#jasmine and vanilla candles

[organic-artisanal-hrisikesh]

Jasmine, often referred to as the "queen of fragrance," has a rich history dating back to its origins in tropical and subtropical regions of Asia, the Middle East, and Africa. For centuries, its fragrant blossoms have been cherished in garlands, perfumes, teas, and woven into cultural traditions.

[existingingrey]

It was not a glass of 🥛.

This will help you calm down.

백공죽 Expanded Version.

[astra-ravana]

Magick Oil Recipes

This is going to be another long post but here are various basic magick oil recipes based on various traditions, including hoodoo, witchcraft, ceremonial magick, and chaos magick. These oils can be used for anointing candles, tools, sigils, spells, and personal empowerment. Keep in mind these are simple recipes that reflect the necessary ingredients needed. So, do your own research, experiment, and create your own powerful recipes over time.

I do recognize some well known oils are not on my list and I plan to add more here in the future. If you have a request for an oil, just comment or DM me. 🖤

Prosperity & Money Oils💰

⛤Money Drawing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Cinnamon (wealth & attraction)

• Bay leaf (success & prosperity)

• Basil (steady income)

• Patchouli (physical money)

• Carrier oil (olive, grapeseed, or almond)

Effects: Attracts money, business success, financial stability.

⛤Fast Luck Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Wintergreen (speed)

• Cinnamon (attraction)

• Five-finger grass (luck in all endeavors)

• Gold flakes (wealth energy)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sunflower)

Effects: Brings rapid good fortune in gambling, business, and unexpected financial gains.

⛤Wealth & Abundance Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Frankincense (spiritual wealth)

• Myrrh (long-term prosperity)

• Bergamot (success in business)

• Bayberry (attracts material wealth)

• Carrier oil (avocado or coconut)

Effects: Ensures financial stability, long-term prosperity, and steady income.

⛤Business Success Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Bergamot (success in money matters)

• Cinnamon (financial attraction)

• Bay leaf (victory)

• Chamomile (prosperity)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed or jojoba)

Effects: Attracts customers, strengthens business growth, and enhances career opportunities.

⛤Road to Prosperity Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Abre Camino (removes financial blockages)

• Basil (wealth and abundance)

• Orange peel (good fortune)

• Ginger (fast action)

• Carrier oil (sunflower)

Effects: Clears obstacles to financial growth and opens doors for wealth opportunities.

⛤Money Magnet Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Lodestone chips (money attraction)

• Patchouli (physical cash manifestation)

• Vetiver (long-term financial stability)

• Frankincense (spiritual prosperity)

• Carrier oil (avocado or olive)

Effects: Strengthens money-drawing spells, attracts financial stability, and amplifies manifestation work.

Love & Attraction Oils🌹

⛤Love Drawing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Rose petals (romantic love)

• Jasmine (sensual attraction)

• Vanilla (sweetening relationships)

• Patchouli (lust & passion)

• Carrier oil (sweet almond)

Effects: Attracts love, deepens romance, strengthens existing relationships.

⛤Come to Me Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Red rose (love)

• Catnip (draws lovers in)

• Cardamom (passionate encounters)

• Orange peel (joyful attraction)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Draws a specific person to you in love or relationships.

⛤Passion & Lust Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Cinnamon (heat & desire)

• Ginger (sexual stimulation)

• Ylang-ylang (aphrodisiac)

• Hibiscus (erotic attraction)

• Carrier oil (sesame or coconut)

Effects: Ignites passion, strengthens sexual energy, increases attraction.

⛤Sweetening Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Honey (love and attraction)

• Vanilla bean (sensual sweetness)

• Lavender (peaceful romance)

• Orange blossom (happiness in love)

• Carrier oil (sweet almond)

Effects: Sweetens relationships, encourages loving communication, and softens tensions between partners.

⛤Commitment Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Rose petals (devotion and fidelity)

• Myrrh (sacred bonds)

• Chamomile (harmony in marriage)

• Jasmine (romantic attraction)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed or olive)

Effects: Strengthens commitment, encourages proposals, and deepens long-term love bonds.

⛤Irresistible Attraction Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Catnip (draws in lovers)

• Cinnamon (sexual energy)

• Hibiscus (lust and beauty)

• Ylang-Ylang (magnetic sensuality)

• Carrier oil (jojoba)

Effects: Enhances personal magnetism, boosts charm, and makes the wearer irresistible to others.

Protection & Banishing Oils🛡️

⛤Fiery Wall of Protection Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Dragon’s blood resin (spiritual shielding)

• Frankincense (purification)

• Black pepper (banishing)

• Rue (warding off evil)

• Carrier oil (olive or castor)

Effects: Creates a powerful barrier against negativity, psychic attacks, and curses.

⛤Banishing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Wormwood (drives away spirits)

• Black pepper (protective force)

• Lemon peel (removes negativity)

• Cayenne pepper (fast action)

• Carrier oil (castor or olive)

Effects: Removes unwanted influences, spirits, and toxic energy.

⛤Uncrossing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Hyssop (spiritual cleansing)

• Lemon verbena (purification)

• Eucalyptus (removes hexes)

• Camphor (clears stagnant energy)

• Carrier oil (coconut or mineral)

Effects: Breaks hexes, jinxes, and bad luck.

⛤Evil Eye Protection Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Rue (warding off negative energy)

• Black tourmaline chips (protection)

• Bay leaves (shielding)

• Frankincense (spiritual purification)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Protects against jealousy, gossip, and the evil eye.

⛤Reversal Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Black salt (repels negativity)

• Lemon (purification)

• Eucalyptus (removes curses)

• Agrimony (reverses hexes)

• Carrier oil (coconut)

Effects: Reverses curses, jinxes, and psychic attacks back to the sender.

⛤Guardian Spirit Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Angelica root (guardian energy)

• White sage (spiritual defense)

• Lavender (calm protective energy)

• Myrrh (ancestral guidance)

• Carrier oil (jojoba)

Effects: Invokes spirit guides, strengthens personal energy shields, and offers divine protection.

Power, Manifestation, & Influence Oils🙌

⛤Crown of Success Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Bay leaf (triumph)

• Frankincense (spiritual mastery)

• High John root (power & influence)

• Sandalwood (leadership)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sunflower)

Effects: Increases success in career, academics, and personal achievements.

⛤Commanding Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Licorice root (domination)

• Calamus root (persuasion)

• Bay leaf (authority)

• Ginger (forcefulness)

• Carrier oil (olive or castor)

Effects: Enhances personal power, influences others, and asserts dominance.

⛤Road Opener Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Abre Camino (removes blockages)

• Lemon (clears obstacles)

• Orange peel (brings new opportunities)

• Ginger (adds momentum)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sweet almond)

Effects: Removes obstacles, opens paths for success, clears stagnation.

⛤Mastery Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Frankincense (spiritual elevation)

• Myrrh (wisdom and insight)

• High John the Conqueror root (mastery and control)

• Bay leaf (success)

• Carrier oil (almond)

Effects: Enhances personal power, strengthens leadership abilities, and aids in mastering skills.

⛤Psychic Domination Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Calamus root (persuasion)

• Licorice root (control and authority)

• Clove (mental influence)

• Ginger (power boost)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Strengthens mental influence, persuasion, and domination over others.

⛤Success & Victory Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Bay laurel (winning energy)

• Bergamot (luck and success)

• Frankincense (high achievement)

• Dragon’s blood (empowerment)

• Carrier oil (sunflower)

Effects: Ensures success in competitions, exams, legal matters, and career goals.

Cleansing & Spiritual Oils🔮

⛤Florida Water Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Lemon (purification)

• Lavender (calming spiritual energy)

• Orange blossom (uplifting)

• Rosemary (clearing negativity)

• Carrier oil (alcohol base or sunflower)

Effects: Used for spiritual cleansing, aura clearing, and purification.

⛤Psychic Vision Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Mugwort (enhances visions)

• Star anise (clairvoyance)

• Lavender (calms the mind)

• Wormwood (opens third eye)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed or olive)

Effects: Enhances psychic abilities, intuition, and lucid dreaming.

⛤Spirit Communication Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Myrrh (spirit world connection)

• Dittany of Crete (manifestation of spirits)

• Mugwort (enhances mediumship)

• Sandalwood (deepens trance states)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or coconut)

Effects: Aids in contacting spirits, ancestors, and guides.

⛤Divine Blessing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Frankincense (connection to divine beings)

• Lavender (spiritual peace)

• Rose (angelic guidance)

• White sage (cleansing)

• Carrier oil (coconut or jojoba)

Effects: Invokes celestial guidance, brings blessings, and strengthens spiritual connections.

