you, every last inch of your shaft has found its home inside her.

Moka rests there for a moment, staring down with these innocent, almost vulnerable brown eyes. From the soft feeling of her velvety interior and the cute, lewd look of her blissful face, you can't help yourself, and buck up into her, plunging even further in. She lets out a gasp and stumbles forward, catching herself on your chest.

"I'm sorry! Are you alright?" you ask.

The dark-haired girl giggles—something that pleases you more than you can describe—and returns to that dainty smile. She pulls her hips and then drives them against you, before groaning, "More than alright."

Moka finds her rhythm. Rolling and grinding her hips, each motion punctuated by her spiking arousal. Her small cunt welcomes the friction, drips with desire. You grip her waist, helping her balance as she bounces in your lap, pushing herself harder and faster each time. She pushes harder, taking more of you, and soon she's crying out your name, begging you to fill her with everything you have.

Her gorgeous form rocks above you. Thrusting vigorously, her little breasts barely bouncing in a way that you can't take your eyes away from. Moka digs her nails into your chest. Her moans and cries grow increasingly desperate.

"You're amazing," Moka moans through her pleasure, voice quivering and trembling with it.

You can feel her clenching tighter and tighter, her insides quaking as she begs, and pleads for release. It brings your climax close, and despite the urgency of her pleasure, she maintains a controlled rhythm. Not so fast as to short-circuit things, keeping you on the very edge of euphoria.

"God, I love the way you..." she exclaims as a bright flush blossoms across her face. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, muting her sound.

"What?" you struggle to speak as her slick folds wrap so tightly around you.

You don't know what it is, but something catches her attention. Her movements slow and she's searching, somehow peering through the dark outside. The noise has stopped too, usually at night there's a cacophony of singing insects and rustling, fluttering wings, but now nothing. No wind or creak or creasing leaf. Quiet. Dead quiet.

Moka slips off of your cock and crawls backwards to the end of the bed.

"What is it?" you ask.

Moka's lips twitch. Anxiety sets in over her features and she steps away from the bed, toward the window. Moonlight kisses her skin, the pale rays dancing on her shadowy form. Your heart falters and you realise... you really do want her here. Like this. Always.

"Moka?"

A strong gust blows and the window swings open. Her silky hair whips against her face, catching on her lips. She raises her hand, fingers hovering lightly in the moonlight. You remain motionless in fear of breaking whatever is occurring. Nothing feels right, not a single thing. As if the fabric of reality has been slashed in two.

The wind howls. The lights flicker and the fireplace across the room somehow brings itself to light. She turns to face it and the flames illuminate Moka's eyes. They glow a pale violet, the hue all wrong, ghostly. A tremble comes over her, and she says just five words. The last five words you'll ever hear from her.

"I'm sorry. I'll miss you."

Her hand turns to dust. The grains reflect the moon as they blow out of the window. You watch as the rest of her body follows, leaving only the imprint of where she once stood.

Time moves slowly—too slowly—like your heart, which can't beat. Something has broken, something in you, though not a sound passes through your lips. Tears stream from your eyes. The pain, the sorrow, the emptiness—it all feels irreparable. You can't bear it, and without a single word, without a single sound, the world goes black.

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cimmanonrowl · 4 months ago

Text

Gods & Monsters

Part One | Chapter Navigation

Pairing: aaron hotchner x criminal daughter!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, forbidden relationship, unprotected rough sex, creampie, begging, innocence kink, rutting, somnophilia, a little cnc and panicking, dirty talk, pure filth, sir & daddy (only used thrice) kink, dom/sub undertones, innocent!reader, vague to inaccurate crime and law enforcement details

You woke up in the middle of the night. As you always have in the past few weeks. The room was covered in darkness; with only the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. And in every gentle blow of the wind, the white fabric on the open veranda door sways in a mellow rhythm.

You pulled the covers up to your chest and rolled to your side, your heart hammering a little faster as you reached your phone on the bedside table and unlocked it.

No reply.

Your last message to Aaron, sent hours ago, still marked as unread.

You stared quietly at the screen, your eyes tracing over the last words you sent. It was just something simple: a question about his day, followed by a smiley face, light and casual. You were bored earlier so you decided to reach out to him. You even sent him a picture of the chocolate cookies you baked... but to no avail.

He’s probably just busy, you caught yourself saying in your head. The thought was firm with no edge or flicker of doubt. Aaron has his own life, a tedious job, and his own things to deal with. You knew that. Maybe he got caught up with work again, or he’s out with his team, or maybe he’s just tired; too exhausted to do anything but fall into the comfort of his bed and sleep.

Or maybe he simply doesn’t feel the need to reply to your unimportant message.

Your mouth felt dry with that thought. And the silence of the night pressed stealthily against your ears.

Milk. That was enough to draw you out of bed, your feet touching the cool wooden floor with a soft thud. The mansion was still— the kind of quiet that would usually lull you back to sleep. Usually, this meant your father and his men were out for a business matter. Sometimes, Father dear was just too hung up on alcohol and drugs that he forgot to come home at a decent time.

Quietly, you pushed open your bedroom door, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The mansion in which you recently just moved into was heavily guarded just like the past ones.

You stepped into the hallway. Even though it’s only been a couple of months, every painting and corner of the dimly lit hallway was familiar to your senses. You expect to be the only one awake in your household, aside from the night guards. The kitchen would be empty as always.

But halfway there, a sound caught your ear— a murmur, low and indistinct, drifting from your father’s office.

You halted in your tracks, your ears perking at the noise. The door to your father’s office was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light cutting through the darkness of the hallway. The murmur becomes clearer as you inched closer— three, maybe four voices, deep and serious, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses.

“We fucking need it done by tomorrow,” one voice complained, rough around all the edges. “The delays are making them antsy.”

“Do you fucking think I don’t know that? Tell those motherfuckers to wait.”

You froze.

The other voices, they’re strangers to you. But you recognize that voice immediately. Your father’s unmistakable deep and commanding one. Yet you were used to this, used to crossing paths with different vile men your father worked with.

“What about the feds?” another voice asked. “They’ve been sniffing around more than usual.”

There was a low and dangerous chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let them. They won’t find anything.”

“The fuck you mean let them? Are you seriously still convinced that you don’t have a mole in this hellhole?”

Then there was a pause, the kind that felt like everyone was holding their breath. They know about the mole. Of course, they do. They’ve never had delays in their operations such as this before. Only an idiot would count it as a mere coincidence.

You leaned in, your ear almost touching the door, careful not to let it move even a fraction.

“All of your operations were interrupted by the feds.”

You heard the scrape of a chair against the floor, and then the clink of a glass being set down. “I don’t think it’s my men you should be poking your nose about. What about your men?”

“Are you fucking saying that my me–”

“What about the witness?” the first voice intercepted, quieter now, as if the words themselves are too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Taken care of,” your father replied with a sharp sigh, his tone so cold it chills your blood. “Permanently.”

There was a murmur of approval from the others, and you can vividly picture them nodding in agreement. Maybe even smiling. You pressed closer, trying to make sense of it all, but your thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and confusion.

“How much are we expecting on this one again?” another man asked, his voice gruff and heavy with tobacco smoke.

“Enough to keep everyone happy,” your father replied. “This is our last big score for this month. After that, we lie low for the meantime.”

There was another pause, and you heard the rustle of papers, the sound of something being slid across the table. “It’s all here,” your father muttered. “Everything we need. We move three nights from now.”

“Three nights?” the second voice echoed, surprised. “Why not tomorrow?”

“Yes,” there was no mistaking the steel in your father’s voice. “Because I said so.”

Every muscle in your body tensed as the meeting continued. They speak in half sentences, in code words, as if they know someone might be listening.

And then, as suddenly as it began, there was a sudden scraping of chairs, a loud cough, followed by the sound of feet moving. They were wrapping up, and you realized with a jolt that you need to move.

The stairs were just a few steps away. You could bolt downstairs and go straight to the kitchen as you intended. But instead, you slipped back into your room, closing the door silently behind you, and wished that the silence of the night would lull you back to another restless sleep.

When morning finally came, warm light filtered through the thin curtains and into your room. Bones popped beneath the covers as you stretched, your mind foggy with sleep. Yet you forced yourself to sit up, the blankets sliding off your shoulders.

For a moment, you contemplated reaching your phone and sending a message to Aaron. You couldn’t wait to tell him about everything you heard last night. But with the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your room, you thought your information could wait until after breakfast.

You pad softly to your closet, slipping into a pair of fluffy pink slippers before making your way out of the room. You were still wearing your nightdress, a soft, pale blue cotton gown that fell just below your knees. It looked delicate, with a lace trim at the neckline, something you have had for ages. The fabric clung lightly to your skin with every move, the morning air cool against your bare arms.

When you passed by your father’s office, your thoughts immediately drifted back to the conversation you overheard last night. It felt distant now, almost like a dream, but there was this familiar tension in your chest that you knew all those things had happened.

“Morning, sweetheart,” your father greeted you, his voice deep and steady as you stepped into the dining area. “Come, have some breakfast.”

He gestured to the empty chair beside him. Father dear and Harwin were already seated at the table. The dining room was bright with morning light, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the scent of eggs and toast. Your father sat at the head of the table as always, while Harwin sat across from him, his posture straight, his eyes immediately flicking up to you as you entered.

“Good morning,” you replied softly, forcing a smile as you approached the table.

You were aware of how you must look— the nightdress, the slightly tousled hair, the way the morning light catches on your skin. You seem almost ethereal, innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the way Harwin’s eyes followed you as you move. It was not leering, no. Not inappropriate either, but it was there— an intense, piercing look that made you acutely aware of every step you take.

You slipped into the chair next to your father, feeling Harwin’s gaze settled on you. His expression was carefully neutral, but you could sense the way he was assessing you, as if he was trying to see right through you.

“Good morning, Miss,” he greeted, his voice polite and almost formal. He offered you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope you slept well.”

You nodded, and your hand trembled lightly as you reached for the glass of orange juice in front of you. “I did. Thank you, Harwin,” your voice was quiet as you replied, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile calm of the morning.

But even as you say it, you know it was not entirely true. The remnants of last night’s tension clung to you, making the hair at the back of your neck rise, your breathing almost heavy.

Your father cut into his toast in rough movements. “Harwin will be spending more time around the house,” he said casually, his tone leaving little room for you to react. “I have some business that’ll keep me away, and I want to make sure you’re looked after.”

Business.

Your stomach tightened at his words. You glanced at Harwin, who was still watching you with keen eyes. You know this wasn’t just about keeping an eye on the house— this is about you.

And the realization sent a shiver down your spine.

Harwin nodded in agreement with your father’s words, his gaze still fixed on you. “Just a precaution,” his tone was even, as if this was all perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable. “I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

Safe. The word echoed in your mind. You know what it really means— under surveillance, monitored, controlled. It’s not protection. This is not about your safety; your father wants to keep you on a leash, and you can already feel it tightening around you.

The corner of your lips twitched as you gave him a smile. “Thanks, Harwin. I appreciate it,” you said instead, dropping your gaze to the plate in front of you.

Your father continued eating, his attention seemingly on his breakfast, but you knew better. He’s always watching, always aware, and now, with Harwin here, you know you are under a different kind of watch.

But, at least, Harwin was polite enough to keep his distance. Though you could always feel his gaze following you, measuring every step you take, every breath. For the entire day, your father’s orders became clear— Harwin was here more than to protect you. He was here to ensure you don’t stray, that someone will watch every move you make.

“Harwin,” you called out softly before glancing over your shoulder. “Do you think we can go to the mall later?”

He seemed unfazed by the request, silently watching you lay on a lounger by the poolside with an open book perched on your lap. “No, Miss. If you need anything, I can have some of your housemaids to shop for you.”

“But I want fresh air?”

“We’re outside at the moment, Miss.”

“Yes, in our garden.”

He frowned a little. “The air is fresh as far as I can tell, Miss.”

And with that, you heaved a deep sigh.

As the sun began to set, you found yourself in your room, your phone clutched in your hand. The events of the past hours have left you feeling trapped and cornered like a mouse. The walls of the house seemed to crumble in on you– it was suffocating.

You opened your messaging app, your fingers hovering over Aaron’s name. It’s been a day since he last responded, the silence from his end gnawing at you, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You need to see him. Besides, you have the information he surely needs. He would have no choice but to respond to your text this time.

Can we meet? you typed slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. You add the details quickly— I have the information. The usual spot?

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. But then you pressed it, the message shooting off into the void, your hope clinging to it like a lifeline.

The minutes ticked by in silence. Then your phone buzzed in your hand, with Aaron’s name lighting up the screen.

On my way, was all he said. And for some reason, it was enough. It has always been. So you sighed in relief and smiled to yourself.

Right then and there, you knew what you had to do next. Escaping Harwin’s notice won’t be easy, not with him and the other guards roaming the mansion, but you were determined. You have done it before, though never with this much at stake.

Taking a deep breath, you slipped on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, something that will help you blend in. You grabbed a small bag, stuffed it with a few essentials, then waited for the right moment to finally move.

The silence of your house made every step and the creaking of hinges amplified. From the window, you see one of the guards patrolling the perimeter, his flashlight cutting through the growing dusk. You know there was another by the front gate, and probably more stationed at various points around the property. Getting past them will be tricky, but you have mapped out a plan in your mind.

Harwin was downstairs. The front gate was obviously not an option, not with him and the guards so close. Instead, you decide on your usual route— through the back, where the bushes and trees provide more cover and the lamp posts are seldomly lit.

You waited until a house helper passed by outside your room, her back turned. You moved quickly and quietly down the hallway as you slipped out, sticking close to the walls to avoid any creaking floorboards. The house, large as it is, felt stifling.

With quick strides, you reached the back staircase, your heart pounding in your ears as you descended. The kitchen was just down the hall, and beyond that, the back door that leads to the garden. But you were not alone.

From where you were standing, you heard footsteps— another house helper, moving through the kitchen. You held your breath, peering around the corner just enough to see her pass by, her attention focused on checking the locks. She didn’t see you, didn’t know you were there, but you almost choked on your saliva as you bit your tongue.

As quickly as she moved on, you seized your chance. You slipped into the kitchen, the cool tile under your feet grounding you as you cross to the back door. Your hands shook in fear and panic as you unlocked it, praying it didn’t make too much noise.

And it didn’t.

The garden is shrouded in twilight as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting your face. And for a moment, you felt a rush of freedom. You can’t remember how many times you’ve done this before. But it never, ever felt easy. You doubt it will ever be.

You slipped through the gate, closed it carefully behind you, and took off running down the back alley. You didn’t stop running until you were several blocks away; your lungs burning, your legs aching. Only then do you allow yourself to slow down, and breathe.

It was almost a two-hour commute to the motel where you usually meet up with Aaron. The neon sign flickered in the dusk with a dull glow over the empty parking lot. You made your way to the room you know so well, pulling out the spare key Aaron gave you exactly a year ago.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn shut. It was a modest place; a little different from the lavishness of your spacious room but you’ve loved this as much. With a soft thud, you dropped your bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, your breath still coming in quick, shallow bursts. The silence here is different from the silence at home— this one feels familiar, and light.

You checked your phone quickly, hoping to see another message from Aaron, but there was nothing. A small pang of worry settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside. Aaron never broke his promise. He said he was coming, and you trust him. All you have to do is wait.

Your eyes started to droop as you lay down on the soft mattress, the adrenaline of your escape wearing off. You felt drained. Your legs aching. You curled up on your side, your phone clutched in your hand, waiting for the sound of his knock on the door.

But the minutes dragged by and your eyes fluttered shut, and before you knew it, after a long while, you fell into a deep slumber.

“Angel… fuck…” someone’s hot breath fanning over your ear roused you from the depth of your sleep. “You feel so good…”

You stirred and attempted to stretch your arms, even move your legs when all of a sudden, you felt it. The cold air licked the bare surface of your naked body. A low whine rumbled through your chest as you slowly, groggily so, blinked your eyes in confusion. Your vision was unfocused for a moment, sending you into a flight of panic as you grew aware of what was happening.

“Who-” the question was left hanging in the air as soon as Aaron’s thumb found your aching clit.

His hard cock was pressed against your desperate cunt, sliding through your wet folds at a rousing pace. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as he continued rutting his girthy cock against your swollen clit. You have no idea how he managed to undress you without waking you up. Although it didn’t surprise you, you’re still curious– about how expert and knowledgeable Aaron was with every sexual act. And right now, a thin sheet of sweat was slowly covering your body.

“Aaron– sir–” you whimpered once more, unknowingly bucking your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. “What… what are you doing?”

He let out a deep groan. “You look so sweet sleeping, angel… couldn’t… help myself…”

“Feels so good…” you mewled in return, feeling your dripping cunt clenching in pure desperation for something to fill it up.

The sensation was new and overwhelming. One of Aaron’s big and calloused hands was kneading your breast, pinching your sensitive and taut nipple every now and then. While his mouth was just as busy— his tongue more so; sucking and nibbling, and biting your nipple as his cock slid through the folds of your dripping pussy.

A growl rumbled through his chest.

“Can... can I slide in the tip…” he whispered in a gruff and breathy voice. It sounded vulnerable and demanding, and desperate at the same time. “Just the tip, angel. Hm? Just the tip, I promise...”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping both of his strong arms propped at either side of your smaller frame. “Just the tip…”

“Fucking hell…” you heard him murmur as he lined the head of his big cock against the entrance of your fluttering cunt. “This is so wrong, angel, but fuck… I never wanted to ruin anyone so badly until you.”

“S-sir…”

His teeth sank lightly at the curve of your collarbone. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, you hear me? I want my cum dripping out of your tight cunt.”

You shivered at the vulgarity of his words. Maybe it was forbidden. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe this will not end up well. But maybe this is the reason why you can’t seem to get enough of it, of his warmth, and his cock ramming in and out of you.

“Aa- Sir!” you screamed loudly, dragging your nails along his arms, your toes curling in pure, white-hot pleasure.

Aaron peppered your cheeks, your lips, and your forehead with light kisses, murmuring his quiet apologies as he forced his big cock inside of you. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, angel… I’m sorry…”

His promise now long forgotten as you felt the intoxicating burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt. You should’ve known better than to believe his promise.

“You look so good like this, gorgeous…” he whispered in your ear, his big hands roaming your body as if memorizing every corner of it. “Is this what you wanted, huh? Is this why you kept texting me? Can’t get enough of my big cock, little girl?”

You nodded abstractedly. “M-missed you… I missed this…”

Aaron’s lips tugged to a menacing smirk.

“Is my innocent angel turning into a dirty whore?” he taunted, halting his movement. You could feel his hard cock throbbing inside you, rubbing your walls just right. And when you didn’t answer his question, you felt a sharp slap at the side of your thigh. “Answer me, baby. Are you my whore now?”

“Yes, sir… yes… only for you…” unshed tears stung the corner of your eyes.

“Tell me how bad you want it, angel...” he sounded mocking, his voice light with arousal. “Beg for my cock— no, no, no. Don’t you fucking dare look away.”

You shook your head weakly. “D-daddy…”

A high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt him slowly dragging his cock out of you. Tears rolled down your cheeks in humiliation. Your legs clung to the back of his thighs in a desperate attempt, locking him in place. Aaron even had the nerve to chuckle as he saw your tears streaming down your pretty face.

“P-please… please… sir…” you said breathlessly. “I want your big cock, sir. Please… please fill me up with your cum…”

Aaron’s cock pulsated against your walls as he heard your words, your voice as sweet and gentle as he first heard it. He clenched his jaw and whispered tauntingly. “Yeah? Is that all you can say, angel?”

“I need it, please… Aaron… Sir… please… I’m a good girl…”

“Are you?” he perked one of his thick eyebrows before ramming his cock inside you once again, hitting a spot so deep you rolled your eyes.

“I- I am…” you nodded frantically, taking a fistful of the sheet in your hands. “I waited for you, sir. Only you. Your big cock… only you, Aaron…”

“Did you touch yourself while I’m away?”

You tried closing your thighs a little as you felt his thumb pressing light circles on your swollen clit. “I- I did, sir. Yes- I thought about your cock… I want your cock so bad…”

“And what did you think about, little girl?” he grunted, pounding his cock slowly and shallowly, his thumb still rubbing your sensitive nub.

Your legs shook as you felt your incoming orgasm. “How good you fuck me. Your cum inside m-me… I always dream of it, sir… before I go to bed… I always want to hear your voice.”

Aaron’s thick eyebrows tugged together as his focus narrowed down on giving you pleasure. His cock continued assaulting your warm cunt, hissing and grunting every time you clench deliciously around his cock. The sound of your loud moan and his heavy breaths intertwined together, your eyes rolling back with the intense pleasure of your upcoming orgasm.

“Please, please… sir, please… make me cum…” you whispered hoarsely, your voice full of desperation. “So close. ‘M so close.”

“Yeah, little girl? Cum for me, then…” his thrust became even more vigorous, firmer. “Show me how good girl you are, baby. Go on, angel.”

“Aaron!” his name came out a scream. “I’m coming! I’m com–”

Your vision blurred out as intensely your orgasm ripped through every fiber of your being. Your legs trembled and clamped shut, making Aaron growl in the tightness of your cunt. It took him all the self-control not to cum then and there; seeing the pleasure on your face, the tears on your cheeks, your beautiful lips hanging in a silent scream.

Fuck.

He’d go to hell for corrupting the innocent girl you once were.

“Sir…” you whispered weakly, your voice spent and quiet.

But Aaron paid you no mind. He hasn’t come yet. And he had no plan on letting you go after just one orgasm. He wants to ruin you. To take over your being. He wants you to realize that he has all the control. He owns you, from the very first day he laid eyes on you, to the very first night you spent together. When you desperately opened your legs for him, you were his. He owned you since then and he can do everything he pleases.

Effortlessly, he pulled you up and switched your positions. He was now lying on his back, his piercing eyes focused on you as you scrambled to find your position on his lap, your legs still shaking from the remnants of your orgasm.

“I haven’t cum yet, little girl.”

You nodded quickly, understanding just well what he meant by that, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “Yes, sir…”

“Make me proud, angel. Show me how good of a whore you are.”

Aaron let out a loud hiss as you lined the head of his leaking cock on your wet entrance, fluttering in anticipation as it welcome the familiar stretch. You let out a satisfied sigh, feeling your inner thigh wet with arousal and your release, and all Aaron could do was shiver as he felt the wetness the moment you fully sank down his cock.

With your palms resting on the soft surface of his stomach, you forced your legs to bounce up and down his hairy cock. Every once and a while, you’d clench around his girth unconsciously, which only made Aaron shut his eyes and pound into you harshly.

You moaned loudly, meeting the way his hips desperately chases yours. “Ah! Ah, s-sir!”

“You feel so good… so w-warm..” he mumbled dazedly, wetting his lips with his eyes closed. “This cunt’s heaven, baby. Fuck. You’ll send me to hell— fucking hell! Yes, clench that pussy tighter, angel! Fuck, I’m coming!”

You bounced even more desperately, fueled by his moaning, and his heavy breathing. The hoarness of his voice, the way the veins in his strong arms popped out, and how his big hands gripped your hips so tightly it left red, angry marks.

He fucked into you like you’re nothing but a fucktoy. Like you’re something he can discard— like you’re something he will discard the moment he reaches his high. And you’d be lying to say you don’t find that idea hot.

You clenched your cunt tighter, holding his hands that were wrapped around your hips.

“A-Aaron! S-sir! Ah!” his cock found the spot only he can reach. “I’m coming again, sir! D-daddy! Ah! Aaron, please, more! Fuck me harder, daddy!”

Aaron didn’t say anything but a loud growl rumbled through his chest. His chest heaving in sharp, restrained breaths.

“God, angel…” he rasped quietly.

A strangled sound of what seemed like your name escaped his lips. You let him take over, let him ruin you the way he wanted, his hand firm on your hips as he fucked into you. And the moment you felt his hips stutter, warm ropes finally spilled inside you; his big cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep into your willing cunt.

You heaved a sigh of satisfaction, tossing your head back with your eyes closed, feeling perfectly sated and elated at the moment.

If this is heaven, you will never, ever come down.

Even if it means you would beg God to forgive you.

As always, replies, likes, reblogs- everything is highly appreciated! I'm only planning on writing 5 chapters for this series. And please be aware that I'm not promising any happy ending. This will end up in angst unless something changes my mind. Also, listen to Lana's Gods & Monsters and feel the vibe of this series! Have a good day and drink your water! <3

Tag list: @downbad4reid, @readergf, @urbrazysimp, @roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @yiiiikesmish, @luv-unknwn, @thatonepersononline, @ilikwgirls, @ssamorganhotchner, @antonia29, @fandomtookoverlife, @hotchnerwife, @wandererseye, @marisamarisa @l0kilaufeys0n7, @promptly-mercy

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner fic #ssa aaron hotchner

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izurou · 2 years ago

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“say ‘i’m the man!’”

eren’s voice carries down the hall, boisterous and loud as it easily reaches every corner of your small one bedroom apartment.

you furrow your brows and glance in the general direction of the sound, but decide to ignore it and continue on with breakfast—gathering a dollop of strawberry jam on your knife before spreading it onto a piece of toast.

you’d rather not know what the two of them are up to, eren and your two year old son that is. he’s supposed to be getting the kid ready for the day, but whether or not that’s actually happening is a different story.

“i’m da man!” his little voice repeats the sentence—not quite as powerful as his dad, but still loud enough to find your ears.

“louder!” eren shouts, and you immediately drop what you’re doing to head towards them.

your slippers scuff against the floor as you shuffle down the hall, following the source of sound until it leads you just outside the bathroom door. you nudge it with your foot, causing it to creep open and reveal the duo—your son, who’s standing on the counter, and eren, who—at the very least, is holding onto him.

“hi,” eren grins, prompting his mini me to do the same. you note the atrocious man bun, well, little man bun your son is sporting—hair haphazardly pulled together at the back of his head.

eren gestures to him, pride flooding his features as he mumbles, “he’s the man.”

“oh yeah?” a smile tugs at your own lips—every ounce of authority you waltzed over here with threatening to vanish into thin air as you look at your little family. nevertheless, someone has to enforce the rules around here. “well, tell the man that if he doesn’t keep it down, he’s not getting any chocolate milk with his breakfast.”

the two of them exchange a glance, an identical look of concern—real and genuine from your son, dramatic and over the top from your fiancé.

“should we go eat?” eren whispers to him, naively expecting him to follow in his footsteps again.

“yeah!” your son yells, excitement filling his eyes at the mention of his all time favourite beverage. he sets a new record every time he chugs a glass, and always gets a kick out of the little moustache he gets afterwards—loving that he looks like dad.

“buddy,” eren laughs as he lightly cups a hand over the toddler’s mouth. “shhh, quiet okay? you heard the boss, no chocolate milk if you yell.”

your son puts his hand over his own mouth and nods his head, prompting eren to lift him onto the floor and send him scurrying off into the kitchen—little feet padding against the hardwood.

“what the hell?” you say, keeping your voice low to ensure your baby doesn’t hear. “it’s 8 o’clock in the morning, why are you shouting?”

“hey, i’m instilling confidence in him,” he pouts, having heard you mention something along those lines once or twice—about how important it is for him to be proud of who he is.

“eren,” you sigh, because you know he means well—he wants nothing but the absolute best for your son too, which is why he more or less lets him do as he pleases.

he encourages him to jump around and dance to his favourite songs, and doesn’t care that he gets marker all over his face when he colours. he’ll give him bear paws before dinner, and hold his hand as the two of them run and giggle down the halls of your apartment building, because they’re just so happy to come home and see you after a trip to the grocery store.

eren lets your kid be a kid, and while that might put a scowl on the face of those around you, all that matters is that your son is always smiling.

“i know, just,” you pause, searching for the right words—the ones that won’t paint you as the bad cop you feel you’re being. though, you look into eren’s eyes, and see nothing but the purest love and adoration overflowing from his pupils, and you know—he thinks you’re doing perfect. “just, wait until after ten at least, okay? that old couple next door already has us on their shit list.”

“course, ‘m sorry baby,” he hums—cupping your cheek with a grin that’s a little too smug and out of place to be there right now. “but you know, you got us on that list, not him.”

“me?” you tilt your head, racking your brain for a time in which you might’ve pissed them off. did you forget to hold the door open? shit.

“mhmm,” he hums, moving his hand to the back of your head to hold you flush against him, and you look adorable—in the reflection of the mirror, with your little thinking face on and your cheek squished against him. he almost feels guilty.

“what did i—”

“nghhh eren, that feels soooo good,” he moans, quiet and sultry—changing the pitch of his voice slightly in an attempt to mimic your own.

“eren!” you gasp, planting your palms flat on his chest to push him away. “shut up, you’re the only reason i sound like that.”

“damn right,” he grins, pulling you right back in for a messy kiss—hands sneaking underneath your shirt and travelling up your—

crash.

“oh no,” you mumble, peeling yourself away from him once more. your son—who’s been alone and suspiciously quiet for the last five minutes, is now doing god knows what in the kitchen. “go check on your satan spawn, would you?”

“hey,” he frowns, swiftly backing out of the room and towards the noise, but not without putting on a quick smile to clarify, “our satan spawn.”

you roll your eyes, but still feel the corners of your lips tug upwards. eren is far from perfect, but he’s pretty good at keeping a smile on your face too.

#izurou #eren x reader #attack on titan x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #eren x you #eren yeager x reader #snk x reader #eren fluff

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jenscx · 3 months ago

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SAY MY NAME — yoon jiyoon x f!reader

your best friend is always there for you (even if she doesn’t admit it).

TAGS — fluff, zero angst, non-idol au, high school au, kinda tsundere!jiyoon, stuco!reader, best friends, izna members are all in a dance team, grumpy x sunshine (a little!)

WORDCOUNT — 5.1k

you like simplicity. normalcy. in a world where society is constantly changing, and you’re unable to predict what’s going to happen next, you find solace in a routine. if everything goes wrong in your life, at least you have that bit of hope it will return to normal. you follow a strict schedule; wake up, eat breakfast at exactly seven in the morning, go to school, reach home by five and go to bed by ten.

jiyoon’s well aware of this. she knows of your strange but understandable regime. your best friend fits into it seamlessly. she fetches you from your house (despite the fact she lives twenty metres away), and walks you home.

if you have student council meetings after school, she waits patiently outside, sometimes even joining the discussions. the dynamics of your friendship have changed throughout your life. it doesn’t remain as it is. jiyoon, from a brooding teenager, finally opens up and willingly interacts with your friends. you, from an extroverted middle schooler, finally learn to calm down and enjoy silence with jiyoon.

yet, the one thing that remains throughout the years without change is the chocolate milk in jiyoon’s hand.

she first bought it when you were twelve and she was thirteen. you were struggling with the new topics and lessons introduced in class and you had lost countless nights of sleep just trying to catch up. jiyoon had taken it upon herself to ensure you at least had something to fuel your energy. after hanging out at your house, the girl observed the cartons of chocolate milk stored in your cabinets. it was only sooner or later that jiyoon placed a box of chocolate milk on your desk.

(“for you,” a heavy blush painting her cheeks as she places the mystery item on your table gently.

you gasp, “jiyoonie! how’d you know i liked chocolate milk?”

jiyoon had merely shrugged, “just a guess.”)

it’s a form of affection that jiyoon rarely dishes out. you appreciate it nonetheless despite her frown in the morning and the nonchalant words she says.

she’s been your best friend for years. your rock. your saviour. if you were drowning, she would be the one who would pull your head out of water. sometimes you’re unsure if you even give back the same comfort to her, but jiyoon just brushes it off, saying she relishes the time spent together.

despite her quiet nature, jiyoon had a way with words. at your lowest, she always knew how to cheer you up. she’s like your personal cheerleader, you chuckle at the thought. somehow, jiyoon managed to be privy to all your innermost feelings without even asking you. sometimes, jiyoon would just sit next to you in solace. other times, she would bring you to go eat without a question.

yet, when you do profess your appreciation for your best friend, jiyoon just tenses up. it’s kind of funny watching her flounder around to deny the fact that she cares for you. at least, it’s a fact that you both are aware of. it’s more so that jiyoon can’t accept it.

(“unnie, i’m starting to think you like me with all the chocolate milk you buy.”

“wha— y/n! it’s just because i have extra change!”)

it’s comical, the way jiyoon’s eyes widen and she just starts gaping at you. but that’s only in front of other people. when it’s just you and her, she carries a heavy blush, flushing from her neck to her ears. it’s adorable.

“what are you looking at?” her gruff voice sounds out in your ears. you hide an amused smile at her frown.

“i have eyes for a reason, y’know. can i no longer look?”

jiyoon’s lips fall into a thin line. she’s in the midst of revising, with the year-end exams coming up, she needed all the time in the world. you were the one who suggested studying, but it seemed you were doing everything but that.

your eyes trail from her face to her upper chest, where her unbuttoned collar exposes a shiny, silvery necklace with a dainty bear charm. it reminded you of jiyoon, who was like a polar bear. despite her cold and expressionless aura, the girl was actually very warm (and she gave great hugs but jiyoon would always deny it). you remember the day you had presented the velvety box to jiyoon, professing your forever adoration and devotion to the girl, who had only huffed and scolded you for making a scene.

it rejuvenates you that jiyoon’s wearing it and the feeling totally makes up for the empty wallet you carried around that month.