⛤Lunar Empowerment Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Jasmine (moon magic)

• Mugwort (dream work and divination)

• Sandalwood (spiritual attunement)

• Silver flakes (moon energy)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Enhances lunar magick, psychic abilities, and dream work.

⛤Elemental Balancing Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Fire: Cinnamon (passion)

• Water: Blue lotus (intuition)

• Earth: Patchouli (stability)

• Air: Lavender (mental clarity)

• Carrier oil (almond)

Effects: Balances elemental energies, aligns chakras, and stabilizes emotions.

⛤Black Cat Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Patchouli (attraction)

• Black Pepper (protection)

• Mugwort (psychic insight)

• Black cat hair(supernatural power)

• Carrier oil (almond or jojoba)

Effects: Used for protection, luck, supernatural guidance, and enhancing one’s personal power.

⛤Infernal Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Dragon’s blood (spirit manifestation)

• Cinnamon (energy amplification)

• Wormwood (spirit communication)

• Sulfur powder (demonic energy)

Effects: Enhances spirit work, opens pathways to demonic entities, and strengthens the connection during rituals or meditations.

⛤Spider Oil⛤

Ingredients:

• Spider web (weaving fate)

• Mullein (spirit communication)

• Clove (psychic enhancement)

• Black walnut husk (transformation)

• Carrier oil (almond or olive)

Effects: Ideal for manifestation, divination, shadow work, and spiritual wisdom.

Ways to Use Magickal Oils

• Anoint Candles – Dress ritual candles to enhance spellwork.

• Wear on Skin – Apply to pulse points (if skin-safe) to absorb its energy.

• Anoint Tools & Talismans – Charge magical items.

• Add to Mojo Bags & Spell Jars – Boost potency of spellwork.

• Drop into Bathwater – For personal empowerment and ritual cleansing.

• Mark Doorways & Altars – To create an energetic boundary.

Baneful Oils

Additionally, here are the basic recipes for various baneful oils. Always use caution and consideration. These oils are meant for experienced practitioners who understand their consequences and ethical implications.

General Hexing & Cursing Oils☠️

⛧Black Arts Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Asafoetida (baneful energy)

• Sulfur (curse activation)

• Black pepper (powerful hexing)

• Graveyard dirt (spiritual influence)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral)

Effects: Used for hexing, cursing, and dark workings.

⛧War Water Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Iron rust (conflict energy)

• Cayenne pepper (aggression)

• Black mustard seed (chaos)

• Spanish moss (binding)

• Carrier oil (swamp water infusion or vinegar base)

Effects: Used for enemy work, destruction magick, and revenge.

⛧Hot Foot Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Cayenne pepper (drives enemies away)

• Black pepper (banishing)

• Sulfur (removes unwanted people)

• Graveyard dirt (finality)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Forces someone to leave, drives away enemies, removes toxic individuals.

⛧Devil’s Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Sulfur (destruction)

• Black pepper (banishing)

• Graveyard dirt (spiritual energy manipulation)

• Asafoetida (intensifies dark workings)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Used in cursing, binding enemies, and increasing dark magick potency.

⛧Chaos Magick Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Uranium glass (radioactive power symbolism)

• Mugwort (visionary energy)

• Peppermint (mental stimulation)

• Dragon’s blood (amplification)

• Carrier oil (coconut or jojoba)

Effects: Strengthens chaos magick rituals, assists in reality shifting, and enhances experimental spellwork.

⛧Justice Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Devil’s claw root (punishment energy)

• Black mustard seed (confusion)

• Red pepper flakes (aggression)

• War water (conflict magic)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Ensures justice, punishes wrongdoers, and intensifies karmic spells.

⛧Black Hex Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Black mustard seed (confusion and discord)

• Asafoetida (banishment and curse amplification)

• Wormwood (spiritual torment)

• Black pepper (aggression and conflict)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Brings misfortune, causes confusion, and weakens an enemy’s defenses.

⛧Jinx Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Poppy seeds (mental fog and bad luck)

• Sulfur (destruction and decay)

• Vandal root (psychic disruption)

• Red chili flakes (suffering)

• Carrier oil (olive or grapeseed)

Effects: Weakens an enemy’s luck, creates obstacles, and disrupts personal and financial stability.

⛧Graveyard Curse Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Graveyard dirt (spirit assistance)

• Myrrh (ancestral energy)

• Hemlock (poisonous influence)

• Blackthorn/locust (cursing and dark magic)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral oil)

Effects: Calls upon spirits of the dead to enact vengeance and haunt enemies.

Domination & Manipulation Oils✊

⛧Domination Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Licorice root (control and persuasion)

• Calamus root (mental dominance)

• Clove (commanding power)

• Dragon’s blood (intensification)

• Carrier oil (jojoba or sunflower)

Effects: Grants control over another’s thoughts, actions, and decisions.

⛧Bend Over Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Licorice root (submission)

• High John the Conqueror root (dominance)

• Tobacco (enslaving influence)

• Red pepper flakes (forceful action)

• Carrier oil (olive or mineral)

Effects: Forces someone to comply with your wishes, weakens their willpower, and makes them obedient.

⛧Puppet Master Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Poppy seed (mental control)

• Mugwort (influencing dreams and subconscious)

• Orris root (psychological persuasion)

• Solomon’s seal (binding)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Manipulates people’s thoughts and decisions, making them act in your favor.

Revenge & Payback Oils💔

⛧Revenge Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Devil’s claw root (punishment energy)

• Red brick dust (protection and justified aggression)

• Black salt (banishing)

• Chili powder (intensified suffering)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral)

Effects: Brings swift karmic retribution and inflicts suffering upon wrongdoers.

⛧Return to Sender Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Agrimony (reflects negativity)

• Devil’s shoestring (block enemy spells)

• Black tourmaline chips (spiritual protection)

• Eucalyptus (cleansing)

• Carrier oil (coconut)

Effects: Sends hexes, curses, and ill intentions back to the sender with triple force.

⛧Wrath of Spirits Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Blackthorn/Locust (spiritual attack)

• Wormwood (spirit summoning)

• Henbane (malevolent energy)

• Bloodroot (ancestral wrath)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Calls upon spirits to haunt and punish enemies with nightmares, paranoia, and bad luck.

Destruction & Chaos Oils💥

⛧Black Destruction Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Sulfur (corruption and destruction)

• Black dog hair (ill omens)

• War water (conflict magic)

• Rust (decay and ruin)

• Carrier oil (castor or mineral)

Effects: Destroys enemies’ prosperity, causes financial collapse, and weakens their social standing.

⛧Discord & Strife Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Black mustard seed (confusion and rivalry)

• Vinegar (sour relationships)

• Red pepper (arguments and discord)

• Dogwood bark (unraveling stability)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Causes arguments, breaks up relationships, and fuels chaos in personal and professional life.

⛧Separation Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Lemon peel (cutting ties)

• Black salt (banishment)

• Cayenne pepper (heated conflict)

• Rue (removes unwanted people)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Breaks up relationships, friendships, or business partnerships.

Pain Infliction Oils🩹

⛧Pain & Suffering Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Thorns (piercing pain)

• Red pepper (burning affliction)

• Black salt (banishment and suffering)

• Stinging nettle (agony)

• Carrier oil (castor)

Effects: Causes physical and emotional distress, making the target feel constant hardship.

⛧Shadow Plague Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Graveyard/hospital dirt (illness energy)

• Poppy seeds (lethargy and confusion)

• Henbane (spiritual sickness)

• Asafoetida (rot and corruption)

• Carrier oil (mineral)

Effects: Weakens a target’s physical health, causing fatigue, minor ailments, and general discomfort.

⛧Blood Curse Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Dried animal blood (ancestral wrath)

• Rue (generational curse energy)

• Wormwood (spiritual decay)

• Mandrake root (dark energy infusion)

• Carrier oil (olive or mineral)

Effects: Places long-lasting and harsh curses, especially on family lines or descendants.

Binding & Entrapment Oils⛓️

⛧Shadow Binding Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Solomon’s seal root (binding power)

• Black ribbon (symbolic entrapment)

• Poppy seeds (mental stagnation)

• Mugwort (energetic suppression)

• Carrier oil (coconut or jojoba)

Effects: Restricts an enemy’s ability to move forward in life, keeping them stuck in bad situations.

⛧Eternal Chains Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Devil’s shoestring (binding and restriction)

• Ivy (trapping and immobilization)

• Licorice root (control)

• Hemlock (powerful suppression)

• Carrier oil (grapeseed)

Effects: Traps a target in their misfortune, preventing them from escaping a bad fate.