“stop staring down my shirt, you perv.”

“wha— i’m not a perv!” you defend yourself passionately, “i was just looking at your necklace, it’s nice that you wear it.”

jiyoon’s pen falls down, a solemn look on her face.

“i never take it off.”

you can feel the way warmth blooms in your chest, like the first arrival of spring.

“really?” you whisper softly.

your best friend shrugs, indifferent, “i can’t reach the clasp behind. it’s hard to take off. don’t look at me like that.”

it’s really not difficult to remove. you would know. you’ve seen jiyoon take it off by herself countless times before. but the fact that she’s acting like she doesn’t have a choice, only makes her more endearing.

“what if i want it back?” you ask jokingly.

jiyoon sends you a withering glare, her eyes narrowing into slits as her hand rests right above the necklace, covering it, “it’s mine.”

“but i gave it to you. i bought it.”

“exactly, you gave it to me.”

“you like it so much that you don’t want to give it back?” you tease, “i knew you loved me.”

she only stares at you incredulously before scoffing loudly, “in your dreams.”

“you’re like a cat,” you say suddenly. jiyoon only frowns.

“both cold and brooding, but you’re just a fluffy ball of cuteness aren’t you?” you continue.

jiyoon swats your hand away from her hair.

“and this necklace… it’s like a collar?” you laugh, “does that mean you’re mine?”

“what— are you crazy?” no, the flush on her cheeks is crazy. you prod at her cheeks with your finger, admiring the way the red blooms throughout. “don’t be weird!”

you pout, “you’re making it weird.”

she only rolls her eyes.

you smile, using your bare foot to slowly caress her leg. jiyoon shoots up immediately, banging her knee into the underside of the table. a scowl rests on her face as you laugh heartily at her shocked expression.

“you’re so annoying!”

“ah… don’t be like that, unnie!” you whine, pulling at her sleeve while she shrieks for you to get away.

it’s a common sight to see you two like this— bickering and fighting. but anyone with eyes could see that behind every snarky remark, there’s an underlying tension. you’re not sure what to call it, but you feel it sometimes; like when you walk home with jiyoon and the sunlight hits her face, bringing all her features to life. maybe it was pure adoration for your best friend. you feel it too with every chocolate milk she buys. it makes you feel all warm despite the milk being cold.

it’s a little strange. but it’s jiyoon, so everything’s fine.

you don’t usually get like this. you understand that jiyoon’s older and she’s in the grade above you, but the age gap doesn’t seem to matter so much after being friends for so many years. yet, you don’t understand the feeling brewing in your stomach as you watch jiyoon talk to her friends during dance practice. you know that jiyoon’s a phenomenal singer and dancer, and her only reason for not exploring her talent in singing was because ‘theatre kids are weird’. however, you’re not sure you like how many pretty girls there are that jiyoon converses with.

and not to mention the number of guys who crowded the dance room just to look at the girls. it’s extremely weird how they’re all salivating over exposed shoulders, but you kind of understand why people would want to stare at these girls. they’re all gorgeous. still, it doesn’t give them a reason to come here and look! you huff angrily from your spot on the floor. jiyoon had forced you to come watch, because apparently they needed an outsider’s opinion.

you were probably the best option and the only one who wouldn’t pass out at a wink from the girls.

backed up against the mirror, you hold up jiyoon’s phone to record. you watch as they execute their choreography, and it’s a practised routine when they finish, and you give your own compliments.

most of the time, they’re unconstructive and it’s mainly to cheer the girls up. but you think jiyoon appreciates them nonetheless.

when they do finally finish (after rounds of gruelling practice that even you wince at), jiyoon drags you out of the practice room and pushes her bag into your hands. as she heads towards the washroom to change, you bid the rest of the girls goodbye. your best friend had promised to bring you out for ice cream after her practice, as an exchange for having you stay back. you hope she doesn’t realise that you would stay back regardless.

while jiyoon’s in the washroom, you take a good look at everyone else around. you recognise some guys from the basketball team, but the others are just a blurry haze of memory.

a particular comment catches your attention.

“—don’t you think jiyoon looks prettier than usual?” you agree, but you also disagree because jiyoon is always the prettiest.

“yeah? you think you can pull her?” this coerces a frown on your face. you glance at the guys talking. who the hell are they?

“i mean, c’mon, if i were in that practice room, i would—”

“bro,” the other guy smacks his shoulder, “i’m pretty sure you’re not her type.”

you kind of recognise him as some kid on the football team.

“i’m not just brains okay,” you would disagree, you’re sure you’ve seen his name at the bottom of the rank list, “this body is to die for too.”

you, personally, would like him to die.

honestly, thank god that at that moment, jiyoon comes out, in fresh new clothes.

“jiyoon unnie!” you yell loudly. the two guys flinch before turning around slowly to meet your eyes.

your best friend only raises an eyebrow and takes her bag back. you use the opportunity to sling your arm through hers, effectively interlocking your fingers together.

“unnie…” you drag out, “i was waiting long for you.”

no you weren’t, it’s a lie. jiyoon smiles softly, one that’s only reserved for you.

“ah really? sorry y/nnie.” it’s times like this that you’re grateful for jiyoon. behind her cold exterior is just your best friend. but if you ever brought this up to anyone else, you would be strangled. the two boys stare at you strangely, probably wondering who the hell were you.

you cling onto jiyoon tighter.

“are you paying for me?” you ask, beaming at the girl. jiyoon looks a little confused and rightfully so. you’re clingy, but not this affectionate. and the whiny tone laced into your voice isn’t normal either.

jiyoon nods hesitantly before murmuring, “are you okay?”

you eye the two boys who are still standing nearby.

“yup, just excited for our date!” you exclaim. one of them lets out a surprised gasp and the other groans, disgruntled. you tune out whatever they say next in favour of staring at jiyoon. the girl only shakes her head fondly before tugging at your arm.

maybe it was irrational for you to act this way. jiyoon was your best friend, she wasn’t your daughter or anything. you didn’t have the right to feel like this. but you were just looking out for her, right? you wanted the best for jiyoon. and the best was clearly not those kids. they were barely worthy of being in her vicinity.

“okay silly,” jiyoon flicks your forehead with her free hand. you groan, covering the reddening mark.

the two guys had scurried away by now. you smirked internally, proud that your tactic had worked. hand-in-hand, you follow jiyoon out of the school. her longer legs make it harder for you to catch up, but unbeknownst to you, her

“did you like the routine today?” jiyoon asks. you nod fervently, “it was really cool! did koko unnie choreograph it?”

jiyoon turns to you, affronted before she mumbles out, “i did…”

“ah really?! that’s amazing,” you hype her up immediately, not liking the way an upset jiyoon looks. the girl somewhat schools herself into a calmer expression, “yeah, we’re performing it for the festival.”

“what!” you yell, surprise evident. jiyoon winces at your loudness.

“you didn’t tell me that!” you started raining punches on jiyoon, who only winces and dodges your hands.

“why are you hitting me?!”

you groan loudly, allowing your head to fall against jiyoon’s shoulder in despair. “i’m on the festival committee!”

“so?”

“i can’t watch your performance! i’ll be running around everywhere,” you whine. jiyoon frowns, but she just pats your head, “it’s okay, y/n.”

no, it’s not okay! you want to retort. the routine that jiyoon worked so hard on— you wouldn’t be able to watch it fully! and everyone else would! including those two boys who clearly only liked jiyoon for her looks. you do think jiyoon’s the most gorgeous girl alive, especially the way her eyes crinkle. it’s rare, but that’s what makes it better. a rarity for most, but common for you. the mere thought of not being able to watch jiyoon’s choreography saddens you immensely.

seeing your downcasted eyes makes jiyoon procure an item from the pocket of her sweatpants. she hands it to you, wrapping your fingers around it gingerly.

you look up at her, a smile involuntarily making its way onto your face at the sight of the small packet of chocolate milk.

jiyoon smiles softly, “it’s okay if you can’t make it. i’m disappointed but i understand. don’t look so sad.”

her words of comfort only bring you more melancholy, knowing she wanted you to watch her performance. you’ve never regretted joining the student council more than right now. gently sipping on the chocolate milk, you relish in its sweetness.

“let’s go get ice cream now.”

the forlorn expression on your face slowly disappears as jiyoon drags you towards the ice cream parlour. distracted by her surprising conversation, you forget all about your sadness. she just has that effect on you; the ability to make you happy and content. even with simple words, she brightens up your day. usually, people would compare you and jiyoon to the sun and clouds. extroverted and bright, you were assumed to be the chatterbox, constantly talking jiyoon’s ears off. your best friend was like a raincloud, sometimes gloomy, sometimes indifferent, but as cheesy as it sounds, the presence of rain indicates the presence of a rainbow.

jiyoon was like a rainbow. multi-faced and blinding.

and so was her choice of ice cream. you watch, amused, as jiyoon holds a cone, wobbling with scoops of napoleon ice cream. her tongue darts out to stabilise the shaking tower. you lick your own chocolate ice cream.

“it’s good,” you mumble as jiyoon holds your hand.

“weather’s becoming hotter,” she remarks, “probably why it tastes so good.”

you nod at that.

“how’d you know the weather’s getting hotter? you learned that in geography?”

“common sense, y/n,” jiyoon deadpanned. you chuckle and dig into your dessert.

“did you hear about seoyeon getting a girlfriend? i knew she liked girls from the start!” you exclaim, mouth full of ice cream.

“yeah, look at her. she’s obviously into girls. who is she dating?”

“this girl from basketball. anyway, there’s a new girl who joined choir and everyone says she’s really pretty.”

jiyoon looks up from her ice cream, “is she pretty?”

you turn to jiyoon, pout on your face, “why would you want to know?!”

she flinches, and then grimaces awkwardly, “curiosity’s sake?”

“since when were you curious about pretty girls?” you retort. jiyoon only shrugs. it’s true though. throughout your friendship with the older girl, she hasn’t shown much interest in gossip or drama, only offering snide remarks and nods when you told her about the current rumours circulating the school. the thought of her showing interest in other girls forms an involuntary pout on your face. and okay, maybe you started it by stating that the new girl was pretty, but jiyoon has never asked for an elaboration before!

frowning at your ice cream cone, you let the silence drag on. has jiyoon shown any interest in any other girls? wasn’t she always hanging out with you? was it because she always hung out with you that she couldn’t hang out with anyone else? you wonder if she wants to spend time with other people. taking a final lick of your ice cream, you reach your doorstep. your hand falls slack in hers, and jiyoon waves goodbye.

it was a routine for her to always walk you home first, even if she had to walk back to her house again. she claimed that something might happen to you and she didn’t want to be blamed for it. you think it’s because she wants to spend extra time with you, but you don’t mind it either.

“bye, y/n, see you tomorrow.”

you nod, not bothering to hug jiyoon goodbye like usual. your best friend stares at you awkwardly before clearing her throat and turning away.

“see you tomorrow, unnie.”

the smile she sends you only heats your cheeks up.

and when you lay in bed that night, it doesn’t come as a striking realisation, only an uncertain acceptance, that you feel more affection for jiyoon than a best friend should.

it’s been two weeks since your ice cream outing (date!) with jiyoon, and you haven’t really seen her around. for someone who claims to be your best friend, she wasn’t really doing her job— other than the consistent chocolate milk that’s always on your desk. but that’s part of your routine! it’s undeniably embedded in your life and if it changes, you wouldn’t know what to do. there’s always a small note left under the packet as well, either words of encouragement for the day or jiyoon reminding you to text her later.

she doesn’t reply as quickly as before but that’s okay. you’re happy to just be able to talk to her, even if that meant through a screen.

y/nnie 🐣 [2.15pm]:

thx for the chocolate milk~~

i’m in a stuco meeting!

so boring :p

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.16pm]:

no problem.

we’re on break right now

y/nnie 🐣 [2.16pm]:

wna go get ice cream later?

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.17pm]:

sorry, we have practice until 5

mai’s running our practice like the military

tomorrow’s the festival

y/nnie 🐣 [2.18pm]:

aww okay

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.19pm]:

we’re starting again

you should focus on your meeting

y/nnie 🐣 [2.20pm]:

talking 2 u is more fun :((

i miss u unnie

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ is typing…

before you could see jiyoon’s reply, your phone was taken out of your hands. you gasp, immediately turning back to realise the student council president, kim minji was staring at your phone.

“why are you texting during our meeting?” she asks, pointing at your phone. you can only push out your bottom lip, begging with your eyes for minji to return what’s rightfully yours.

“i’ll pay attention! just give it back,” you reply. minji shakes her head and pockets your phone with a smile, “you can get it back after this.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you’re forced to listen to the boring presentation by the treasurer about the finances for the school’s festival. truthfully speaking, you had fallen asleep midway, and only woke up as the meeting was ending.

“good job everyone,” minji claps, “let’s hope tomorrow’s festival runs smoothly.” she fishes out your phone and places it in front of you.

as everyone leaves, you get ready to stand up as well, but minji holds a firm grip on your shoulder.

“minji,” you warn. she may be your president, but you don’t mind tackling her for your phone. and you don’t even know if jiyoon responded yet.

the girl sighs, “i know you’re in love or whatever, but you should really adhere to council meeting rules. no texting, remember?”

your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. in love?

minji adds, “are you in a honeymoon period right now? dating jiyoon must be nice, huh?”

“dating?” you repeat, dumbfounded. minji stares at you weirdly.

“did i say something wrong?”

you state very slowly, “i am not dating jiyoon.”

the president blinks. and then her lips morph into a frown. a confused look on her face, equally as aghast as you are.

“uhm.”

“she’s my best friend,” you say again. minji nods dumbly. her hold on you loosens as her ears redden in embarrassment.

“you’re not dating jiyoon?” she asks once more. you nod hastily, “we’re not dating, just very good best friends.”

minji nods slowly. you take this opportunity to grab your phone, an unread message from jiyoon.

“okay. see you tomorrow.”

you leave the meeting room, heart pounding. why would minji even think that you and jiyoon were dating? did anyone else think that way? it wasn’t as if you were! you were just close friends who enjoyed each other’s company. jiyoon is a good listener who cares deeply for you. of course you would want to talk to her and be with her. just not in a romantic way. you sigh deeply, unlocking your phone.

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.21pm]:

i miss you too.

you might have to cancel that last thought.

the festival lights are super pretty, you think. jiyoon would look even prettier standing under them. they would illuminate her bright eyes and silly smile— no! you slap your own cheeks. you can’t be thinking about your best friend now. you had a job to do! groaning at the clipboard in your hand, you head towards the food stalls, manned by the enterprise club. after conversing with some of the members, you reported back to minji, saying everyone was fine and everything was going well.

you had been ticked off that the festival was happening in the evening, causing your routine to go slightly askew, but that was okay! it was only for a day anyway.

strolling around the festival was fun. you were impressed with the tents set up and the decor around the place. thank god you weren’t part of that sector, knowing it would be a pain to remove everything again. the student council really outdid themselves with this one. you walked around, pride simmering at the way students would gasp in awe at the set-up.

“y/n!” you swerve around, beaming at the sight of the dance team, all dressed up. their outfits were made of american football jerseys and baggy jeans, some with their shirts cropped and others tied up. you took a long appreciative look at jiyoon’s outfit before grinning at the rest of the girls.

“jiyoon unnie said you wouldn’t be able to watch our performance,” jungeun sighs, “it doesn’t feel right to not have you watching us.”

the girls all nod in agreement. of course, as someone who had been through all their practices and sessions, it feels strange that a lingering presence like yours would be absent.

“i’ll ask someone to record it for me!” you exclaim, in an attempt to cheer jungeun up. despite being the same age, you felt an overwhelming urge to comfort the girl, almost like how jiyoon does for you.

“you better come find us afterwards,” saebi says.

before you could even get another word in, you heard your name being called from afar. after promising to find the girls later, you cheer them all on. as you were about to leave, a warm hand encapsulates your own, pulling you back. you instantly recognise the sensation. an electric bolt trickling into your blood, shocking your nerves and eliciting goosebumps across the field of your skin.

“jiyoon unnie, i like your outfit.”

“thanks, but we have to change back into our uniforms later.” you should take the chance to admire her properly then.

“aw, okay.”

the older girl grimaces.

“y/nnie,” jiyoon frowns. worry builds in you at her unsettled and troubled expression. “when you come to find us afterwards, stay back a little. i want to talk to you.”

you widen your eyes before gulping. jiyoon relinquishes her grip and waves goodbye, just as you form a fist to cheer her on.

what could jiyoon possibly want to talk to you about? it was scary having her talk all serious, instead of the teasing girl you’ve grown to adore. did you do something wrong? maybe jiyoon was upset about the lack of attention from you these past weeks. ugh, but her tone boggled you the most.

“hey, snap out of it,” you blink at the fingers snapping in your face. what a rude gesture! rolling your eyes at the boy who had called you over, myung jaehyun, you elbow him in the ribs. he only scoffs and pushes you back.

“aren’t you meant to be a gentleman? why are you pushing girls?” you sneer at him. the boy had called you over for the stupidest reason, stating that he was bored walking around. as a student council member, technically you had to listen to the vice-president. but c’mon, even minji would laugh.

jaehyun snickers, “are you mad ‘cause i brought you away from your girlfriend?”

you frown, thinking about jiyoon performing. you don’t even bother to deny that jiyoon’s your girlfriend. no one even takes your words seriously. there’s a crowd of students already gathering near the stage. on the schedule, it stated that the dance team would be performing soon. your shoulders turn slack at your lost opportunity to watch jiyoon dance.

“man, shut up.”

the boy quietens down at your stern tone, before offering, “i can take over you if you wanted. and you can go watch her.”

you perk up instantly, “really?”

“yeah, but you owe me lunch.”

“deal, seriously.”

jaehyun chuckles, “anything for love right? call me cupid.”

you scrunch your nose in disgust before waving him off and heading towards the already crowded audience. the stage was fairly centred with a second platform protruding from its middle. you look around, searching for any kind of a vantage point.

there’s a secluded corner near the back, but a bunch of boxes and crates are propped up there. approaching the area, it gives you a relatively clear view of the stage. you would be able to see the girls from here. excitement brewing as the music heightens, you think of all the hard work jiyoon has put in. you’ve watched her practise endlessly, critiquing every detail of her moves. it all comes down to this performance.

the house music softens, and the chatter amongst the crowd dies down. suddenly, unexpectedly and forcefully, the music blasts through the speakers as the girls walk onto stage. there’s an uproar of cheers from the audience, including yourself. you yell jiyoon’s name as if she were a deity, and you were on your deathbed.

grinning brightly, you’re awestruck by the fluidity and smoothness of their moves. your mouth, agape for the whole performance, is unable to close by itself. the girls belonged on the stage, rightfully so. and even though you had heard this song and witnessed this dance countless amounts of times, it still refreshes you like the first.

“mai, you’re so pretty!”

“ryu sarang!”

“yoon jiyoon, i love you!” you scream, using your hands as a makeshift megaphone as jiyoon approaches the centre. her head snaps up, and a wide smile overtakes her.

as the crowd continues to shout, you’re unable to take your eyes off jiyoon. there was something magnetic about her. like two sides of a magnet pulling you towards her. she was almost like the centre of gravity (she’s the centre of your world).

the song reaches its last chorus and jeemin reclaims the stage. there’s an upheaval of yells and shrieks once more. as it arrives at the end, you bring your hands to applaud loudly. the girls stand at the centre, spotlight emphasising on them and heaving breathily.

the girls soon leave the stage and the crowd is left anticipating for the next performance. you don’t, however, and instead head towards the back of the stage. the girls are already there, changed back into their uniforms.

“y/n—” saebi is the first to spot you.

“you guys did great out there!” you engulf the group of girls into an embrace, as best as you could.

“i thought you couldn’t watch?!” sarang asks.

you shrug, “someone could cover for me, so of course i had to come watch you guys.”

“i heard you yell jiyoon’s name,” jeemin smiles.

“gotta support my best friend,” you bump jiyoon’s hip and she only groans miserably. as they start to leave, you grasp onto the short sleeve of jiyoon’s shirt, “didn’t you want to talk?”

jiyoon shakes her head and whispers lowly, “not here.”

you follow her out and into an empty tent, the tables and chairs cleared of any belongings. she has the same uncomfortable expression on her face, the one that makes your heart shrivel up. you deafen out the loud music and cheers outside, choosing to focus on the girl in front of you.

“what’s up? is something wrong?” is your first immediate question.

jiyoon sighs, pink overtaking her cheeks. you resist the urge to squeal at the adorable sight.

“no, nothing’s wrong, but…”

she takes a seat. you do the same and capture her hands in yours, providing comfort.

“you can tell me anything,” you insist. jiyoon turns away, her lips pursing.

“i know, but it’s just difficult to say,” she mumbles, “you’re usually the one who speaks for both of us.”

“but it’s just us now. you can say whatever you want.”

your best friend only turns redder.

“that’s the problem,” she whispers.

you stare at her, bewildered, “what do you mean?”

“you’re my best friend,” jiyoon states, “i don’t want to mess anything up.”

your brain has an inkling of what jiyoon is trying to convey. endorphins rush through your veins as a small smile creeps its way onto your face. you can’t help the happiness blooming in your chest.

“you won’t mess anything up, i promise.”

jiyoon bites her lower lip before saying, “you’re so silly at times. you and your routine. when we first met, i thought you were crazy. but somehow, it seems like i’ve become part of your routine.”

“you have,” you agree.

“and it makes me feel happy,” jiyoon confesses, “because i like spending time with you.”

“i like spending time with you too.”

“even if i’m quiet and moody sometimes. i just get in my head, but you understand me. that’s why i’m comfortable with you. and when we got closer, i thought i was dragging you down—”

you immediately protest, “no, you weren’t.”

the older girl grumbles, “don’t interrupt me.”

shrugging, you let go of jiyoon’s hands to play with the hem of her skirt. she only swats your hands away to intertwine your fingers gently.

“and i think you should just know that because of your kindness and personality…” she trails off before gulping, “i like you.”

you’ve never seen your best friend so sheepish and bashful. so shy. she may be unapproachable at times, but she’s never been this nervous and insecure. the jiyoon you know is bold and courageous. but you feel like you like this version of her more. vulnerable and open.

“you’re so cute,” you blurt out. jiyoon furrows her eyebrows and her lips form a pout.

an idea comes to your mind. carefully untangling your hands, you reach your blazer, meticulously unpinning the plastic name tag there. then, you slowly open jiyoon’s palm, placing your name tag there.

“don’t you understand, jiyoon unnie?” you ask, teasingly at her shocked expression. she swallows, and then nods.

“what does it mean then?” you giggle.

jiyoon blushes, from her neck to her ears, “means that you like me too.”

“mhm. i thought i confessed quite loudly just now though,” referring to your yell during her performance. jiyoon chuckles before nodding, “guess you beat me to it. but can i just hear it again?”

you grin, leaning into jiyoon’s space, right next to her ear. resisting the urge to blow wind into her sensitive red ears, you instead whisper, “i like you, yoon jiyoon.”

the smile she gives you is blinding.

“i like you more, y/n.” and from her pocket, she brings out a packet of chocolate milk.

you laugh at her absurdity.

“you can’t like me more than i do.”

“i disagree.”

“well, agree to disagree, right?” you prod jiyoon’s cheek.

the girl grins slyly, “anything my girlfriend says.”

#izna #izna x reader #yoon jiyoon x reader #jiyoon x reader #izna x fem reader #jiyoon x fem reader #yoon jiyoon x fem reader

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pinksugarscrub · 22 days ago

Text

Compromise

Hobie Brown x fem! reader

This is my response to the 2024 elections

word count: 1,065

The sky managed to encapsulate your mood perfectly. Dreary and dark with clouds soaked to the brim like sponges.

Tick

The city was surprisingly quiet. The bodega closed and Midtown students stuck indoors due to the incoming storm

Tick

You hated how quiet it was.

Tick

With a loud sigh you press down harder on the volume button. Music flooding your ears at a decibel that surely wouldn’t be healthy in the long run.

She meant well. Gwen always meant well you reasoned but that didn’t make the ache in your chest lessen.

Cold and half eaten, your dinner rests on the counter. A loud tick! managing to slip past the chorus of your favorite song.

It was his song first.

With a groan you switch to another song. A different song.

‘What if you’re too different?’

The ache in your heart makes itself known again. Traitor.

‘What do you mean?’ you laugh awkwardly.

Gwen’s eyes furrow and as much as MJ wants to speak up, she doesn’t. Just keeps her head down while idly skimming through the popcorn.

‘I mean, think about it.’ Gwen shifts. Facing you while you prepared another batch of hot chocolate. ‘He goes to protests. You do petitions.’

‘I don’t see a problem with that,’ you answer. Confused as you watch the milk bubble.

‘Ok, let me rephrase. He’s determined in his views while you are the least confrontational person I know.’

MJ cringes as she crushes a kernel between her fingers.

‘What are you going to do when you have a disagreement?’ Gwen asks.

‘Look, what are you getting at?’ you huff. Glaring down at the chocolate tablet as you plop it in the pot.

‘I don’t think this guy is right for you.’

The room goes quiet. The cozy atmosphere you worked so hard on achieving vaporizing into thin air.

This was supposed to be a relaxing night after exams. It was supposed to be an escape with your friends. Not…this.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Gwen starts. Fingers digging into the couch cushions. ‘Hobie sounds like a really sweet guy. I'm just…worried.’

‘Gwen maybe we should-’

‘No,’ you interrupt. Glancing over to MJ’s hunched form. ‘I want to hear what she has to say. Go on, say it.’

The words sound so much more condescending than you had intended but there’s an anger bubbling alongside the milk.

Gwen, never one to back down, straightens in her seat. A stubbornness you praise but now feels like a nuisance.

‘He’s anarchist! You’re a pacifist. You may want the same things but you will both do very different things to get them.’

‘You guys.’ MJ’s voice strains to be heard above the hurt. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t want you to lose your dignity over someone just because you want to please him.’ Gwen continues as her eyes narrow. ‘You’re already listening to punk music which you used to detest and what about the clothes you’re starting to buy?’

‘What about it?’

‘It isn’t you!’

‘I’m allowed to change my mind!’

‘Are you?’ She scoffs, ‘or is he doing that for you?’

You jump as a loud boom shakes the picture frames on your wall. Frantic you slid off your seat to place some distance between you and the balcony window.

One drop turns to two. Then three. Then it’s pouring so hard you feel like water will stream through any second to create an entirely new ecosystem in your living room.

Maybe the reason you were so angry, was because you knew she was right.

Slowly settling on the edge of the couch you stare at gloomy New York and she stares right back. Taunting you. Mocking you. Asking when it was your turn to break and let the tears fall.

You’re too different.

One hiccup turns to two. Then three. Then tears roll down your face while water trickles down the window pane.

You never should have yelled. You were just angry and rightfully so but Gwen was worried. She always worries. She always means well.

The lock to your apartment turns. Wet boots squishing against the welcome mat.

“Lovie it’s dangerous to leave your door unlocked. If I had been a…”

Hobie is at your side within seconds. Fruity drinks long forgotten as he pulls you into his arms.

You’re not sure what to do. The selfish parts of you don’t want to stay buried. They want to grab onto him and never let go. But how unfair would it be to keep him from finding the happiness he deserves?

“Hey, hey,” he whispers. “Talk to me darling.” Kissing the crown of your head and running his hands up and down the length of your arms.

You shake your head. A hiccup stuck in your throat as the tightness in your chest grew.

“Alright, ok. I’m right here.”

He gently coaxes your arms to wrap around his waist. When you finally respond he presses your head to his chest.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

God, who were you kidding? He was perfect for you in every way.

Hobie sways the two of you on your feet. Rubbing between your shoulders and taking deep even breaths. Soon enough, yours matches his own.

Droplets hit the rail of your balcony and suddenly you can hear the city again. Car horns and kids running down the street. The sun peaking through the clouds before hiding behind complexes and office buildings.

Slowly you pull away. Cinnamon and leather, your new favorite scent.

“Atta girl…” Hobie’s eyes are filled with worry as he reaches for you cheek. “You ready to talk?”

He smiles slightly as you nod. Pinching your cheek and forcing your eyes on him. “I’m all yours.”

You tell him everything. How sorry you are for snapping. How confused and scared you are to lose him. A future you envision and a life you want to share.

You don’t expect him to walk away but you certainly don't expect him to slide one of his rings on your finger.

“Who said I couldn’t change my mind too?” He mumbles. Kissing the knuckle adoring his ring. “Love is all about compromise innit?”

You’re left at a loss for words.

“I can’t promise you perfection. Gwendy’s right. We’ll always have our problems but at the end of the day…”

Your heart lurches as he places a kiss on your lips.

“I’ll always want you.”

We're not talking about sunsets, are we?

#hobie brown #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderpunk #election 2024 #us elections

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naviiq · 17 days ago

Text

4#-> 💌: a letter has arrived from satoru gojo.

dear y/n.

hiii babbyyy!!! it's the fourth letter soo i'm sure the gifts have been sent! i wonder if the pastries came as well.. well anyways! :3

first off, i got you a little plushy. it’s a panda, it's one of those that has little, embroidered eyes and a tiny, hand-stitched smile. you can use it whenever you’re annoyed with me (i know you do are sometimes) or when you wanna think of me. it’s this soft, round thing, about 6 inches tall, with little black ears and stitched-on eyes. the cutest part? it has a little red scarf around its neck ＞0＜!! to be honest it's soft, a little too soft.. it's the type that makes you want to squeeze it every time you look at it, much like me!

next, i found this tiny, hand painted teapot, and i’m not even gonna lie, it’s totally your vibe. it’s ceramic, no bigger than a coffee cup, and it’s got this cute design where the spout is a little cat’s tail, a little cat face is painted on it, ears and nose to! so cute!!

then, i found these hand carved wooden bookmarks. they’re really simple but beautiful dark wood with those grain pattern and these little tassels hanging from the top. one is shaped like a lotus flower. they’re just the right size to slip into any book, and i thought they’d be a perfect way to keep track of things you’re reading (or pretend to read). you know, for when you want to act like you’re doing something productive, or you’re just waiting for me to show up.

oh, i picked up a pair of socks while i was walking through the town market. they’re fluffy, white, and have bear faces right on the toes, with little ears that stick up from the top. when you wear them, the bear looks like it's staring at you, ready to fight—kinda like how you look when you’re mad about me doing something stupid.

last of all, i found this little silver bracelet. it’s thin, almost delicate, with a simple charm that looks like a crescent moon. the thing is, if you look closely, there’s this faint engraving on the inside of the crescent, like a tiny, almost hidden star. it’s subtle, but it’s there. i thought it was a good symbol, something that’s quiet, but always present, like how i am in your life. i guess you can interpret it as the moon is a little reminder that no matter how far apart we might be, we’re still connected, even if it's in a way that you can’t always see. i hope you’ll wear it when you need to remember there’s always light, even in the dark.

if you did get some of the yummy food i sent then i'll spoil it for you, one of them was these really tasty koala shaped cookies filled with creamy chocolate and strawberry filling. i also sent over some morinaga milk caramel, it's soo smooth and buttery.. uughh, the perfect chewy texture.. they’ll melt in your mouth for sure! ;). i got you some honey toasts since we both wanted to try that but never had the chance to.. the thick slices of buttery, toasted bread soaked in honey, topped with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and dripped in chocolate, yeah that one! i also sent in a little sour kick, i threw in some sour grape puccho!! the chewy, fruity candy with sour powder and candy bits inside, super tangy but sweettt! that's some of the ones i remember.. i stuffed all the treats i got in this bag so there's a looott.. hope it's not a mess..

with love -handsome man

p.s. eat all of it in vain for me!! savor it all though! (=｀ェ´=)

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month ago

Note

Good day to you, fair Fellow. And to you as well, adorable Gidel. *Reaches out to give Gidel a pat on the head, a puzzle box toy, and a bag of candy before turning back to address Fellow* I am the owner of a small, but successful candy shop. I was contacted by an associate of mine about a charming person that could possibly use a job? I assume that to be you. If the offer is not appealing, I have several friends that could use a server. You would likely be able to nab some good tips. Some would even offer a small apartment to go with the job. Whatever you decide, I am available anytime.

@ Cater Diamond, are you proud of me for conducting market research for this interaction/j

Waiter!Fellow though... 👀 (my bias comes out ahjdabsidabisyfiyoafi)

So tell me, do you wanna go?

"Excuse me, mister. I'd like to take 16 ounces of this milk chocolate with pistachio cream and kunafa filling."

"I want to buy some of those viral peelable fruit gummies. Can you tell me where to find them?"

"Ooh, these candies are shaped like gems. They come in so many different flavors--I can't decide what to buy! You work here, so which ones would you recommend?"

"One at a time, please!!" Fellow, in a pastel pink apron, pleaded of the encroaching customers. "I'll weigh the amount you want and ring you up at the cash register up front. The fruit gummies you're lookin' for are in aisle 3, between the sour belts and the licorice sticks. Our pumpkin jam-filled crystal candies are popular this season."

His new gig at the candy shop kept him busy. Social media, the owner had told him, had caused certain treats to blow up in popularity. Handling the sweets was a task left to the store owner, who produced all manner of confections. Fellow managed the front end: stocking, answering customer inquiries, doing the arithmetic (which he had always prided himself on).