⛧Veil of Silence Oil⛧

Ingredients:

• Slippery elm (stops gossip and lies)

• Mullein (silencing and stilling)

• Knotweed (energetic restriction)

• Solomon’s seal (sealing influence)

• Carrier oil (olive)

Effects: Silences enemies, stops gossip, and prevents harmful rumors from spreading.

How to Use Baneful Oils

• Anoint Black Candles – Used in hexing and cursing rituals.

• Dress Poppets/Dolls – Infuses energy into sympathetic magic.

• Mark Enemy Belongings – Secretly place on items to affect a target.

• Add to Cursed Spell Jars – Intensifies spells for long-term suffering.

• Use in Written Curses – Apply to paper sigils or petitions for enhanced power.

[ilium-ilia]

kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

Part Three: signatory response required

tw: none

Good morning, love. I’ll be over in an hour. 

You’re bent over your clawfooted bathtub when John’s text vibrates on the countertop, sending a shockwave through your morning like the way the earth ripples beneath tremors. The palm of your foot is pressed into the ledge, desperately clinging for support as you grip your razor with frustrated, twitching fingers, but you don’t have to wander far to read his message. Sighing, you set the razor down and swap it out for your phone, bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

The better half of your morning has been spent preparing for today—whatever today is supposed to be called. Fresh sheets lay spread across your bed with fluffed pillows and a scented candle burning to fill the room with what you’re hoping is a comforting aroma. Jasmine and vanilla—nature and homebaked goods coalescing into one. Everything is too tight within you to properly experience it. Muscles taut, brain pulsing with racing thoughts. 

Now, here you are, in the bathroom, preparing the most important part—you. Shaved legs, exfoliated skin, moisturizer glistening in the dim lighting; now, you’ve turned your attention to the mess between your legs. Wild and untamed hair. Coarse curls. You’ve spent so much time and energy fixing your home these last few months that you’ve rarely turned the same care and attention to yourself, and you’re not sure how a man like John Price would react to a full bush. 

Better to trim and whack it back. 

Morning! Drive safe!

Though you aren’t wholly satisfied with your appearance, you slap a band-aid over it in the form of a matching set of bra and panties and a creamy yellow sundress. Cotton, yet silky to the touch as it hugs your breasts and thighs. A cool breeze drifts through the kitchen windows, drifting up beneath your skirt as you slice up an array of finger foods—tomatoes, salami, cheese, and more. You’ve invited John to your house under the guise of having a simple lunch together, but you know very well where this rendezvous will end up. 

Sweat melting into your mattress, body heat drifting into the warm June air, womb stuffed full until you give the Laswells what they’re paying you for. 

Gravel crunches beneath fat tires just as you’ve finished preparing lunch. Rinsing your hands off in the sink, you quickly approach the door and peek through the window just in time to see him duck out of his car, shoulders rolling as he straightens himself out. You can’t help but think he looks perfectly in place here. Broad biceps flexing in the midst of the woods, coarse hair along his forearms blending in with the shade of the trees—all he’s missing is an axe. 

John greets you with a smile and saccharine words, leaving you no choice but to wipe the sweat on your palms off on the skirt of your dress. He smells nice—earthy. Something that blends in well with the foliage of the aspens and pines that line your property, like fresh grass between your toes, or algid stream water cupped in your hands. Once he’s crossed through the threshold, he’s rolling his shoulders back and inspecting every inch of your home with keen eyes. 

Suddenly, your spine tingles. It hardens—solidifies until you’re as stiff as a board while you watch his gaze trace the old moulding that connects the wall and ceiling, and the original hardwood floors at his feet. This house is far from perfect—having sat long abandoned and dormant, waiting to be loved again—but it’s yours, and therefore, an extension of you. For it to be found unsightly would shatter you, though you doubt John would ever have the heart to say so out loud. 

“Wow,” he breathes, neck craning back, throat on display, Adam’s apple protruding through the delicate skin. 

“I know,” you say with a giggle. It’s more gauche than you intend for it to be, and you quickly cover it with a cough. “It’s a little dated, but I’m still working on fixing it up.” 

“It’s amazing,” John insists, eyes flickering back to you. “You’ve kept most of the original housework. Don’t see that much in old cottages like these. Most people are much too happy to gut them and fill the damn thing back up with lifeless rubbish.” 

John’s ardor for your home has your stomach twisting in knots as your lips trip on the words thank you. You’re much too relieved when his attention shifts to the food you have laid out on the countertop. His fingers brush against the cutting board where juice from the strawberries soaks into the wood, and you find your hands intertwining with one another. Nails scraping against skin, body swaying as you rock onto your heels. 

You’re utterly stunned when John suggests eating outside. Azure eyes peering through your old window panes, yearning for the soft swathes of grass that swaddles your backyard. Knowing you can’t deny his arguably brilliant idea, you gather a blanket from the storage chest that sits at the foot of your bed—an old quilt your grandmother made you when you were a child. The royal purples and vibrant greens have faded into lilac and mint now, but you don’t complain when you seat yourself upon it next to John as the sun warms your skin. 

The talk is small between you and John. Quaint. Not at all something to be expected between people who are about to become indirect parents. A mother and a father. Creators of a child bearing both of your DNA. You speak of everything but. What you do for work and the office you just painted. The cheese you bought for this afternoon—smoked applewood cheddar, something that’s rustic, something that painfully reminds you of John. 

You can’t stop fiddling with the hem of your sundress when the conversation turns to the cottage and the work you’ve been doing. Small indigo dots now stain the cream—a blueberry custard of your own creation—as the lingering juice on your fingertips soaks into the cloth. You stiffly admit the disaster that was the broken pipes in your bathroom, and how the chimney has been clogged since you moved in. Old birds nests shoved between the brick had nearly suffocated you your first winter here, and now you make do with electric heaters that you pray won’t set the foot of your bed on fire. 

“You know, at first I thought it would be an easy feat to just… stick something up there. Figured I could knock it down and just sweep out the hearth when I was finished,” you explain as you roll a piece of bread between your forefinger and thumb. “I quit that as soon as I got dust and soot in my face. Oh, I was sneezing for hours.” 

John laughs at your story, though you’re not sure if it’s out of pity or not. He’s resting his elbow on his bent knee, head tilting to the side as he listens to you. The corners of his mouth crease as you speak, and it makes your tongue go dry. Arid. Nothing but sandpaper on the roof of your mouth. 

“Then I thought it would be a bright idea to climb up there myself. Learned very quickly why you usually pay chimney sweepers rather than do it yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “I hardly lasted a total of five seconds before I was climbing back down the ladder. I think I laid on solid ground for a good half hour before I could get myself back on my feet.” 

John’s gaze turns to the cottage where he sizes the height of the home for himself. Cogs and gears visibly turn in his head as he surveys the old shingles and what was probably once a thatched roof, eyes counting each layer of brick that spans the walls from top to bottom. 

“I could do it for you, if you’d like,” he suddenly offers. 

Stunned by his offer, you’re left floundering for words as his attention returns to you. His fingers are already twitching like his hands are anticipating the work. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’d feel terrible if you fell.” 

“Don’t worry about me, darling, I’ve taken worse falls than that.” 

His reassurance enervates your resolve—this carefully crafted facade of a confident woman who knows what she’s doing—and your only saving grace is the breeze that suddenly picks up. It pulls at the foliage overhead, casting dancing shadows along the quilt and the remnants of your lunch with John. Airy clouds move with the wind along a pale blue sky and you attempt to breathe in the loamy aroma. Let it fill your lungs until your anxiety is stunted. 

Afterall, John isn’t here to fix your chimney. 

Smoothing a hand over the skirt of your dress, you clear your throat. “Well, I suppose we ought to get this mess cleaned up so we can get to work.” You attempt a tone of humor, but it falls awkwardly from your tongue. Stiff like calcified bones that won’t unhinge. 

“Right,” John agrees. He’s pushing himself to his feet, taking care to avoid your grandmother’s handiwork. You pretend not to hear the creaking of his knees. “I’m guessing the ladder is in your shed?” 

“Ladder?” you repeat. You’re convinced John is pulling on your leg until you stare up at him and note the complete lack of mischief in his eyes. Sighing, you stand, anxious hands palming at your clothes. “No, I mean… well, you know. The job Kate and Lottie hired us for?” 

Everything sounds louder when John looks at you like this—whatever this is. An unnamable emotion that swells in his eyes, filling out his pupils until they spill into the blue of his iris. “Oh darling, I’m not here for that. Not today.” 

Once more, John Price has managed to confuse you—has tossed you into the deep end and is watching you flail your arms to keep yourself above water. You feel stupid. A school girl left alone with too many eyes focusing on you. Too many people to witness your failure. 

“I don’t understand,” you say with a tense laugh. 

Quelling the discontent brewing in your chest, John reaches for you. Gentle fingertips brush against your shoulder, then travel down, tracing along your arm until he’s holding your hand in his. He tilts his chin down, shoulders squaring back as if he’s making an oath—a promise. 

“I’m not here for a simple fuck,” he says bluntly, digging straight to the point and smothering any doubt that’s left in the folds of your brain. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it’s supposed to be, but I can’t in good conscience do that to you. Knock you up and leave you on your own like you’re some human incubator. I want to be with you through this. For the appointments, for all the changes, for anything you’ll struggle with, for the birth. All of it. If you’ll let me.” 

John’s request has knocked all the air from your lungs. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him—every inch of him. The freckles on his skin, the faint stress lines that wander along his forehead, every strand of hair in his beard and the quiet grey peeking through the black. You’d be lost in the sight of him forever if it isn’t for his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, tugging you back down to earth. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” you humor, breathless and grasping for straws. 

Chuckling, he steps forward, further closing the gap that rests between the two of you. His smile blooms like fine wine in a barrel—dark and plum against stained wood. “Let’s do dinner this weekend. My treat. Then… we can get to work.” 

Everything melts. All tension fades to black until there’s nothing but the chirping of the sparrows in the pine trees and the playful hum of bees feeding on a patch of clovers. The sky fades into John’s eyes, and the earth opens up at your feet, ensnaring you. Stuck, yet your beating heart yearns for no other place than here. No other comfort than him. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Where at?” 

John squeezes your hand before he pulls it toward him, slowly raising you to his lips where he kisses the delicate skin that lines your metacarpals. The buzz that it sends through your brain nearly drowns out his smirk. 

“I think you’ll forgive me if I let you leave a little to the imagination, hm?”

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[chrissssssmut]

How about a yandere fic for Karina for her b-day?

In where Karina invites her fellow idol Y/N to come celebrate her b-day in her home. Hopefully you add some smut 🫶🏻

HER BIRTHDAY, HER RULES

Karina x Male Idol Y/N

AN: Happy Birthday Karina! Decided to make this story first since its her birthday today! Back to regular programming!🥰💕

You hesitated outside the door, shifting the wrapped wine bottle in your hands. Karina had texted you personally a week ago.

“Hey Y/N. My birthday’s coming up. I’m throwing something small, just close friends. Would love for you to come.”

The fact that she’d invited you—you out of all the other idols—made your heart stutter a bit. You two had shared a few polite moments backstage at shows, stolen glances in green rooms, nothing more. Still, Karina had this way of making everything feel personal when she spoke to you. Like you mattered more than you should.

The door clicked open before you could knock.

Karina stood there, dressed in a silky midnight-blue robe that shimmered slightly under the warm lights behind her. It hung off one shoulder just enough to show the smooth slope of her collarbone.

“Y/N,” she purred, her lips tugging into a slow smile. “You made it.”

You smiled back, slightly stunned. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss your birthday.”

She leaned in, gave you a soft cheek kiss that lingered longer than expected. Her perfume was sweet—jasmine, maybe vanilla—and it fogged your brain just a bit.

When you stepped inside, the silence hit you.

No music. No chatter. No guests. Just the flicker of candles on the coffee table and a half-empty bottle of champagne.

You glanced around the penthouse. “Uh… am I early?”

Karina turned, pouring a glass like it was nothing. “Not at all. You’re actually the first one here."

She handed you a flute and raised her own. “Cheers.”

You clinked glasses with a soft smile. “To you.”

“To me,” she repeated, eyes locked on yours as she sipped.

Minutes turned into an hour. You sat on the couch, trading stories, laughing more than you expected to. Every few minutes you’d glance at your phone, expecting more guests to buzz the door, but nothing happened.

Finally, you asked, “So… are the others late or something?”

Karina blinked, then gave a tiny shrug. “They said they’d drop by. Maybe they flaked.”

She leaned closer, her fingers lightly brushing your knee. “But I’m glad you came. Honestly, I only really wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened, heartbeat ticking a little too fast.

“Me?”

She smiled. “Yeah. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately. I figured tonight might be the perfect excuse to get you alone.”

Her words danced between casual and dangerously intimate.

You looked away, trying to collect yourself. “Maybe I should slow down on the drinks—”

Karina refilled your glass before you could protest. “Don’t be shy, Y/N. Just relax. It’s my birthday, remember? That means I get what I want.”

She sat closer, her thigh pressing against yours.

You took another drink.

Some time later…

Your limbs felt warm. Too warm. You were buzzing—not wasted, but definitely past the point of making sharp decisions.

Karina had settled on the floor in front of you now, sitting between your knees, her chin resting on your thigh. Her robe had slipped further, revealing the delicate strap of a lace bra.

“I always wondered what kind of drunk you are,” she murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your knee. “Turns out you’re cute when you let your guard down.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “And you’re… kinda dangerous.”

She grinned, tilting her head. “Is that a complaint?”

“No. Just an observation.”

Her eyes darkened a shade. “Good. Because I like when you look at me like that.”

She leaned in closer, lips inches from your throat. “You know, I wasn’t lying when I said other people were invited. I just… never sent the invites.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I wanted tonight to be just us. I wanted…” She paused, her hand slipping up your thigh, slow, deliberate. “…to finally have you to myself.”

Your breath caught.

She leaned up, kissing your jaw lightly. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

She pulled back just slightly, eyes glittering with heat. “Didn’t think so.”

Your pulse was a wild thing beneath your skin, thudding in your ears like war drums.

Karina straddled your lap now, her knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of your hips. The silk robe slid open as she moved, a glint of smooth thigh and lace flashing beneath it. Her fingers dragged up your chest slowly, nails light enough to tickle, but firm enough to leave you chasing every touch.

"You're so tense," she whispered, brushing your hair back. "Let me take care of you."

Your breath hitched as she leaned in, pressing her lips to your neck—not kissing, not yet. Just letting them hover, her breath hot against your skin.

“You have no idea,” you rasped, voice lower than it had been all night. “How long I’ve imagined this.”

“Oh?” she purred, dragging her tongue up the shell of your ear. “Tell me. What did you imagine, Y/N?”

You swallowed thickly, your hands finally moving to grip her waist. Her robe was hanging off her shoulders now, nothing between you but the thin silk belt and your self-control—both of which were about to snap.

“I imagined you like this,” you muttered. “On top of me. Taking control. Making me beg for it.”

Karina let out a soft, low laugh that vibrated against your throat. “Beg? You don’t need to beg. Not tonight.”

She leaned back just enough to untie the robe’s belt, slow and teasing. The knot slipped loose with a quiet whisper, and the robe fluttered open, revealing the full curve of her chest barely contained in a black lace bra, the matching panties hugging her hips like sin.

She reached for your shirt, tugging it up. “Off. I want to see you.”

You didn’t hesitate.

The second it was gone, her palms were on your bare chest, gliding, exploring—fingertips dragging down toward your abs like she was memorizing every inch of you.

"You've been hiding this under stage outfits and leather jackets? What a waste."

You laughed, breathless. "You watch me that closely?"

She smirked. "Only all the time."

Then her lips were on yours—no teasing now. No hesitation. Just heat. Her mouth was soft but demanding, her tongue sliding over yours with perfect control. She kissed like she meant it, like she needed it, and every brush of her lips made your body thrum.

When she pulled back, her lips were slick, swollen.

“I want you to do exactly what I say,” she whispered, grinding her hips against your growing bulge. “Can you be good for me, pretty boy?”

You groaned. “I’ll be whatever you want.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Lie back.”

You obeyed instantly.

Karina rose just enough to strip off the robe and toss it aside, then climbed back over you—only now, she took the belt from the robe in her hands. She leaned down and gently, with deliberate slowness, took your wrists and pinned them above your head.

She bound them together with practiced ease, then tied the belt to one of the couch’s vertical bars.

You tugged slightly, testing. Secure.

“Comfortable?” she teased, her eyes glittering with heat and something darker.

“Only if you sit on my face next.”

Her breath caught—and then she laughed, genuinely. “You’re cute when you’re desperate.”

She slipped down your body, kissing a trail across your chest, tongue flicking one of your nipples just to hear you gasp. Then she undid your belt, popped your jeans button with one hand, and tugged everything down in one swift motion.

Your cock sprang free—hard, leaking, and throbbing.

“Oh,” Karina whispered, staring for a moment before biting her lip. “Pretty.”

She wrapped her fingers around the base, pumping slowly, teasing you with feather-light strokes.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to see this?” she murmured. “All those times backstage when you’d talk to me with that perfect smile, and I’d wonder… if you’d fuck me as well as you sang.”