Gidel hid in the back, sucking on a scraps of sugar and fiddling with a cube-shaped puzzle as Fellow went about his day. Sometimes he would poke his head out and watch as his guardian got swarmed, or swipe a sucker or two.

In the evenings--5 'o clock on the dot--Fellow would close up shop, then swap out his uniform for a white button-down shirt and black slacks, heading for his shift at a local restaurant. They were short-staffed in the evenings and on holidays, so he was quick to swoop in and fill out the vacancy.

A smile, a wink, a few friendly exchanges, and he'd walk away pocketing generous tips. The leftovers, swiped by a clever hand, and ferried away for a free makeshift meal for him and Gidel.

They had settled into the new routine with ease.

When the restaurant locked up for the day, Fellow would haul a drowsy Gidel over his shoulder and to the small apartment upstairs. It was cramped and often smelled like tomato sauce, but it was home and it was theirs.

"You like livin' like this, Giddie?" Fellow asked as he laid the young boy down on a small cot. "It beats havin' to scam folks just to get on by, but some days I miss the open road and the freedom that came with it."

Gidel yawned--and Fellow suspected that his question had fallen upon deaf ears. He shook his head, pulling a thin patchwork comforter over him.

"... Never mind, I'll ask ya again in the morning. Sleep tight, little buddy."

#twst #twisted wonderland #Fellow Honest #Gidel #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Reader #self insert #Gino #Ernesto Foulworth #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #a fellow in need is a friend indeed #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios

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sgiandubh · 5 months ago

Text

For no particular reason: Lola's homemade chocolate

Today is Lola the Corgi's presumed birthday. We chose it approximately, while at the vet's, because Lola's story is nothing short of a canine miracle. She jumped in my cab, somewhere in the humble outskirts of Bucharest, on Saint Nicholas' Day. The driver asked, absurdly, if that was 'my dog' and I simply answered 'well, now it is'.

Little did we know the shaking, stone cold and scared to death puppy was a very rare Cardigan Corgi - this came later, when a British friend was amazed at the recovery and pointed it out adamantly. She could have been stolen or simply lost, but we will never know and we never looked back.

All our dogs had Spanish names (except for cats, always boys and always Pasha, namesakes of a beloved Shipper Mom's childhood pet), simply because they are easy to learn and remember. In her case, Lola is for...

for well... for obvious locomotion reasons 🤣 #LolaFlores. Twelve years with a supremely intelligent and empathic friend deserved a batch of my homemade chocolate, don't you think?

Too bad she can't try it. But enough babbling, here goes.

You will need: 2 cups/ 250 grams milk powder - I recommend Nestlé's Carnation, if you can't get hold of Rarăul, the obscure, Communist local brand (so damn good); 2 sticks/200 grams full fat butter (I recommend Irish butter, always with excellent results), at room temperature, cubed; 7 Tablespoons/50 grams cocoa (Dutch, if you can, but I prefer either Ghirardelli or the Greek Ion brand, which I think are the best on this planet); 2½ cups/ 500 grams Demerara sugar (or caster sugar). A dash of instant coffee, for decorating. You can replace sugar by stevia sweetener (measure accordingly - I used this, because I was also cooking for a severe diabetic who can't control herself), with very good results. Optional: crushed tea biscuits or cookies in the US/chopped hazelnuts/pine nuts/walnuts/peanut butter (in swirls) - sky is the limit. For the adult version, feel free to add a hefty swig of brandy/rhum/whisky/bourbon/vodka/limoncello or hey, let's be totally dirty (sssh!), Bailey's.

In a nonstick pan, gently simmer 3/4 cup or 170 ml cold water with ALL the sugar. Stir nonstop (only with wooden spoon or silicone spatula, never metal - it lends a foul taste!) until you get a sort of thin syrup - basically the sugar should dissolve, nothing more. 2 to 3 minutes should be enough.

Add the cubed butter, stir gently until it melts and incorporates completely. 10 minutes max, but never stop stirring!

Take the pan off the heat. Gently pour dry milk in small batches, stirring and incorporating continuously. It should immediately thicken, sticky fudge consistency.

Gently mix the cocoa, with slow, ample bottom/top movements (you don't want it anywhere else but in that pan, for sure). Right consistency should be a thick ribbon, pouring from the spoon.

Back to the heat for about 30 to 45 seconds, stirring all the time. I have no idea why, but my grandma always insisted it was very important, go figure. Take off the heat and immediately add the nuts and (if you choose) the alcohol, mixing vigorously.

Pour into a well buttered loaf tin. Dust with instant coffee. Let cool, put into fridge for 6 hours minimum (overnight is better). Only cut with a wet knife. Devour and don't think about the damn calories.

I am sorry for the very, very old pic (2010, I think). Tonight, it was impossible to take a proper one 😱.

This is what we do call 'homemade chocolate' all over Eastern Europe, but to be honest, it's rather some very, very good fudge. The dry milk is a dead giveaway of the real age of the recipe, which is around 1945 - postwar rationing, of course.

You are welcome. You won't regret the 45 minutes you're likely to spend making it.

#cookery #summer #dessert #family recipe - 1940s #moderately difficult

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feyburner · 5 months ago

Note

im the sponge cake/baking amateur anon and omg thank you so much for your words and recipes!!! i will definitely start making little things and try not to freak out and instead embrace this new hobby with all its fluctuations…i will definitely keep coming back here for questions and recipes if you don’t mind 🫡🫡🫡

Of course, anytime. Don’t worry, just start with the basics and build from there. It gets easier and more intuitive every time you do it—and there are SO many types of things you can bake, you’ll never get bored. Don’t like baking cookies? Pivot to cake, pastry, pies, bread. Think about what flavors you like and find recipes that highlight those flavors.

Oh a couple more pieces of advice:

1. ALWAYS read through the ENTIRE recipe at least 2x before starting.

2. Mise en place! Gather all the ingredients together before you begin—so you don’t get halfway through only to realize you’re out of baking powder.

Here’s my recipe for Chocolate Velvet Cake. It’s a deep, dark, rich chocolate cake. Pictured here with Whipped Cream Cream Cheese Frosting, one of the only frostings I have ever liked.

CHOCOLATE VELVET CAKE

makes 2 x 8-9” cake layers

INGREDIENTS

2 cups (240g) AP flour

1 cup (200g) white sugar

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar, packed

2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp kosher salt

1 cup (227g) buttermilk* or sour cream

1 Tbsp white vinegar

1 cup (200g) neutral oil

2 eggs

1 Tbsp vanilla

1 cup (240g) freshly brewed steaming hot coffee (or 1 cup boiling water + 1 Tbsp instant coffee/espresso powder)

3/4 cup (60g) Dutch-process cocoa powder

*To make buttermilk: 1 cup milk + 1 Tbsp white vinegar or lemon juice. Stir together and let sit 10 min to curdle and thicken.

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 350°. Grease 2 x 8-9” cake pans and line with parchment paper rounds.

2. Bloom cocoa: Measure cocoa into a large liquid measuring cup (for easy pouring later). Add 1 cup (pre-measured or by weight) hot coffee in increments, whisking in between, until mixture is smooth. **If you add coffee all at once you’ll get lumps. Add a little, whisk to a smooth paste, then add rest.

3. Mix dry ingredients: Sift flour, sugars, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl (or bowl of stand mixer). Whisk thoroughly to combine. **Sifting really matters here. The final batter is very thin and if you don’t sift you will get lumps of flour.

4. In a separate bowl, whisk together buttermilk, vinegar, oil, eggs, and vanilla until smooth. While whisking, pour in coffee-cocoa mixture. Whisk until smooth.

5. Pour wet ingredients into dry and mix with a rubber spatula until just combined, scraping bottom and sides of bowl as needed to catch any dry pockets. Do not overmix. Batter will be thin.

6. Divide batter evenly between cake pans. Bake 30-40 minutes until a paring knife inserted in the center comes out moist but clean. Start checking at 30 minutes to avoid overbaking.

7. Cool in pans 15 minutes (no longer), then turn onto a wire rack to finish cooling. Let cool completely (1-2 hours) before frosting.

NOTES

- Cocoa: Dutch-process cocoa powder = the ultimate dark-as-night chocolate cake, but natural (regular) cocoa powder works just as well.

- Usually you can sub greek yogurt for buttermilk/sour cream, but not here. It doesn’t have enough fat.

- Buttermilk/sour cream + a little added vinegar react with the baking soda and cocoa powder to make a fluffy but velvety soft crumb. (Think baking soda volcano, but cake.) You cannot taste the vinegar at all.

#feyburner ask #recipes

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chaptersleftunwritten · 4 months ago

Text

Silver & blood taste the same…

Blurb: FBI special agent Amaranthine Delaware has a nose like a blood hound. She can sniff out crime wherever it may lurk, not even the shadows are safe. But what happens when a crazed killer is tearing through towns rampantly and she has no idea who they are and where they're going next?

Pairing: Bill Skarsgård x OC

Part 1 of ?

Warnings: Gore, blood, violent depictions, homicide, dub-con, somnophilia, sexual themes, sexual acts, swearing, mentions of torture, kidnapping, mentions of weaponry, mental health struggles, addiction (alcohol dependency and cocaine) and possibly more throughout. 18+. Read at your own discretion and risk. You have been warned.

October 17th, 2013

The killings started in the early fall here in Indigo Grove. It must have been around September time because all the kids were back in school and that's how our first Jane Doe was discovered. She had been left- no, she had been discarded, in an overgrown area of greenery near a family home. It was the youngest of the children who found her... now two lives are ruined.

I say 'it must have been around September time...' but I know that it was. I remember everything from that first day. Every smell, every sob, every single one of my hairs standing on end as I try not to dry heave onto the ground next to the poor girl laying there on the frozen earth. Her red eyes staring up at me forever piercing and tainting my soul.

I try not to panic at the coffee counter as the barista with smudged eyeliner blinks at me, evidently annoyed at my prolonged silence and stilled movement, "Sorry," I breathe, finally, "How much did you say that was?" she rolls her eyes as she glances back at the till.

"You owe 5.75 today, ma'am."

Ma'am? The word makes my head spin. Her and I are clearly close to being the same age and she is referring to me like I am some 30 year old woman. I would laugh if I weren't so tired.

I stuff my hand into my damp coat pocket and pull out my purse. Loose strands of my rain soaked hair stick to the side of my face. The purse is a faded shade of purple and the faux leather is of a smooth grain. It's about the only thing that has been with me through thick and thin.

I rummage through the compartments of the purse, my cold shaking fingers scraping together the last of the coins that I have. I count them out in my palm before quickly handing them to the cashier.

She looks down at the metal like it is a foreign form of currency before she as well briefly counts them, obviously not trusting my judgement. After slotting them into her till she rewards me with my morning beverage and sweet treat. Nothing better than sugar at 8 in the morning.

The lights in the café are dim as I enter further into the sea of tables, every person appears like a blurred silhouette- or maybe it is just the three glasses of wine from last night catching up to me. My patrol partner, Johnny Franklin, is sitting in a dark far away corner of the café at a small table for two. He is tucked against the wall, his coffee mug in one hand and his toasted sandwich in the other. He orders the same thing every day; Regular coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar and whole fat milk alongside a toasted cheese and tuna melt sandwich and a chocolate chip muffin for dessert.

Johnny is around the same age as my older sister Jocelyn, which I find great comfort in… maybe that’s why I enjoy having him around. He is also a creature of habit, making his days predictable. I always know where he is going to be and when he is going to be there. It’s why I stay so fond of him, he doesn’t surprise me.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” He grumbles lazily, bringing his coffee mug up to his thin pale lips to take a leisurely slurp as I take a seat across from him. A small stubbly beard has grown in on and around his mouth, I notice this as he says, “You seem as chirpy as ever today.” His hoarse voice is dripping with sarcasm and I pray that this won’t be the running theme of the day. Johnny talking nonsense and me with a pounding headache.

“Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system.” I wave my hand, almost dismissing him- or maybe I’m trying to swat him away like he is a fly. He is always getting all twisted up in other peoples shit.

“You look like shit, kid.” The now empty coffee mug comes down onto the cheap wooden table, a light clatter of the porcelain following close after, “I’m in two minds of even telling you what I got paged this mornin’…”

And there it is. That horrid feeling of dread, doubt, despair, anger, hurt, anxiety- my body knows what he is going to say before he has to say it. The way my stomach twists into painful tight knots and how my breath is now lodged, undoubtably stuck in my throat. The world around me pivots on a sideways axel and I’m struggling to make it stop.

“Tell me.” I am strangled as the words come out, almost too quiet for myself to hear. Do I want to know? Can I handle what Johnny is going to tell me? The answer is no, probably not. But this is the work, and I owe it to those girls to catch this sick fuck-

Johnny’s beady brown eyes examine my features. It takes him a moment but he sucks in a deep breath and I see his bushy eyebrows knit together, his mouth also downturning distastefully, “Another body was found early hours this mornin’, around 3am. She has thought to have been out there for at least two weeks they said.”

The sourness in my mouth intensifies. Two weeks… two whole weeks. Evidence could be lost, the crime scene tampered with, decomposition.. animals. The thought alone sickens me to my stomach. How could she have been missed for that long?

“Who found her?” I ask after a long pause, my mind is buzzing with fear. That’s the thing about this line of work, people expect you to have no feeling- but I feel everything.

Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich and grease pools at the corners of his mouth making me cringe. I want to scream at him for even being able to stomach anything after telling me that information. He chews for an agonisingly long time before he finally grumbles, “A trucker on the highway nearly swerved off the road- agents at the scene think she must have still been alive after the attack and tried to crawl to the nearest road to wave down some help but her wounds were fatal. She died as she reached the highway.” Another bite. Another bite of that disgusting fucking sandwich.

My nostrils flare as I suck in a deep aggravated breath, standing up from the table the chair legs scrape along the floor, the screech punctuates my exit and I am gone before Johnny even has the time to comprehend what’s happening.

Dark clouds swell the sky and the chilly air nips and whips at my cheeks. The rain conjures a hellish dance upon my head as it pelts from the heavens above, drenching my hair further. My chest rises and falls with every breath I struggle to pull into my lungs and I find myself thinking about him.

He keeps me awake every night. I dream about him, I write about him- I wonder, what does he eat? What does his morning routine look like? What does he hate? What does he look like? His eyes, his lips, his smile… is it nice? Is it a nice smile, a warm smile, a welcoming smile? What does he smell like?

He consumes my life, he controls my every thought.

I hate it. I hate him.

It feels personal. Every murder… every life that he takes. And I know that it shouldn’t, but it does.

It fucking does.

Blue lights flood my vision, captivating the world around me in an inescapable light. The light in which we should all feel safe in, but I don’t. I never have.

The yellow and black police tape is lifted for me as I enter through to the official crime scene. The highway has been closed off and traffic is being redirected elsewhere, creating this ungodly eerie silence. I want noise, I need the noise… it’s too quiet.

“Special agent Delaware, this is Milo Reed, our truck driver.” My supervisor, Harold Hawkins, approaches me from a nearby vehicle. The man stood to his left is as pale as chalk, his eyes wide and dark with purple circles cladding the skin beneath his sockets.

My steps are steady and slow as I inch closer to the pair, deciding it may not be best to go in for a handshake in this moment, “Milo, my name is Amaranthine and I’m the lead detective on this case. My partner will soon be here to take care of you.” My own voice echoes inside of my mind. I can’t imagine how this man may be feeling. All he manages to muster in response is a nod and then he is shuffling off in another direction, his actions meek and stilted.

My next walk feels like one to the gallows, but I find comfort in one thing. I know what his mark is, I know what he has left behind that’ll tie this girl to the last and to the one before her. The butterfly. He irons it into their skin. Always in a different area, but always just as deep and just as brutal. Taking something so beautiful and blackening it with evil…

That’s how he got his name from the media.

The butterfly killer.

It headlined in every newspaper a month back, and it still continues to steal the spotlight today. Front page, big and bold for all to see. I bet he is basking in the glory of all of this…

It makes my stomach churn.

As I advance further into the scene I spot an unmissable tanglement of red hair on the ground. The colour is admirable.. it is absolutely gorgeous. Or so I thought, that is until I realise that it’s not at all the colour of the victims hair- it is her blood.

I fight the urge to vomit, swallowing down whatever salvia I have in a desperate attempt to maintain my composure- especially in front of my male colleagues.

“Have you been briefed?” One of them ask and I nod my head, remaining silent, “It was him, she has been branded on her right shoulder. Her wounds, however, are of different technique. He was angrier this time and he used some sort of screwdriver.” His words are so cool it leaves my skin feeling icy cold, like the decaying corpse in front of us, “She has been photographed but with the recent weather conditions, evidence might be tricky to recover. We will be lucky if we identify any from her, never mind any from him.”

I can feel a slow build in my chest, a rising fire of complete rage. When will this end? Will he ever be satisfied? And will I ever catch him?