“Why don’t you find out,” you growled.

She glanced up, eyes dark. “Oh, I will.”

Then she leaned down—and took you in her mouth, slow and devastating.

Her tongue curled around your shaft as she sucked, mouth hot and wet, lips stretched perfectly. She started shallow, teasing the tip with little flicks of her tongue, before taking you deeper, inch by inch.

You groaned, arms straining against the restraints.

She moaned around you, the vibrations making your back arch. Her hands pinned your hips down, keeping you still as she worked you over—messy, relentless, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Fuck, Karina—” you gasped. “Gonna cum if you keep that up—”

She pulled off with a pop, saliva trailing from her lips. Without a word, she let your cock rest against her tongue, then lightly slapped it against it—once, twice—watching the way it twitched, glistening with spit. Her eyes never left yours as she dragged her tongue slowly up the underside, savoring the mess she’d made.

“Not yet,” she said sweetly. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”

Then she stood, peeled off her panties, and straddled you again—her folds glistening with arousal, her chest heaving.

You looked up at her, completely undone. “You’re evil.”

She grinned. “You like it.”

She reached down, guided your cock to her entrance—and then slowly, deliciously, she sank down onto you.

Both of you groaned in unison.

She was tight. Warm. Wet. You could feel every inch of her, the way she clenched around you, how perfectly she fit.

She started to move—slow rolls of her hips, rocking back and forth, her hands planted on your chest. Her rhythm was devastating, pulling you right to the edge over and over.

“Look at you,” she moaned, riding you deeper, harder. “Tied up, moaning for me. You belong to me now, Y/N. No one else is going to get you like this.”

You could barely speak—just gasps, curses, your body shaking beneath hers.

“Say it,” she demanded, picking up pace. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choked out. “Fuck, Karina—it’s you. Always you.”

Her face lit up with something more than lust. Something fierce. Possessive. Triumphant.

She rode you harder now, skin slapping, your moans echoing in the room, tangled bodies slick with sweat and heat and everything you weren’t allowed to feel on stage.

When Karina’s rhythm grew erratic, her hands gripped your chest tighter, nails digging crescents into your skin. Her head dropped back, mouth parted, hair clinging to her damp neck as her moans turned into frantic whimpers.

“Fuck—Y/N—” she gasped, voice breaking. “I’m… I’m gonna cum—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

Her thighs clenched around your hips, trembling as she rode you harder, faster, chasing that edge with a wild kind of desperation.

You reached up, your hands now free, grabbing her hips to hold her steady, thrusting up into her as her body tensed.

“Karina—cum for me,” you groaned. “I wanna feel you fall apart on me.”

That did it.

She let out a strangled cry as her orgasm slammed into her—“Oh my god—fuck, Y/N—yes—” Her hips stuttered, grinding down hard as her walls clenched around you, pulsing with heat and need.

Watching her come unraveled you completely.

“Shit—fuck—Karina—” you growled, eyes locked on her as your own climax surged through you.

You spilled into her, deep and hot, groaning into her neck as she kept moving—slow now, milking every drop, dragging her soaked folds along your cock with deliberate, overstimulating rolls of her hips.

“God, you fill me so well,” she whispered breathlessly, body twitching from aftershocks. “I can feel it inside me… so warm. So mine.”

You let your head fall back, completely ruined beneath her, chest heaving, sweat-slicked skin against silk and lace.

She leaned down, brushing her lips over yours with a satisfied smirk.

You lay back, skin damp, your heartbeat still stuttering as Karina curled up beside you on the couch.

“Happy birthday,” you breathed.

She smiled against your shoulder. “Best gift I’ve ever had.”

Then, after a pause, she whispered:

“You’re mine now, right?”

Your head turned. “Huh?”

She was still smiling, but there was something unreadable behind her eyes now.

“I mean, after tonight… there’s no going back. You know that, right?”

Her fingers trailed your chest, light but possessive.

You swallowed hard.

She leaned up to kiss you again—slow, sweet, and a little bit dangerous.

And in that moment, you couldn’t tell if you were drunk on the alcohol… or her.

[covenofagatha]

Sex therapy

Your sexual life has been...lacking for the past year. Enter sex therapist Dr. Agatha Harkness to help you out.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: patient x therapist, mentions of sex and masturbation, guided orgasm, dirty talk

A/N: we just learned about sexual disorders in one of my classes and my professor kept talking about sex therapy lol so here we go (I hope this is good/hot I just genuinely couldn't stop thinking about it and had to write something) and maybe part 2?

The first thing you notice when you open the door to the waiting room is the smell. 

It’s slightly earthy with a hint of honeysuckle and sweet undertones. Not unpleasant, but it does little to calm your nerves. 

The lobby is small, cozy almost, with only four gray chairs tucked against one wall and a rectangular wooden coffee table in front of them with a short stack of magazines on it. 

Across from the furniture is the front desk and you step in front of it, waiting for the blonde receptionist sitting behind it to look up at you. She’s typing something on the computer and in the reflection of her glasses, it looks like she’s filling out a form. 

After standing there for a few moments, you clear your throat, trying to make it sound natural and not pointed. It works and the lady looks up at you with a smile that looks like more of a grimace. 

“How can I help you?” she asks. You tell her your name and she scrolls down on her screen before clicking. “First time?” 

“Oh, um, yes,” you answer, cheeks heating up. 

She looks you up and down. “You can go ahead and have a seat, you’re all checked in. Dr. Harkness will be with you shortly.” 

Muttering a quick “Thank you,” you pick the chair closest to the exit to settle into and anxiously tap your fingers against your leg. 

You barely have time to rethink your decision when a door on the wall of the front desk opens and a woman steps out. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun with a few strands loose and framing her face. She’s wearing white pants and a blue and gray striped shirt with black ankle boots. Black glasses rest on her nose. She looks around futilely—for there’s no one else in the room—before her eyes fall on you. 

She calls your name. You wipe your hands on your pants, swallow roughly, and stand up, nodding with a stiff smile. She beckons you forward and you obey, feeling a tug in your gut.  

“I’m Dr. Harkness,” she says warmly, pushing the door even more open so you can walk by her. You pause so she can get in front of you and she takes you down to the second door on the left. “But you can call me Agatha. I want you to feel comfortable while we’re here.” 

She opens it for you and you feel her hand on your lower back, guiding you in. It’s a small room, dark with about ten lit candles. There’s a warm scent of vanilla and jasmine and you deeply inhale. 

Agatha steps in next to you and the door closes shut behind you both. She points to the blue couch across from a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat there?”

The cushion dips under you as you perch on the edge and Agatha sits down in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, grabbing the yellow notepad from the side table and a pen in her left hand. You’re not exactly sure where to look—at the posters on the wall? At your fingers? At her? Who talks first? Should you say something?

She clicks the pen. “So, do you want to start with what brought you here to sex therapy?

You cringe at the words. Sex therapy is definitely not something you’d ever even think of. You didn’t even know what it was until about three weeks ago. It’s a bit unnerving how she just wants to get right into it—although, what kind of small talk were you expecting?—but you suppose you’re paying for a session so you might as well get the most of it.

“Um, I just…I just haven’t been having good sex lately. Like, I haven’t been feeling much at all and it’s fine, but I just can’t really focus or get into it, you know?” You pick at imaginary lint on your pants to avoid having to meet Agatha’s scrutinizing gaze. “I got a little drunk a month or so ago and was complaining to a friend about it. She said I should look into this and you were the closest therapist to me.”

Your friend had laughed when you told her that you hadn’t had an orgasm in about a year but her eyebrows had then shot up when she realized you were serious. She had promptly pulled out her phone and searched sex therapists near me. You had reluctantly moved next to her to scroll through the results and she let out a low whistle when she got to Agatha’s practice. She’d shown you the headshot of the woman sitting in front of you and you had to pretend to be unimpressed. 

But really, you felt more heat in your stomach than you had in awhile. 

“When did this start happening? When did you start noticing that you weren’t really feeling much?” 

It takes you a moment to ponder the question. Things had been relatively good with your ex-girlfriend two years ago. You had been together for almost two years before things just fizzled out. Both of you had decided the break up was for the best, even though the sex was normally pretty good. 

After that, there had been a series of hook-ups and flings, mostly casual sex that never turned into anything more. It had been alright, nothing special. You came about half the time. 

But then you’d gotten a promotion at work about a year ago and started seeing someone more seriously and sex turned into a chore. And when you did have sex, you stared blankly at the ceiling and couldn’t stop from thinking about all the work you had to do or making a grocery list in your head or desperately trying to will yourself to be into your girlfriend’s tongue on your clit but it just felt like nothing. 