“Try your best.” I plea and my eyes flicker from the ground to the flashing lights that are now intensifying my headache and then back to the body. The attending agent has left my side and I struggle to grasp the reality of anything around me.

I crouch down to further investigate our victim. She tried to fight. She tried to flee- she wanted to live so desperately that she crawled 10 metres from her drop off point before her lungs finally filled with blood.

She died alone.

I watch as they carefully remove her body from the scene and into the back of an ambulance, taking her back to the lab where hopefully we will be able to identify her.

She will have a family somewhere, and they are waiting on her coming home.

“You can’t smoke in here!” I am four vodka cokes deep in the ‘Hell Gate’ bar just off of the highway and maybe I’m feeling brave and maybe the buzzing red lamp above my head has officially drove me insane but I have had my eyes on this delicious stranger since I arrived and I’ll be damned if I leave here without him. I know that he has noticed me and I know smoking indoors is illegal, and it has been for over 10 years, but there’s just something about watching him do it that makes my insides flutter.

The music in the bar is deafening but it’s pretty vacant of people, even the bartender keeps disappearing elsewhere. The man spares me a quick look, taking one long last drag of his cigarette before he is stumping it out into a nearby ashtray. His face slowly turns towards mine and just like that, he exhales the large cloud of cancerous smoke right into my face.

“What you gonna do about it?” His gravelly deep voice challenges me and my thighs clench together at the mere sight of him. Plump pink lips, stunning round eyes, a strong nose and not to mention the gorgeous brown hair. His tall frame slouched leisurely over the bar has my mind reeling with sin.

I just want to forget. Just for one night.

My front teeth toy with my bottom lip, nibbling on the cushiony skin as I try my hardest to force my drunken brain to think of a quip and sultry response but all I seem to muster is a pathetic, “Steal your lighter.”

He hadn’t noticed but around three seconds ago I had pinched his lighter from on top of the bar and secured in my pocket.

A smugness braces his face, pulling his lips up just ever so slightly at the corners, “What’s your name, angel?” I can tell that I’ve caught his attention by the way his body leans into mine and the total thirst that has consumed his eyes. He wants me.

“You first.” I counter, proud of my own confidence. It’s not every day I manage to pluck up the balls to talk to guys and I would like to thank my liquid courage for tonight. Wherever it may lead.

“Bill, but you can call me whatever you want.” I expect to see a hand stuck out in front of me, but I don’t. He keeps himself to himself, and I quietly admire that. It’s sort of gentlemanly…

I take a short but sweet sip of my drink, letting the alcohol sere my throat on the way down before I chirp, “Amaranthine, but my friends call me Amara.”

His eyebrows perk up momentarily on his forehead before they proceed to faintly knit together in what I assume is confusion, “Are we friends, Amaranthine?”

I bite rabidly at the inside of my cheek, pinching the flesh to stop a shit eating grin from taking over my entire face. There is a short pause as I pretend to think of an ‘honest’ answer, “We can be. If you wanna?” My blood feels hot as scolding iron as it flows through my body, flushing my face for a brief moment.

“Hmm,” Bill’s pink tongue darts from his mouth to swipe over his bottom lip, his teeth gentle nipping the skin, “I don’t know… what do your friends usually say about you?” He is closer to me now and I can feel my breathing start to become a bit ragged. It takes every ounce of restraint I have to not press my lips to his. They are all I can focus on. I wonder what he tastes like.

“My friends would tell you to run for the hills…” In order to regain composure I play with the metal lighter that belongs to him, flicking the cap and watching as the flame would erupt from within. On the side there is a word that is engraved… Love.

It takes mere seconds before Bill is pulling my wrist toward him with force, but not enough to hurt me, only enough to frighten me. And it does, and the gasp that leaves my mouth is borderline erotic and makes my cheeks fervent. He is gentle to take the lighter from my loose grip, placing it into his dark jean pocket and then returning his attention back to my face.

“I think this could work… this ‘friend’ thing.” His grip remains tight around my wrist, “Only thing is.. I don’t think friends fuck their friends, do they, Amara?” Somewhere along the way Bill has stood up from his barstool and he is now towering over me. He must be at least 6ft 2 and looking up at him from my seated position is making my mind spin uncontrollably. I thought I was attracted to him before but now… I want him to take me right here, right now in the middle of this dive bar.

“Friends sometimes do that.” I say meekly as I swallow thickly, all the saliva in my mouth has mysteriously disappeared and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe this is just what he does to me. The greed grows between my thighs and as I'm staring into his eyes I can see the hunger growing within him too- infatuation blowing his pupils to the size of bullet holes.

He yanks me to my feet, his face is uncompromising and I am on fire with anticipation, "Your place or mine?" His lips brush the shell of my ear and I feel electricity race down every vertebrae in my spine, making my legs unsteady. His voice is almost a moan and his tone is low and yet I am willing to totally submit to his every beckon and command.

"Mine..." I feel like I can't breathe, "I.. I don't have a ride." My quavering voice declares my evident embarrassment and Bill tucks some loose strands of my wind stricken hair behind my ear.

"It really is your lucky day." Bill winks at me, a semblance of a smile gently appearing onto his face and his long arm snakes around my waist, guiding me toward the bar exit.

"Oh- I haven't paid!" I exclaim in a state of panic.

"Shhh-" Fuck. His voice is like a lullaby, "I know the owner, don't stress." It was at that moment that I realised, in my inebriated state, that I would believe every word this man said.

Sober Amara would never have given her home address to a total stranger- but drunk and horny Amara just did. We are always warned as children- don’t speak to that strange looking man, don’t go near that lady, stay away from them and so on.. but if we lived up to those rules- to that fear, we would never live. We would be so alone..

I juggle my keys, struggling to control the adrenaline that is coursing through my veins, causing my hands to tremble. I manage to slot the key into the lock and jimmy it open- I really have to get that looked at.

I shoulder barge my way inside, losing my balance as I do and I expect to see the floor coming up to meet my face- but instead I feel Bill’s colossal hands gripping my waist firmly, holding me restrained in the air. Shock roots us both to the spot and I can feel something brewing rapidly between us.

My apartment is small, but it’s cozy and it’s home. I keep it clean for the most part, overall the only mess visible is the case files I’ve left on my desk and the map that’s strung up on my wall. To the average person, like Bill, I’ll probably look crazy. Luckily for me, that’s not where his attention is.

“I'm waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you.”

The door has been kicked shut and I can hear the rhythm of my own heart pounding in my ears. I’m starting to feel a bit lightheaded, like I am levitating above the ground. He knows just what to say, he knows how to look at me in just the right way to make my mind turn to mush- it’s almost like he knows me. Have we been here before?

“I’m gonna need your help to get my clothes off…” my hands dance up to behind his neck, cradling it gently whilst pulling him closer to me. My fingers card through his luscious dark hair, tugging the roots playfully which causes a groan to erupt from his lips.

Bill's large hands come to fondle with my chest, his fingers struggling with the buttons of my blouse. His breathing hitches and with a leap of faith and a lewd huff he rips the seams apart. My mouth falls agape as I watch the buttons fly across every square inch of the room. Some of them I'll never be able to find again...

His lips are on mine before I have time to form any sort of coherent thought and the warmth of his skin is enough to heat my entire body for days. My lips part, allowing his wet tongue to slip inside of my mouth and I moan out at the contact. He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes with the mildest touch of mint- just what I expected. Abruptly he pulls away and I whine with the need to have him near again, "I'm going to take good care of you, I promise. I just wanna enjoy the view. It's not everyday I get to fuck someone as pretty as you." His voice has dropped an octave or two lower and the simple task of breathing becomes obscenely hard in that moment and I battle the urge to pounce on top of him right there and then. He slides my ripped blouse down my arms, letting it fall to the hardwood floor below my feet. He steps further away, urging me with his eyes to continue undressing.

"You don't have to be gentle with me, I won't break..." I offer him a smirk and my feet move toward him with gentle strides and I notice Bill's eyes fluttering to and from my chest. My bra is boring but it's black- and black always leaves an impression no matter what it is. Plus, he seems to like the colour, considering he is dressed from head to toe in it, "You can do whatever you want with me."

The air vibrates between us, "What do you want to do to me, Bill?" My eyes flutter innocently up at his stocky frame and he pulls a quick breath into his lungs through his teeth.

"You want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?" He is walking towards me now, an impure domineering twinkle gracing his eyes. He backs my steps up until I feel the wall crash into my spine and his long muscular arms cage me to the spot, "Are you afraid?" His face is craned down into my neck now, I can feel his breath on my skin and it settles just above my main artery that I can feel thumping.

I shake my head.

"You got any neck ties laying around here?" He asks and I nod in response.

"Top drawer, in the bedroom." I nod toward the dark hallway that connects my living room to all the other rooms in the house. He glances at it before allowing me to move from the wall, his hand slapping my ass hard.

"C'mon then, lets go get them." I giggle a bit as I run toward the bedroom, Bill following closely behind me, "And take the rest of those clothes off before I get there- or you'll regret it."

Excitement pricks at my heart and I assume he is talking about my suit pants and my shoes, and so I am happy to oblige as soon as I pass through the doorway into my bedroom. It's dark in there- pitch black, so I scramble around for the lamp on my bedside dresser, stumbling over clothes that have been left on the floor and more case files that really should be getting organised but aren't. My shoes are first to go, kicked beneath the bed and my pants are peeled down my legs. The rain had caught us on the way in so my skin is a bit damp and cold, making the fabric cling to my skin like it has been glued down.

I pull open my drawer, ignoring the vibrator that I usually hide in there I retrieve multiple neck ties- just in case he wants more than one and then I sit on the edge of the bed, watching the open door as Bill’s sturdy frame emerge's from the darkness of the hallway. Like a hunter stalking its prey.

"Are these okay?" I hold out the palms of my hands, the colourful neck ties splayed flat across them as I present them to Bill like a knight receiving his sword.

Bill's hands find his knees as he bends down to my line of vision, his face mere inches from mine, It’s almost mocking and I feel like I am about to get a telling off for bad behaviour, "I'm going to fucking ruin you, sweetie." His lips pinch his cheeks as he smirks devilishly, his hands pushing me harshly down onto the mattress- knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Wrists.” He demands and I clasp my hands together in the air without a second thought, my drunkenness blinding every ounce of my reasoning. Bill climbs on top of me, his knees at either side of my torso and he hovers there as he skilfully knots and binds my wrists tightly together. He has done this before...

“Please take your clothes off,” I beg, my voice coming out as a sweltering breathy pant and after he had finished securing my wrists to the bed frame he stands from the bed, my body moving with the shift in weight.

“You’re so polite, so fucking cute- you know what good girls get?” He perks an eyebrow, his hands gripping the hem of his black t-shirt as he pulls it up and over his head. The sight of his abdominal muscles tensing and contorting to the movement of his body has my mind sobering up slightly. I want that image permanently engraved in my mind, “They get anything that they want, sweet cheeks.”

He moves onto his jeans next and even just watching him unbuckle his leather belt has my pussy aching for more. I can’t stop admiring his body- he is so lean and strong, chiselled by the Greek gods themselves.

“Like what you see?” His voice takes the reins of every one of my thoughts and I nod my head, my thighs impatiently rubbing together desperate to get some sort of release, “Awww, is she pulsing?” Up until this moment I'd never been provided the chance to experiment this much in the bedroom, my one night stands were always so vanilla and borderline unsatisfactory- so to have my hands tied to the bed and someone as hot as Bill mocking my arousal... it's all so new. I love it.

"Touch me." It wasn't supposed to come out as a command, but it does and the dimple that screws itself into Bill's cheek leaves my wrists tensing against their restraints.

Bill's eyes settle between my legs, his tongue swiping out to briefly coat his swollen lips in momentary shine as he prowls up the mattress and only then do I see how stiff he is in his briefs- I just want him inside me.

Despite my state of tenseness Bill separates my legs with ease, a small 'fuck' leaving his throat as he drinks in the sight of my pantie class core, "Wanna make you scream..." Two of his slender fingers tactically stroke over the slick covered fabric that sticks to my puffy slit, teasing me softly as he applies just the right amount of pressure to my stimulated clit, "You're so wet already and I've barely touched you-" An egotistical hum swims through his deep voice, "My fingers are covered in you already."

I can't help the mewl that leaves my mouth as I watch Bill foam at the sight of me. No one's made me feel like this before, this wanted- this desired. Bill gasps as his fingers hook beneath the fabric of my underwear and it is shortly followed by a profane groan as his fingertips tease my needy entrance, "You're killin' me, baby." It makes my head whizz with exhilaration as Bill tears the poor garment of clothing from my body, slightly burning my skin with the friction as he does.

Goosebumps arise on my skin at the expose to such cool air, making me shiver where I lay. Bill's head of messy brown locks dip between my spread thighs, pressing trails of kisses from my kneecaps up to my bare centre where his tongue strokes a long slow strip through my glistening folds. His lips make a 'pop' noise as he sucks my sensitive cluster of nerves roughly , pulling away only to dive right back in again. And again...

"A..ah!" My back curves up from the comfortable springs beneath me but Bill continues to secure my hips in place, the grip his fingertips have on me is bruising as the room is filled with nothing but the lewd noise of wet sloppy slurping and pleasure pained moans.

"She's dripping," He coo's cutely, his voice is a muffled hum against my pussy and the vibrations cause my legs to quiver as they cage Bill's face between them. After one final stroke of his muscular tongue Bill spits on my folds before rising to steady himself on his knees, "Think you're ready for my cock now, babe?" His huge hand lads a sore slap against my heat and I cry out at the sting, tugging harshly on my bounds. It hurts but it also feels so fucking good...

"Yes! Yes, please. I'm ready... just want you to fuck me, Bill, please." I say with so much agony that it is comedic.

Two of his slim fingers push inside of me, filling and spreading me out as Bill finally free's his shaft from his underwear. His hand pumps at his length a few times, his thumb gently spreading the pre-cum from his tip to the rest of his thick rod, "Say, 'pretty please' and I'll think about it." His smile is more intoxicating than any of the alcohol that I've consumed and I'm growing to detest the affect he has on my body.

He carries on touching himself, his eyes hooding as he throws his head back in total bliss, "Pretty please." The words are almost a sob as I wiggle my hips, trying to meet him halfway. He bites his bottom lip, clearly satisfied with my pleading he taps his dick a few times against my slit only to shock me at the very last second as he pushes himself all the way inside. The stretch is glorious and my eyes are rolling to the back of my head at the sensation of him filling every inch of me.

"So warm- you're squeezing me so tight." It's now Bill's turn to moan as he bottoms out of my pulsating cunt and plunges himself back in again, "Keep this act up and I'll end up cumming before you do, sweetheart." The image of him coating my walls with his hot spunk makes me want to scream.

His thrusts quicken and with more ferocity, the room is captivated by the loud sounds of wet skin slapping skin and the perverted moans from both Bill and I.

"Don't stop! Ah.. fuck! Please don't stop!" My screams reverberate in my chest, bouncing off of every wall and playing back at us. It's evident that Bill has no intentions of slowing down and I struggle to keep my eyes open long enough to watch the perfect contour of his parted lips widen and how his dark eyebrows pinch together in pure delight.

He pulls out of me and grabs my hips. He flips me around to my stomach before pulling my ass up into the air where he spanks the skin brutishly and I endure the red marks that tingle their way up to the surface. Forcing my face down into the pillows he holds my head there as he propels himself back inside of me and the scream that leaves my mouth leaves me drooling all over my pillowcases. My mouth is unable to close from the constant moans exiting past my lips.

"I knew you were a slut, look at you-" He slaps my ass cheek again, punctuating his words, "Taking my cock so well. Am I hitting that sweet spot, baby?" I try to speak, I try to communicate with him but I can't. It's all too intense, "Right there? Yeah, Ugh, fuck yeah!" Bill's moans bless my ears and I feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach, my high is hurdling toward me with every thrust his thick cock gives.

"Want you to cream all over me, can you do that?" I nod into the pillow, having given up on my words and Bill releases a noise that is somewhere between an hum of approval and a moan, "So good for me, so fucking good.." Maybe I hadn't noticed before now, but the way he praises me only increases the fire consuming my insides and I don't know if it's because of how attracted I am to Bill or just a newly discovered kink of mine but whatever it is it's working.

I struggle to breathe against the fabric of the pillow and my eyes pinch closed alongside every muscle in my body tensing as my howling orgasm washes over me. My legs are a shaking mess and I swear I pass out for a moment or so because Bill is the only thing keeping me kneeling upright as he pounds into me from behind- chasing his own release that soon follows closely after mine...

And we are left both a panting muddle of sweaty flesh in a room stinking of nasty sex.

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas

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jerzwriter · 3 months ago

Text

I got this ask a while back, and I thought this was the perfect week to get it done! For @siennatrinhappreciationweek Day 2 - Baking.