It wasn’t her fault, no, the problem was you. Even masturbating seemed hard and you’d end up stopping in the middle of a session just because you weren’t getting anywhere. 

She had broken up with you about three months ago because you started rejecting her advances or just wanted to focus on her. You could make her come with no problem, but you shied away from her touch after, because even faking it was getting to be too much work. 

You haven’t even tried having sex since then. Seeing a therapist for your problem was clearly a long time coming and you’re not sure why you didn’t think about it sooner. 

“I don’t know, work has just become a lot and it’s hard to keep my mind from wandering while I’m having sex. I don’t know what changed—can stress really just kill your libido?” 

Agatha hums and frowns. “Sometimes. It’s not usual for it to essentially turn off feeling though. How’s the foreplay been before having sex?”

Shrugging, you pick at the skin on your cuticles. It’s a bit weird being this open about it with someone you just met. “Um, it’s not bad. There is foreplay. And I mean, there isn’t a problem with lubrication or anything.” Your cheeks heat up and you dare to peek up at Agatha. 

She’s staring at you with an intense look. It makes a strange feeling grow in your stomach, something akin to arousal if you had to put a name to it. 

“Are you actually attracted to the people you’re having sex with?” 

“What?—Of course,” you snap. She holds up her hands in defense and writes something on the notepad. But now that you think about it, and not that you’d ever tell her, you’re not sure that you have because you’ve never had the physical reaction you’re having to her with anyone else. 

Which is just great, really. Leave it to you to be attracted to your sex therapist, the one person who is arguably off-limits. 

Then you start to wonder if this happens often for her. Do her other patients blur the lines, start associating her with sex? You don’t actually know what you’re going to be doing in these sessions, but you could definitely see some lines being crossed in your head. 

“Are there any needs you have that might not be fulfilled in your sex life? Any kinks, fetishes, things you like that you aren’t engaging in that could bring you pleasure?” she asks, looking at you expectantly. 

How can she be so calm when it feels like you’re about to explode? “Not that I know of,” you answer hoarsely. 

“Hm. No choking or bondage or pain?” 

You choke on your own saliva. “I mean, I’m sure I like it as much as the next person, but it’s not necessary.” 

A wry smile plays on her lips at your attempt at deflective humor. “Daddy kink? Mommy kink? Degradation? Praise?” 

“I…I don’t know,” you rasp. For the first time in almost a year, you think you might actually want to touch yourself. 

Agatha thinks for a moment. “Well, first of all, you might want to experiment a little and see if there’s something you might like that will enhance your pleasure. A lot of patients find that impact play and things like that actually help clear your mind so you’re able to focus on just the sensation.” 

You nod, not sure what to say. How do I experiment? Can you help me? 

“But another thing you can try is sexual mediation. It centers around the practice of mindfulness and it’s a focus on sensuality and the current state of your body. Do you have a partner who can help you with this?” 

Shaking your head, you think you might see a gleam in her eyes. 

“That’s okay. You first want to find a quiet place with no distractions. Your bedroom would be a great place. Dim the lights, maybe light a candle, whatever helps set the mood. Sit on the floor and get comfortable; you can either lie down or sit up—”

“Do I wear clothes?” you interrupt, feeling bad immediately. 

She just smiles gently. “You can wear something loose or nothing at all, whatever your preference is. You can play music if that will help you tune other things out."

There’s a visible difference in her demeanor now, almost like she’s coming alive. Her hands gesture animatedly and her pupils are blown out and looking wildly all over your body. 

“Close your eyes and try to remain aware of your surroundings. Pay attention to your body, your breath, and any sounds. As you inhale, pull the air into your abdomen and imagine the stress leaving your body as you exhale. If stray thoughts get in, just accept them and move on. Visualize your body—visualize your desire. I like to tell my patients to think of it as an orb inside you. It starts out small, in your vagina, and then it grows bigger and spreads throughout you. Feel it spread.” 

Your chest is rapidly falling and rising, a sheen of sweat beading on your forehead. There’s an ache inside you right now—your orb of desire is red-hot and throbbing. 

“Try to be aware of your own body and what you’re feeling. The goal is heightened awareness, which can lead to increased arousal. If you have a partner, once you’re done visualizing yourself, shift that focus to your partner and think about how they’re feeling. If not, you can think about someone you find attractive or just skip this step entirely.” 

It feels like she put that part in there just to taunt you. Like she knows you find her attractive. You can’t think about her though, that would be so wrong. How would you come in here again and look her in the eye, knowing you had fantasized about her?

“Sexual meditation should take about twenty minutes and then you move on to intercourse or masturbation. The hope is that clearing your mind beforehand will allow your body to feel more. There’s things you can do with a partner, but for now, why don’t you start with trying that?” 

Your mouth is suddenly very dry. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. Oh—what if it doesn’t work?”

Agatha smirks, eyes traveling down your body and back up to your face. “Then come back and see me.” 

——

You’re almost hoping that this doesn’t work, just so you’d have the excuse to go back and see her. 

But then it would mean that you could enjoy sex again, so that would definitely be the bigger win here. 

The lights in your room are turned off with four lit candles, all smelling like something different, resting on your dresser. You decide to strip down to just your bra and your underwear and sit criss-cross on a pillow on the floor. The silence is too loud so you grab your phone and turn on ocean noises. You’ve always felt more relaxed at the beach. 

Settling onto the pillow and shifting to get comfortable, you close your eyes and try to remember all of Agatha’s instructions. You inhale deeply, feeling your lungs expand, and then push out the air and imagine your stress seeping out of your bones. 

At work, you had to fix what could have been a very bad mistake if someone hadn’t caught it in the nick of time. But there could still be consequences if your boss found out and—If stray thoughts get in, just accept them and move on.

Another deep breath. 

Smell the mix of citrus and vanilla cinnamon and lavender and pumpkin. 

The air conditioning has goosebumps peppering with goosebumps but it keeps your mind sharp. 

The orb of desire. 

You picture it, red and glowing, small as a seed at first. It’s settled deep in your cunt. The image of Agatha smiling at you flashes against your eyelids and the orb grows to the size of a grape. 

No, not her! 

Agatha’s hands flutter around the air while she tells you exactly what to do to make yourself feel good. 

Stop! She’s your therapist! 

The alarm from your mind shatters the focus you had and the orb is completely gone. You grunt as you struggle and try to bring it back. Agatha won’t know if you’re thinking about her—in fact, if the thoughts get you to an orgasm, she’d probably be happy for you. 

But it’s too late. The moment is gone, the now-odorous blend of scents makes your head hurt, and you’re feeling vaguely confused by what is right and wrong. 

You might want to see an actual therapist about your self-sabotaging tendencies. 

——

“The meditation didn’t work?” Agatha asks a week later after taking a long sip from her coffee mug when you go back to see her. She’s wearing a black sweater and gray pants, hair loose, and it’s making your stomach feel fuzzy. You’re not actually sure why you came back but now you still can’t come and you’re sexually frustrated. 

Is that an improvement? Some might say it is. At least you’re feeling something. You had given in a day after your failed attempt at meditating and touched yourself, letting yourself think about Agatha, but each time you got close to an orgasm, you just couldn’t. 

“It helped a little,” you tell her truthfully. “I got in tune with my body and desire like you said. It actually felt good when I moved onto masturbation. But…” 

You trail off so she can hopefully fill in the gaps without you having to say more. She nods knowingly. “I see. It is a lot harder to sexually meditate on your own—it doesn’t always work.” 

The air gets sucked out of your lungs and your heart skips a beat. What is she suggesting? 

Agatha gestures to the ground. “We can try it, if you’d like.” 

A sound tears itself out from your throat, somewhere between a strangled gasp and a choke. 

She smirks. “Of course, without the sex.” 

You nod like it should’ve been obvious, feeling your face flush. “How does it work?” 

“Well first, let’s get comfortable,” she says, putting her notepad down on the side table and standing up. She kicks off her sandals, hikes up her pants just a little, and sits down on the floor, crossing one leg over the other. 

She nods to the spot across from her and you scramble to assume the same position. Now that you’re closer to her, maybe three feet between you, you can see the lines and creases on her face. You think they only make her more attractive. Her blue eyes look more gray today and you try not to look down at her lips. 

“Close your eyes,” she says and you do, enveloping your vision in darkness. You can feel your muscles tense but you roll back your shoulders and take a deep breath. The stiffness lessens. “Good job, there you go.” 

Her murmuring makes you shiver and there’s a slight melodic chuckle. 

“Work on breathing and getting in touch with your surroundings and then go through your five senses and tell me what you’re aware of.”

In…out…in…out…you lose yourself and almost forget what she asked you to do until she moves slightly and reminds you that you’re not alone. 

“I see my orb of desire,” you whisper. She hums softly. “It’s in my lower stomach, red, but small. I hear you, your breathing, and the rattle of the air conditioning. I can smell the candles, vanilla and jasmine. It’s good, calming. I can taste the spearmint from the gum I had in the car on my way here. And I can feel my body.” 

“Good,” Agatha says. “Focus on the orb. Feel it growing with your desire. Think about sex—think about lips on yours, moving down to kiss your chest, your breasts, hands on your hips holding you in place.” 

Your breath comes out gravelly and you imagine Agatha doing all that to you. Her lips on yours, her hands on your hips. You squirm despite yourself and swear that she’s smirking. The orb burns brighter, pulsing in time with your clit. 

When was the last time you were this wet? 

Agatha’s voice drops deeper. “Feel your partner running their fingers through your folds, teasing you, giving you pleasure.” 

A small moan escapes your lips and you’re momentarily distracted by praying that she didn’t hear it. 

“Feel the tension in your core increasing. Feel yourself becoming wetter. Feel your desire expanding and encompassing your body, your mind, all of you.” 

There’s a slight rustling noise and you sense her presence even closer to you now. You think you might be sucking air through a straw with how hard it’s become to breathe. 

Smooth skin touches your hands and you almost jump. Agatha slides her palms over yours and the sparks run straight to your cunt. Your head is spinning but simultaneously is the clearest it’s ever been. 

She takes over your senses—you can hear only her words and the way her tone becomes lighter and breathier, you can see only her in your mind, you can smell the coffee she was drinking, and she’s touching you—completely and utterly overwhelming you until there’s only her. 

You just wish you could find out how she tastes. 

“Focus on me now,” Agatha says, strangely affected. “Think about my body and my feelings. Think about my orb, my desire, and how it might be growing.” 

There’s an ache inside you that won’t go away, an ache that’s filling you up and leaving you hungry for something you can’t have. Your cunt is clenching, trying to draw something in that isn’t there, and when you shift forward just the slightest, there’s a pressure on your sensitive clit that makes you gasp. 

“I want you to think about your partner finally giving you what you want,” she purrs and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “Think about that moment when your partner slips their fingers into you, that moment of relief when you get what you’ve been waiting for.” 

It’s like you can feel it through just the touch of her hands on yours. You can imagine Agatha’s fingers gently thrusting into you for the first time, curling and immediately knowing what to do. 

There’s a thrumming under your skin that’s only getting worse, a tightening in your stomach. You haven’t felt this way in so long you almost don’t recognize it. 

You peer through your eyelids just in time to catch her pink tongue darting out and licking her lips and a pang of heat blasts through you. 

Now you can’t stop imagining her tongue on you, delving into your folds, circling your clit. 

Can she see how much of a mess you are right now? Does she like it? The thought makes your breath stutter. 

“Picture your pleasure as a flowing river,” she says thickly, hotly. “Up until now, it’s been hitting a dam. It’s being blocked. But we’re going to break it.” 

Agatha’s fingers start moving against your palm, dragging them up so they’re curled before sliding them back down. It’s soothing, grounding, but also indicative of what she would be doing if she was inside your cunt right now. 

Is that why she’s doing it? 

She presses harder and you can almost feel the stroking movements in your pussy, like she’s fucking you and filling you and proving that there’s nothing wrong with you. Her knees brush against yours and you shiver again. You’ve never felt more alive. 

“Let yourself become one with pleasure. Let it overtake you, let it overwhelm you. Feel your partner’s lips on your skin, sucking on your nipples, feel your walls clench around their fingers, feel their thumb on your clit. It’s so good it makes your eyes water and you’re dripping and you’re about to come—let yourself come.”

For the first time in a year, the dam breaks. The tension snaps. It’s more intense than you remember an orgasm ever being and your mind goes white briefly. 

“Agatha,” you moan softly, jerking your hips forward to prolong your pleasure with some pressure on your clit, and then you realize what you just said. 

Your eyes shoot open, a hazy cloud still hanging over you, to find the color in her eyes almost completely swallowed by a hot darkness. Her cheeks are flushed slightly—you’d probably miss it if you weren’t sitting so close—and her tongue runs out across her lips again. 

“I’m so sorry,” you exclaim, clamping a hand over your mouth. 

She smirks and waves a hand, brushing it off. “I’m flattered, honey. What’s really important is that you had an orgasm. How do you feel?” 

The dopamine is still giving you a high that you don’t want to ever come down from. “Really good,” you answer honestly and she laughs. 

“Well, I’m very proud of the progress you’ve made in only two sessions.” She stands up and you follow. Agatha starts walking to the door and it sobers you up a little for her to be throwing you out so quickly after that. She sees your crestfallen look and winks. “It’s my lunch break. And I need to take care of a few things.” 

The suggestive tone is not lost on you and you feel another burst of heat. Would it be stupid of you to ask if you could stay? 

Yes, you decide. 

But you do ask, “So, is this it, then? I’m cured; I don’t have to come back?” 

Agatha shrugs with a twinkle in her eye. “Totally up to you. Although, I’d recommend at least a few more sessions. Just to make sure you don’t have any more problems. Just because you can orgasm by yourself again doesn’t mean it’ll just come naturally with other people.” 

“Are you going to help me with that, too?” you say before you lose the nerve. 

She just winks at you and your clit aches all the way to the receptionist’s desk. 

You book another session. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[vanityofaphrodite]

Offerings for Aphrodite

🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷

Physical offerings:

• Rose quartz, • Seashells (especially scallop shells), • Pearls, • Copper, • Gold, • Doves’ feathers, • Roses, • Myrtle, • Apple blossoms, • Jasmine, • Lavender, • Vanilla, • Honey, • Cinnamon, • Pomegranates, • Apples, • Chocolate, • Wine, • Seafoam, • Sand dollars, • Perfumed oils, • Mirror imagery, • Swan imagery, • Dove imagery, • Water from natural springs, • Pink or red candles, • Handcrafted jewelry, • Decorative combs and beauty items.

🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷

Devotional offerings:

• Practicing self-love and self-care

• Taking ritual baths with flowers and oils

• Adorning yourself with beautiful clothing, jewelry, or perfume

• Expressing love and affection to others

• Writing poetry, love letters, or songs in her honor

• Celebrating beauty in all forms—art, music, dance

• Supporting organizations that help women and those affected by love-related struggles

• Learning about ancient love and beauty rituals

• Studying her mythology and worship practices

• Celebrating her sacred festivals, such as the Aphrodisia

• Creating or enjoying romantic and sensual experiences

• Honoring healthy relationships and connections.

🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷🐚🩷

[faebled-stories]

The Echo of Three

Kinkvember Day 22: Cuckolding (Cuckqueen)

Kiss of Life Haneul and Belle x Male reader

13k words

AN: A bit later than usual, sorry about that 😅. It’s been a rough day, but I still wanted to make sure I got this out to you all. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

Haneul had always had a knack for knowing you better than you knew yourself. She noticed every little thing, from how you liked your coffee—three sugars, a splash of cream—to the way you hummed certain songs under your breath, not even realizing you were doing it. She’d pick up on the subtle shifts in your mood, the tells you didn’t even know you had. But one thing she had picked up on early in your relationship was your admiration for Belle.

Belle. The world-famous soloist with the hauntingly beautiful voice and the kind of stage presence that seemed to demand the world’s attention. Her performances felt intimate despite their grandeur, as though every note was meant for you, even when heard through a screen. You’d always been open about your love for her music, gushing over new albums, replaying live performances late into the night, and casually mentioning how much you’d love to see her in concert someday. It wasn’t just the music; it was her. Something about Belle’s presence—her confidence, her poise, the way she commanded a room with effortless grace—captivated you in a way Haneul couldn’t miss.

At first, Haneul had rolled her eyes. It was cute, she supposed—the way your face lit up when any of Belle’s songs came on, how you’d hum along with an almost reverent smile. But that cuteness came with a faint sting. She couldn’t help feeling a little twinge of jealousy every time Belle’s name slipped into conversation. Belle was glamorous, untouchable, someone who could capture the attention of millions with a single note. How could she not feel overshadowed by that?

But as time went on, those feelings softened. Haneul began to see your admiration for what it was: a harmless celebrity crush, a fantasy so far removed from reality that it didn’t threaten the deep, personal connection you shared. And in truth, the way you talked about Belle was endearing—your unfiltered enthusiasm for her talent, the way your excitement bubbled over whenever she released something new. It made Haneul love you even more, seeing this side of you that was so earnest and unapologetically passionate.