Book: Open Heart Characters: Sienna Trinh, Aurora Emery, Casey MacTavish Rating: General Words: 662 Summary: Being a medical resident is hard, but it helps to have a good friend and some good treats to get through.

Casey wiped her hand across her brow, unknowingly leaving a thin streak of batter behind. “Sienna, are you sure we need this much chocolate?” she asked, eyeing the mountain of chopped chocolate sitting atop the counter.

Sienna placed her hand across her heart, gasping in mock horror. “Bite your tongue! There is no such thing as too much chocolate! Wow, you think you know a person!”

“Hey, I appreciate chocolate,” Casey assured. “But that’s... a lot!”

“Why do you think my brownies are so good?” Sienna asked. She leaned closer to whisper. “This is my secret to making them super fudgy. You’re the only other person I’ve ever told, and this stays between us!”

“I’ll take it to the grave,” Casey winked. “And I trust you. You are the expert, after all!” She grabbed a piece of chocolate from the pile and shoved it in her mouth, but Sienna slapped her hand away when she tried to get another.

“Hey! Is this why you’re advocating for less chocolate!”

“Giwty!” Casey mumbled with her mouth full.

Aurora stepped into the kitchen, shaking her head at the scene she took in. “Sienna! I told you letting Casey in the kitchen isn’t the best idea.”

“I can bake," Casey insisted. "It’s real food I have a problem with!”

“Are you saying chocolate isn’t real food,” Aurora glared as she stole a piece.

“Hey!” Sienna scowled, but Aurora looked her friend in the eyes as she took yet another.

“This is great chocolate!”

“And we might make great brownies!” Sienna scolded. “If you two stop eating the best ingredient!”

She leaned over to check Casey’s progress. “Looking good. Now, slowly add the eggs one at a time.”

As Casey followed Sienna’s instructions, she couldn’t help but be envious of her friend’s skills in the kitchen. “How do you make everything look so effortless?” she asked. “I can barely boil water without setting off the fire alarm.”

“We know,” Aurora winked. But Sienna beamed with pride.

“It just takes practice and a lot of trial and error. I wasn’t always this good, and you’ll get there, too. Besides, the best part about baking is that even the mistakes usually taste pretty good.”

“I hope you’re right,” Casey said, folding the chocolate into the batter. “Because these are beginning to look amazing.”

Sienna nodded with approval. “You’re doing great. Now, let’s pour this into the baking pan because the oven is ready!”

“This is a nice change of pace from the hospital,” Casey sighed. “It feels good to actually relax for a little bit.”

Sienna glanced at her friend, her expression softening. “Good! We both need that! Baking can be like therapy – I consider it self-care.”

“And the rest of us consider eating your baked goods self-care,” Aurora beamed.

“See, so it works all around!” Casey smiled. “Thanks for doing this with me, Si. I know it’s a busy week for you; I appreciate you taking the time for me.”

Sienna waved a hand dismissively. “Anytime. Baking is always more fun with a friend.”

The kitchen began to fill with a rich, chocolatey aroma, and when the alarm went off, they could hardly wait to dig in.

“Not so fast!” Sienna ordered. “We have to let them cool first!”

Casey nudged Sienna’s shoulder. “This is why I need you.”

Shortly after, Sienna poured two big glasses of milk as Casey dug in, her eyes widening. “Sienna, these are delicious!”

“Told you. You did great, Casey!"

Casey smiled, feeling a warm sense of accomplishment. “Maybe with a few more lessons, I’ll be as good as you.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sienna chuckled. “But I have no doubt; we’ll make a baker out of you yet.”

They spent the rest of their day off together, enjoying their brownies and each other’s company; the stress of their residencies just melted away, and Sienna and Casey knew two things: the brownies were delightfully sweet, but nothing was sweeter than the friendship they shared.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #sienna trinh #aurora emery #friendship #sienna trinh appreciation week #choices #choices fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play

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saltofmercury · 2 years ago

Note

Oh you König domestic works are absolute bliss, hun <3

Might I request some more domesticity with König x reader perhaps baking together? I could see this being absolutely adorable.

Cheers,

"Chocolate crepes"

You searched for anything throughout his pantry, mouth watering, stomach grumbling, and patience thinning. It had started as a small craving, small bits of chocolate that you wanted to indulge in. It was around eleven at night, your body was in desperate need of chocolate —something. Chocolate ice cream, chocolate cake, even a brownie would suffice right now but there was nothing remotely close.

“Shit” you mumbled to yourself. Seeing the pile of dirty dishes he had left in the sink, then a rattle in the background.

You heard the footsteps down the hall, thumping their way over. His face still swollen with sleep, his eyes barely opening up. He wore black sweats, his red-blonde hair sticking everywhere. One eye was rubbing sleep out of his eye, as the other rubbed his stomach.

“Are you alright? I can hear you slamming cabinets and drawers from the room. Could’ve sworn it was another burglar.”

There was a sheepish smile, growing at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m fine, I just need a midnight snack”

“A midnight snack? Well there’s plenty of cheese and salami from that board you made..”

The two of you had ordered multiple cheeses, salami, pepperoni, and prosciutto, to make a fancy board for dinner. The two of you laughed at the board being devoured before you could even make it to the dinner table.

“Not that kind of snack, like… a treat.”

His eyes perked up.

Treat was the “secret” word you two used to describe sweets. It was the funniest thing when you heard it from his mouth. A 6 foot 7 man calling a slice of cherry pie a treat.

His eyes widened, he had a special rule. Dedicated to the gym 6 out of the 7 days of the week, he had no sugar after 12pm, only on special occasions such as birthdays or anniversaries. You were tempting him, he had gone almost two weeks without sugar to really try and make his goal.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Chocolate”

“Oooooof you know you’re a bad influence.” Though it was enough to get the gears in his head moving.

He picked you up and set you on the island of the kitchen. Settling both hands around you, he asked,

“What kind of chocolate treat?”

You made eye contact with him, knowing that for sure if he wanted some sort of dessert, he was going to make it happen.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t find anything.”

“I was even hoping for some brownies?”

You had wanted anything. Oreos at this point would maybe make you feel better too.

He turned to you, playfully said in disgust

“a brownie? For a chocolate treat?”

He had turned around to get things out of the pantry. Flour, eggs, cornstarch, cocoa powder, butter, and milk. He brought out silver bowls, mixing together ingredients, and heating up a pan.

You stared at him, unsure of what he was making. It wasn’t chocolate, except for the cocoa powder so it threw you off guard. Sensing how confused you were he began talking.

“You know who taught me how to make crepes? My mom.”

“Really? Is that an Austrian thing?”

“No it’s French…” he smirked at you, sometimes you could be so clueless. As he began to pour the batter into the pan, he swirled it around, covering every surface of the pan, then flipped it immediately. The crepe had a few light brown spots on it, but for the most part was plain, almost undercooked. Though you didn’t want to nag, you just kept observing him listening to what he was saying.

“Mom used to make crepes for breakfast or sometimes as a small treat after dinner. My god, she used to add things like berries, chocolate, vanilla, caramel sauce, but my favorite was always chocolate.”

He continued adding the batter into the pan, flipping, then placing it on top of the other.

“So my mom, I think because my dad was very insecure about her weight/looks, she really limited herself to treats. She loved sweets. So she would trick herself into having a crep with as much powdered sugar, strawberries, and blueberries, then saying it was a small dessert.”

He looked at you, smiling, the memories of his mom were the best. He always smiled when he talked about his mom. Even when he told you about when they had a small fight, he would laugh about how stupid it was saying that they could only tiptoe around each other for 30 minutes until one of them apologized.

He finished making enough crepes making the stack of at least three pancakes. It took you by surprise when you noticed how many he actually made. He went into the fridge and got out heavy cream.

“This one birthday, for some reason my dad didn’t want to buy a cake saying that 12 years old is too old to celebrate birthdays. So she scrambled up this chocolate crepe cake.”

He turned around and grabbed out the sugar, heavy cream, and cocoa powder. He placed it all inside a bowl, grabbed a whisk and began to whisk away the ingredients. It soon formed a thick, chocolate paste.

He could see you about to ask the question –

“Lots of practice, my mom broke her hand mixer so we took turns beating this mixture together.”

He then went over to the drawer, grabbed a spoon out, scooping some of the mixture out for you to taste.

“What do you think?”

“Tastes great.”

He smiled, then turned to the small stack of crepes he made, and began to evenly spread a thin layer of the chocolate cream on each one. He proceeded to do this with each one, until you saw what he was doing. He had formed a small cake, with thin layers of chocolate cream. He spread the remaining bit on the top of the last crepe, then sprinkled cocoa powder on the rest.

He grabbed a knife, cut a big piece, then handed it to you. He leaned on the counter, watching you taste it.

It was something so simple, that had felt so familiar and satisfied your craving.

“Wow” you said as you watched how he completed a small chocolate cake right before your eyes. “Holy shit this is so good!”

He laughed, finishing up his last bite, then offering you another slice.

“No thanks, I’m pretty much stuffed.”

“Good.” he smiled at you, then wiped the chocolate powder on the bottom of your lip. He eyed the pile of dishes he forgot, trying to sneak out of them.

“Well since I did cook, I think it’s best you get the dishes.”

#könig #call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig call of duty

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hauntedestheart · 10 months ago

Text

Security Footage - Bodyhoppers

One of Trevor & Andy’s misadventures, a more detailed account of the sort described in Security Measures - Hoppers

This was the bar Paolo always went to when he was looking for a hookup, and he'd hit the jackpot tonight with this guy. Andy, as he'd introduced himself, was a tall drink of chocolate milk with a pretty face and a killer body who seemed very into himself (who could blame him?) and very interested in getting out of there with Paolo... and Paolo was thinking that he just might let him.

They'd been chatting for about twenty minutes, the obligatory idle small talk that allowed them both to pretend they were interested in each other as people rather than just warm bodies, but Paolo's patience was wearing thin and he was spending less time looking into Andy's deep brown eyes and more time looking at the deep crease between his pecs. Andy was talking about some kind of video game when Paolo chanced another glance, and when he looked back up, he found Andy looking at him with a knowing smirk.

"You're checking me out," he said, a hint of smugness in his voice like he knew he was hot, and got pleasure out of being admired- Paolo found it incredibly attractive.

"I've been eyeing you up since the second you sat down and you know it," Paolo fired back, not a trace of shame in his voice. His eyes flicked up and down Andy's sculpted form. "Come on. Look at you."

"Look at me? If you insist..." Andy tugged the hem of his shirt up for a moment, exposing the abs Paolo had been hoping lurked beneath the fabric, and Paolo licked his lips. Andy, for his part, seemed equally delighted by the sight of his tight midsection and was still staring at them as he popped his next question. "Damn, I look good! Are you maybe interested in helping me see what this body can do?"

Paolo grinned- finally.

He leaned forwards and closed the gap between the two of them, pressing their lips together into a deep kiss, sticking his tongue into the other man's mouth to get a taste of what was in store for the rest of the evening. Andy groaned into his mouth, his deep voice sending shivers down Paolo's spine, and he yanked his partner even closer with a sort of roughness, like he didn't know his own strength too well, but Paolo, swept up in the moment, seized on the momentum and leaped onto Andy's lap. He straddled the hunk's strong thighs and Andy's hips bucked up instinctively in response; Paolo felt an almost comically large mass of flesh grind into the seat of his pants and press into the crack of his ass.

"Jackpot," he heard Andy mutter, and Paolo couldn't disagree- he was even more excited by the prospect of a hookup now that he knew Andy's private parts were just as impressive as his public ones.

Speaking of public, both men seemed aware that they were making a rather brazen display of themselves in a public setting, but neither seemed to care. They were far from the first couple to be spotted making out at the counter of a gay bar- Paolo had even heard rumors that management encouraged it because it "set a good tone" for the establishment. Two hot studs getting physical for all to see... what was there for anyone to complain about?

Because of this, it took Paolo a bit by surprise when he heard someone clear their throat and felt them tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. He growled, more than a little upset at such a hot make out session getting interrupted, but he pulled away from Andy and turned his attention to the newcomer- a skinny young Latino guy who was staring at the two of them with bemusement.

"Hey, I'm Trevor," the stranger announced, giving a shy little wave. "Sorry to interrupt!"

"Enjoying the show?" Paolo gave the interloper a withering glare, placing one hand on Andy's firm chest as a way to clearly mark his territory, and as a reward he felt Andy's big hand snake around him and pinch his bottom. Trevor glanced down at the hand and raised his eyebrow, and Paolo sneered in the most bitchy manner possible. "As you can see, we're kinda in the middle of something, so..."

"Of course," Trevor said through gritted teeth, then he met Paolo's eyes and gave him a dry smile. "I just need you to know that the guy you're sitting on is actually already taken."

The young man called Trevor lifted up his phone and held it out to display a photo of him and Andy together, Andy's big arms wrapped around his midsection as he leaned down to press a kiss into the top of his partner's head, and then he flicked his thumb to swipe through several other photos of the two in similarly romantic positions. Paolo noted that each photo was timestamped, showing a variety of dates from over a year ago to as recent as the week before. Alarm bells started going off in his head so he glanced back at Andy, who seemed just as surprised as what was on the screen as he was.

"Oh shit," Andy muttered, looking distinctively guilty, but he didn't tell the guy to get lost, which confirmed to Paolo that the two probably did have some form of relationship. Well, fuck.

In light of new information, Paolo found himself struggling with indecision. On the hand, he was horny as hell and the fat bulge he was sitting on let him know that he wasn't the only one. But on the other hand, Paolo was not a homewrecker and acting as someone's side piece was so tacky! But on another hand, he didn't know the full situation and if Andy was into it, who was he to say no? But on a fourth hand, getting involved with a guy whose "boyfriend" was willing to make a scene in the middle of a public bar seemed to be a questionable choice. But also, one of his real life hands was currently on Andy's massive bicep and it felt like pure sex so maybe the trouble was worth it?

Fortunately, Trevor seemed to read Paolo's thoughts and decided to make up his mind for him.

"Look, I'm going to level with you-" Trevor began, and there was a somewhat bored look on his face as if the interaction were more akin to customer service than anything else. He pointed at Andy, who was still gaping at him like a fish, and he shook his head. "I know he's hot and you're probably thinking of risking it for him but there is some weird stuff going on here you don't want to get in the middle of. Move on."

He stared at Paolo with an even, steady gaze, and something about his confidence was incredibly unnerving- it made Paolo think that despite his small stature, Trevor was the kind of guy who would cause a lot of trouble if he had to.

Fuck it, Paolo thought to himself, and he reluctantly slipped off of Andy's lap and shot the man an apologetic glance. "This is getting too weird for me, I'm out. Hit me up sometime if you ever work out... this."

Andy muttered a half-hearted protest but he let his hands fall from Paolo's waist, allowing the other boy to slip away from him, and Paolo took one last longing look at the sexy stranger before he shuffled off in search of a safer conquest for the evening.

Trevor slipped into the empty stool he'd left behind and flagged down the bartender, glancing sidelong at his boyfriend before setting his phone down on the counter and digging into his pocket for his walled. An uncomfortable silence settled in and Andy winced awkwardly- one hand came up to rub the back of his neck as he searched for words.

"Hey baby, I can explain, I was just-"

Trevor cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You can stop there, I know you're not him." He ignored the other man's dumbfounded expression in favor of flashing the bartender his ID and setting some cash on the counter. "Can I get a hard cider? And get him a rum and ginger ale with a splash of lemon please, it's his favorite."

The bodyhopper, now exposed, swore under his breath- he thought this had been one of his cleanest snatches yet, the dude fit him like a glove, but apparently he hadn't done as well as he'd thought. He should have known that snagging a hunk like Andy on a Saturday would be too good to be true. With a sigh, he slumped over the counter and lolled his head sideways to stare at the other boy.

"Fuck, did you see me hop him?" he asked, double checking to see that the bartender wasn't nearby and they could speak freely.

"No," Trevor shook his head and gazed at the back of the bar, idly studying the assortment of bottles lined up against the wall. "But when I got back from the bathroom and Andy was gone I kinda figured that something was up." He turned and wagged a finger at the body hopper inside of his boyfriend's body, almost like he was chastising a disappointing student. "You were on the right track taking him to a different bar- smart to leave the scene of the crime -but disappearing without giving some kind of excuse to the bartender or sending a text was a mistake. Leaving is one thing but leaving without an explanation raises questions."

"Damn, you're right," The hopper grimaced at his rookie mistake- he'd been so excited to be inside such a handsome body that he'd forgotten to cover his tracks. Speaking of which... "How did you track me down?"

"Location services are on," Trevor tapped the back of his phone. "I always know where Andy is."

"You just track your boyfriend's location all the time?" The hopper's eyebrow raised a little judgmentally. "That's kinda creepy."

"Creepy? I guess it kinda is," Trevor's tone was as dry as a desert. "Boy, I sure would hate to feel like I'm doing anything too... let's just say invasive, to him."

Trevor gave the hopper a pointed look, and the hopper slouched a bit and shuffled in his seat awkwardly. Touché.

The bartender arrived with perfect timing, depositing Trevor's order in front of him, and the young man nodded his thanks. He grabbed the bottle of cider for himself then slid a glass full of pale amber liquid across the counter towards the hopper, who eyed it with confusion.

"Here, try this," Trevor said after a sip of his own beverage, nodding towards the glass. "Ginger ale, lemon, rum. Andy prefers it to beer."

The hopper thought it sounded like a strange combination but, not wanting to be rude, he sat up and took a small sip. When the concoction hit his tastebuds, he groaned.

"Oh my god, that's good," he licked the spare drops off of his lips, savoring the tangy flavor, and Trevor shot him a look that said I told you so.

"Yeah, the big guy swears by it," Trevor said, referring to the real Andy, and he shook his head and gave a fond little smile. "It takes like cleaning fluid to everybody else but it's magic on his tongue."

Then the smile dropped from his face as Trevor adopted a serious expression and clasped his hands in front of him, turning in his stool to face the hopper occupying his boyfriend's body. Instinctively, the hopper sat up straighter.

"Anyways, now that formalities are out of the way, let's talk business," he began, speaking with a firm, steady voice. "As you've probably gathered I'm rather fond of the guy you've hopped tonight and I don't take kindly to people who try to use him, so here's what's gonna happen: I'm gonna sit right here next to you all night and chase off any guy who comes close. If you try to leave, I will follow you. After a long night of nothing, you're gonna get bored and leave us alone. Or, you could skip all that, just leave now, and maybe salvage the rest of your evening inside of someone else."

The hopper was about to argue (he'd finally managed to hop a guy like this and now he was being told to give it up?) but a second look at his host's boyfriend caused him to close his mouth. Getting involved in a situation with too many strings was a rookie hopper mistake, and he'd already made too many of those for one evening. Still, the hopper glanced down at his stolen cock which (somehow) was still hard in his jeans and he grimaced.

"So you're really just gonna make me sit here all night with a boner?" he whined, flexing his ass to make the tent in his pants jump a bit, which Trevor seemed unamused by.

"Yup," Trevor said flatly, popping his lips on the final "p" sound. He crossed his arms. "It's a nice dick and I'm in charge of keeping it safe."

"Damn it, I thought I was gonna get laid tonight!" The hopper threw his hands in the air and bowed his head, giving it a good natured shake. "But you win, I know when I'm beaten and I accept defeat." He glanced at the still full glass on the table in front of him. "Can I at least finish this drink first? It tastes so good with his mouth."

Trevor let out a puff of breath and the hopper could visibly see tension he hadn't realized was there seeping out of him as he relaxed back into his barstool- it took guts to face down a hopper, and the relief he experienced at his success was palpable. Trevor eyed the hopper, then the clock, then he shrugged.

"I suppose that's fair," he said, and then he lifted up his bottle and extended it towards his companion. "Cheers."

"Cheers!" The hopper clinked his glass against Trevor's bottle and took a small sip- he intended to stretch this one drink out for as long as possible so he could extend his stay inside of Andy's delectable body. Even if he didn't get to use it, just getting to sit there in it was a treat in itself. Trevor raised an eyebrow at him, so the hopper took another, slightly larger sip, then changed the subject.

"You're being awfully chill about this," the hopper remarked, and he eyed Trevor up and down- he hadn't thought much of the other boy at first but now that he looked closer, he could see the appeal in the boy's sweet face and delicate proportions. "You a hopper too? Nice choice of vessel, you wear the whole 'little brown twink with the heart of a bulldog thing' well. He's not bad looking either."

"Uh, thanks I guess?" Trevor said awkwardly, his cheeks suddenly a shade darker. He looked away and fiddled with the label of his cider. "But I'm just a regular human, this is my real body."

"Oh!" The hopper blinked and took a big swig of his drink to cover his surprise. "Shit, and there I was just talking about you like you're a Halloween costume. It's a hopper thing, don't take it personally." He paused. "Or do, I guess, if you like the compliments." He paused again, feeling like there was one more thing he should add. "And, uh, sorry for hopping your boyfriend I guess."

"Don't worry about it, happens all the time," Trevor chuckled bitterly, running a hand absently though his hair while the other hand gripped the counter tighter than was strictly necessary. "The fact that you're still wearing clothes and didn't try to punch me in the face and bolt off the second I showed up already puts this in the top half of the encounters the two of us have had."

The hopper whistled. "Sounds like there's a story there."

"There is," Trevor looked a bit guilty and he stared up at the ceiling, squinting his eyes shut like he was recalling a painful memory. "I was, uh, actually the first one to snatch his body with some random spell I found on the internet."

"Oh really?" The hopper eyed Trevor with a newfound sense of respect. "That's ballsy for a human but I can't say I blame you, this guy is a nice vessel. I thought for sure your boyfriend was gonna be my golden ticket for tonight, like, look at him!" The hopper lifted both of Andy's arms up into an impressive double bicep flex and gave an exaggerated smolder that drew a laugh out of Trevor. The hopper relaxed a bit and leaned back in his stool, arms crossed behind his head because he liked the way it made those same biceps bulge. Might as well enjoy them while I still have them.

"Man, if you hadn't come along I was gonna be rolling in dick tonight," he mused, running a hand over the strong line of his jaw and admiring his smooth caramel skin. "Nobody could turn this face down."

"Yeah, I'm rather fond of it," Trevor said wistfully, staring at Andy's body with a bit of a sad expression on his face, and suddenly the hopper felt a twinge of guilt he usually didn't experience after snatching someone. But then Trevor shook his head and furrowed his brow. "But you don't need to look like that to find someone- I'm living proof of that. I still managed to net Andy looking just like this."

"Shut up, you're cute," the hopper said, rolling Andy's eyes. "But seriously though, the thing about being a hopper is you get to try on all these different faces and forms and it kinda starts to give you an inferiority complex. My true body is around the same age as this guy but like, he's made out of bricks and I'm made out of straw, if you get what I'm saying. Nothing wrong with wanting a little upgrade every now and then!"

"Oh yeah?" Trevor's eyes flicked up and down the hopper's body- he knew it well, of course, but it was always a sight to see. He licked his lips. "What's your favorite part?"

The hopper blinked. "Huh?"

"I wanna what your favorite part about being in my boyfriend's body is," Trevor clarified, his fingers toying idly with the neck of his bottle of cider. For a second the hopper thought the boy might be nervous, but this seemed to be something else. "I'm not gonna judge, I was in there myself once! I just think it would be interesting to... compare notes."

"Well he's-" The hopper stumbled over his words for a second, not entirely sure if a joke was being played on him, but Trevor's big brown eyes stared at him expectantly, so he continued in earnest. The answer was easy anyways.

"He's jacked, you know?" The hopper shrugged and shook his shoulders out a bit, putting the full broadness of Andy's shoulders on display, and he tilted his head down so he could watch the way his host's hard earned physique rippled visibly beneath his clothes as he moved. With delight, he pushed out every muscle that he could until he felt so big that he was worried he might burst. "Like holy fuck, is he ripped! This guy is jacked from head to toe in the best way possible- because sometimes you go for a really muscular guy and he turns out to be some roided up gym rat so you wind up feeling like a dried out piece of beef jerky, but this guy is juicy."

He relaxed a bit and leaned back in his chair, wrapping one of his hands around one of his thick thighs and squeezing to feel the firm handful of meat giving way beneath his fingers. He shuddered- he'd taken over a good number of bodies in his time, and none of them had legs like this.

"His body has a bit of a bounce to it, you know? And I like that, I like that I can feel him move when I move." He paused, almost embarrassed about what he was going to say next, and he took a big swig from his drink for courage. His eyes remained trained on the glass as he continued, but he still felt Trevor's eyes drilling into the side of his face. As he shifted in his seat, he felt his stolen glutes roll beneath him. "But the first thing I noticed about him when I spotted him across that bar was his giant cakes and they don't disappoint, there's almost a kind of luxury in getting to sit on a pillowy ass like this."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean..." Trevor murmured, blatantly staring down at the aforementioned butt, and one of his hands drifted absently down to his lap. The hopper raised an eyebrow. "What else do you like?"

"Is this..." The hopper glanced around the room to check that no one was listening, but then leaned in closer anyways. "Dude, is this turning you on? Are you getting off on this?"

"Maybe a little bit," Trevor shrugged, his cheeks flushing dark brown, and he hunched his shoulders defensively. "What? It's not often that the people who snatch Andy's body are interested in doing much talking. Indulge me for a minute."

The hopper was all too happy to oblige, relishing the opportunity to speak openly like this with someone else about his experience. He puffed his chest out, feeling the natural swagger that came with being in such a studly body, and continued.

"I like how hot he is. I like that people's heads turn when I walk by them, and they can't keep their eyes off of his body because even when he's dressed head to toe you can still see these big fucking muscles busting out of his clothes, like this body is to be contained."

He leaned in closer to Trevor and lowered his voice, bringing Andy's tone down to a deep rumble. "And I like just sitting here knowing that I'm probably the biggest guy in the room. You know," his hand slipped under the bar and closed around his crotch. "with this fucking thing your boy is packing... that's a hell of an ego boost."

He squeezed tight, unable to hold back a little groan as he felt what was hidden inside of his pants, and he thinks he heard Trevor make a little noise too. His face grew hot and he took another swig to cool down, savoring the taste of the golden mix, and when the hopper set his drink down on the counter he heard it clink- glancing at it, he realized that there was nothing left in the glass but ice. He reluctantly let go of Andy's swollen cock and ran his hand down his face instead, knowing now that his time was up.

Trevor cleared his throat and brought his hands back up the countertop, taking another sip of cider and then gesturing with the bottle towards the empty glass. "You finished your drink."

"Seems like it," the hopper said with a sigh, then clapped his hands together decisively. "Well, a deal's a deal, I guess I'll get out of your hair now."

Trevor's lips quirked up at the side and he glanced up at Andy's wooly hair. "Technically his hair."

"Hardy har har," the hopper droned, shooting Trevor a dry look. Unable to resist, he gave Andy's pecs one last rub (seriously, he thought, this guy has an incredible rack) and bounced them a few times for the road. "Damn, and I was really hoping to get laid tonight!" The hopper laughed and shook his head. "But it seems like you two have a good thing going and I don't wanna mess with that."

He gestured with his thumbs towards the privacy of the bathrooms. "I'd better-"

"Do it right here," Trevor interrupted him, and the hopper froze.

Now that was a risky proposition- only the most daring of hoppers would do it in the open unless they were absolutely sure they wouldn't get caught. But... the hopper glanced around and it seemed that no one was giving the two of them much attention. And if Trevor and his boyfriend had gone through this before, they were unlikely to make a fuss, which meant even less risk...

"No one is watching," Trevor egged him on. "Come on, it'd be hot."

Unable to resist the temptation to do something a bit naughty for once (well, naughtier than usual for a hopper) the hopper slipped out of his stool and rose to his feet slowly, doing his best not to draw too many eyes to himself. He took a deep breath, taking note of the way the air made his massive chest expand, and he still thought it was a damn shame that he wouldn't get to take such a lovely body out for more of a joyride. After one last survey of the room to make sure the coast was clear, he closed his eyes and-

"Wait," Trevor interrupted again, and the hopper's eyes flicked open. What more could there be? he wondered as he stared at Trevor, who looked at him with a coy expression. "Before you go, what's your name?"

"Oh!" the hopper said, a bit surprised. Asking a hopper their real name was something of a faux pas, but Trevor seemed nice so for some reason he decided to answer the question honestly. "Dante. My name's Dante."

Trevor extended his hand. "Well, it'll be nice to meet you Dante."

Dante smiled and reached out, returning the handshake, and then suddenly it was Andy's hand that Trevor was holding.

"What the hell?" Andy blinked rapidly and shook his head out as if trying to physically chase the confusion away, and his hand instinctively pulled away from Trevor's in confusion and groped blindly for support. He found the counter of the bar and grabbed onto it, lifting his head and searching the room wildly as he gathered his surroundings, but when his eyes recognized his boyfriend he instantly relaxed.

"Hey Andy," Trevor said meekly, and he didn't have time to get another word out before Andy crashed into him and enveloped him in a great big bear hug. Trevor grunted, because he was being squeezed a bit tight, but he rubbed his boyfriend's back to comfort him anyways- Andy was always a bit clingy with his boyfriend after regaining control of his body, finding that the other boy's presence helped him to feel grounded in himself once more. (And Trevor needed a bit of reassurance as well sometimes.)

"Shit, Trev," the bigger boy groaned, his face buried in the wavy hair atop Trevor's head. He breathed in the familiar scent and focused on that instead of his disorientation. "Did I let it happen again?"

"You did get snatched," Trevor gave two firm claps on Andy's back (the sign that he was running out of air) and Andy released him, pulling back to gaze into his partner's eyes, and Trevor smiled at him reassuringly. "But everything is okay now. Nothing happened."

Unnoticed by the two lovebirds, a Dante was sitting in the stool that had formerly hosted Andy's body and watching the tender proceedings with mild interest. He had to admit that the pair made for a very cute couple, which made him feel he'd made the right choice in letting Andy go... but that didn't make his balls any less blue after a night of striking out, and seeing two hot young college boys getting physical right in front of him wasn't getting his mood up in the right way.

Feeling a bit dejected all of the sudden, Dante snatched up the glass that he had been drinking from before and upended it to his lips, letting the last few drops of alcoholic concoction slide into his mouth. He winced at the bitter taste.

"Shit, he was right," he said out loud. "It's only good with his tongue."

Trevor glanced over at the visitor and his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of what Dante looked like in his real body- a black man with skin a few shades darker than Andy's who seemed just a few years older than the boy as well, an average build and median in height between Andy and Trevor.

He was, Trevor noted, not unpleasant to look at.

"Andy, this is Dante," Trevor directed his boyfriend's attention towards the hopper, who gave Andy a nod. Andy nodded back. "He hopped you earlier tonight but he's very graciously decided to step out of you before he could cause any trouble."

"Really?" Andy breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Dante. "Thanks man, that's really cool of you."

Dante sniffed and gave a casual shrug but Andy, apparently unsatisfied with a simple verbal thanks, stepped closer to Dante. For a moment the hopper was worried he was about to get clocked, but Andy just stuck his hands out and pulled the other man in for a firm bro-hug, and the two clapped each other on the back.

(Dante let his hands linger for a moment on the other boy's back and damn, his body felt just as good from the outside. Maybe he should have tried harder to fuck someone using it.)

"Don't worry man, it's nothing," he said after they'd pulled apart, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Always down to help a guy out."

"Sick t-shirt by the way," Andy's eyes flicked down to the Trials of Osiris top that Dante had picked out for the evening, and he gave a nod of approval. "You game?"

"More than I should," Dante admitted, and Andy let out a big laugh. Dante gave a little snort and rolled his eyes. "Dead game."

"Dead game," Andy repeated, and Trevor looked a little bit lost but smiled and nodded anyways.

"This is my good luck shirt," Dante explained, feeling a bit more at ease around the duo now that he knew they didn't bare him any ill-will. "It doesn't really matter what I wear when I go out because I- well, you know, I'm gonna be wearing whatever my host was wearing." He coughed awkwardly. "So I like to wear this one."

"Seems like you two are hitting it off, that's cute," Trevor glanced between the two of them with a coy look on his face. He leaned over and draped himself across Andy's shoulder, his smaller frame fitting nicely onto his boyfriend's sizeable bulk, and he rested his chin by Andy's ear. "Hey, Andy, you know how we went out tonight so we could find a guy that we could, you know..." his voice trailed off. "Try that thing with?"

Andy tilted his head to the side and looked bewildered for a moment. "Yeah? So you still wanna find someone to have a-" Then the switch flicked in his head and he perked up. "Oh! With him?"

He turned to face Dante and looked the young man up and down, and Dante shuffled uncomfortably- he was a hopper, he wasn't used to having his real body looked at like this. But apparently Andy liked what he saw because he placed a hand on Trevor's shoulder and squeezed tight. "Yeah, yeah I'd be down for that."

Dante glanced between the couple, who were both eyeing him up in a strange way, and his eyebrow raised. "What are you guys talking about?"

"You know how you wanted to get laid tonight?" Trevor asked, squeezing in closer to his boyfriend and tracing one finger against his chest in a motion that landed somewhere between casual seductive. He looked at Dante expectantly. "What if that was still an option?"

#male possession #Series: Security #Idk why this is 5k words with a three act structure #didn't go into it with super much of a plan and was caught off guard by the ending

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