Even when you jokingly added Belle to your “hall pass” list, Haneul had laughed, calling you ridiculous. “Good luck with that,” she’d teased, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. But the idea lingered in her mind, a tiny spark of curiosity that never quite faded. It wasn’t jealousy anymore—it was something else. A mix of playful indulgence and genuine understanding. She wasn’t blind, after all. Even she could see the allure of someone like Belle.

So, when your birthday came around, Haneul knew exactly what to do. She wanted to give you something unforgettable, something that captured not only how much she loved you but how well she knew you.

-----

The faint flicker of candles cast a warm glow across the dimly lit room, the flames dancing in tandem with the soft scent of vanilla cake that filled the air. It mingled with the faint, familiar trace of Haneul’s floral perfume—something light, with a hint of jasmine—that always made you feel at home. Haneul stood across the table, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, her voice lilting gently as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Her tone was playful, teasing on some notes, but there was a warmth to it that made your chest ache in the best way. She wasn’t a professional singer, but to you, her voice was still amazing—especially when it was paired with the way her lips curved into a smile between verses. It made every note feel like it was meant just for you.

“Make a wish,” she said softly, her dark eyes sparkling as the candlelight danced across her face.

You closed your eyes, letting the moment settle over you. The warmth of the candles radiated faintly against your skin, the flickering light behind your eyelids matching the comforting steadiness of Haneul’s presence. The soft hum of her voice still lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a blanket. You took a deep breath, the scent of the cake mingling with the faint jasmine of her perfume, and made your wish: to spend forever with her, your loving girlfriend.

When you opened your eyes, the sight of her was enough to make your heart swell. Haneul, the woman who had brought so much light into your life, who knew you better than anyone else, stood there smiling at you, her expression warm and full of love. The soft flicker of the candles seemed to frame her in golden light, her dark eyes gleaming with the kind of joy that made everything around her feel secondary.

When you exhaled, the candles flickered and went out, the flames vanishing with a quiet whoosh. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily upward, the faint scent of burned wax mixing with the sweetness of the cake. For a moment, the room held its breath, as though even the air itself was savoring the moment. Then Haneul clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and cheerful as she broke the stillness with a bright, playful grin.

“Okay, so…” she said, dragging out the words with a teasing lilt. “Are you going to tell me what you wished for, or do I have to guess?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” you replied, leaning across the table to steal a quick kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, carrying the faint, sugary sweetness of the frosting. “It won’t come true if I do.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said with a dramatic sigh, though the playful twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. She picked up the cake knife, her movements deliberate and precise as she slid the blade into the frosting. The soft scrape of metal against ceramic filled the room, a small sound amplified by the quiet intimacy of the moment. She nudged a slice onto your plate, sliding it toward you with a smirk. “Here. Try not to inhale it all at once.”

The cake was perfect—soft, moist, with just the right amount of sweetness. Each bite seemed to melt on your tongue, leaving a lingering vanilla warmth. You couldn’t help but glance at her as she served herself a slice, the faint hum of her voice as she worked making your chest ache with quiet gratitude. The flicker of the candles reflected in her dark eyes, adding an almost magical quality to the moment. Everything about her—the curve of her lips, the casual confidence of her movements, the way her presence filled the room—made you feel impossibly lucky.

Haneul had always known exactly how to make you feel loved. But tonight felt different. There was something almost electric in the air, a subtle charge that made the moment feel bigger than it seemed. It wasn’t just the cake or her attention to detail—it was something unspoken, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It felt like anticipation.

As the last crumbs of cake disappeared from your plate, Haneul leaned back in her chair, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder in soft waves. The glow of the candles illuminated her profile, catching the mischievous glint in her eyes as she tilted her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Alright,” she said, her tone teasing. “Time for phase two.”

“Phase two?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Presents, obviously,” she replied, standing and walking over to the small table near the couch. She moved with an unhurried grace, her hips swaying slightly as she bent down to pick up a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts. Each package was unique—some wrapped in bright, playful patterns, others in muted, elegant tones—all perfectly folded with crisp corners and tied with coordinating ribbons. She carried them over with a sense of ceremony, setting them down in front of you with a flourish.

“Wait, all of these are for me?” you asked, eyeing the stack with mock suspicion. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Well, you did turn another year older,” she teased, sliding the first box toward you with a playful smirk. “And I guess you’ve been tolerable enough this year.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you picked up the first package. It was small and rectangular, wrapped in bright green paper that shimmered faintly under the soft light. You tore it open carefully, your fingers brushing against the smooth paper as you revealed a leather-bound journal with gilded edges. The leather was soft to the touch, its scent of fresh material mingling with the lingering sweetness of the cake. As you opened it, the faint smell of clean, unused paper reached you, a quiet promise of possibility. On the first page, written in her familiar handwriting, was a note: For all the dreams we haven’t dreamed yet.

You looked up at her, the weight of the gesture settling over you like a warm blanket. “This is beautiful, Haneul. Thank you.”

She shrugged, though the faint flush on her cheeks betrayed her pride. “I just thought… you’re always talking about ideas, so now you’ll have somewhere to put them.”

The next gift was smaller, wrapped in silver paper that gleamed in the candlelight. Inside, you found a sleek pair of wireless earbuds. The polished surface caught the light as you held them up, and you couldn’t help but grin. “I figured these might come in handy,” she said, leaning her chin on her hand with a mischievous look. “You know, for drowning me out when I nag you.”

You laughed, holding them up to inspect them. “Or for listening to music on those walks you’re always making me take.”

“Exactly,” she replied, her tone light but affectionate.

The final small package was the most understated of the three, wrapped in soft cream-colored paper tied with a delicate ribbon. Inside, nestled in a velvet box, was a simple chain bracelet. It gleamed subtly under the flickering light, its design understated but elegant—exactly your style. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your wrist as she leaned forward to fasten it. Her touch was warm, her focus intent as she secured the clasp with care.

“For luck,” she murmured, her voice softer now. She sat back, her eyes studying your face as you admired it. “It’s simple, but I thought it’d suit you.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, your voice quiet as you looked up at her. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Haneul. I don’t even know what to say.”

Her smile widened, a mix of pride and playfulness lighting her face as she leaned back in her chair. “Don’t worry,” she said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m not done yet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Not done?”

She laughed, the sound light and teasing, as she stood and walked back toward the couch. This time, she returned with a sleek white envelope in her hand. The paper was pristine, the edges sharp, as though it had been carefully guarded. The faint rustle of the envelope in her hands seemed amplified in the quiet room, building the anticipation swirling in your chest. She set it down in front of you with a flourish, her grin widening in a way that made your heart race.

“This,” she said, tapping the envelope with her finger, “is the real present.”

Your heart skipped as you reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly. The paper felt smooth and crisp under your fingertips, the slight weight of the contents inside making your pulse quicken. You broke the seal, the faint sound of tearing paper almost echoing in the stillness, and pulled out the contents. Two glossy concert tickets gleamed in your hands, the bold, stylized name Belle printed across them in her signature font. The logo glittered faintly in the light, catching your eye like it had been designed just for this moment. Beneath the tickets was a smaller slip of paper, gilded with gold. The words BACKSTAGE ACCESS were embossed in elegant, raised lettering.

For a moment, the words didn’t register. You stared at the tickets, your mind slowly piecing together what they meant. It was like trying to solve a puzzle while your heart pounded in your chest, the pieces clicking into place one by one. “No way,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “Is this…? Did you…?”

Haneul grinned, her dark eyes dancing as she leaned her chin on her hand. “You’re going to see her live. Front row seats. And after the concert, you get to meet her.”

You blinked, the reality of her words crashing over you like a wave. The world around you seemed to tilt, and for a second, all you could do was stare at the tickets in your hands, the weight of them feeling almost surreal. “Haneul, I—this is—” Your voice faltered as your emotions welled up, a knot forming in your throat. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“Well,” she teased, standing and walking over to your side, her tone as casual as if she’d just handed you socks. “You could start by not crying.”

“I’m not crying,” you muttered, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Your vision blurred slightly, and you quickly set the tickets down before pulling her into a tight hug. Her body was warm and solid against yours, grounding you as you buried your face in her hair. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Seriously. This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

She laughed softly, her arms wrapping around you with a reassuring squeeze. “You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice soft against your ear. “I figured it was about time you got to see your celebrity crush in person.”

You groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, though the smile on your face betrayed your exasperation. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she replied, her grin widening, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Besides, I want to see if she lives up to the hype.”

The two of you laughed together, the weight of the moment giving way to an electric sense of anticipation. The tickets sat on the table, gleaming in the candlelight, a tangible reminder of what awaited you tomorrow. Finally, you’d see Belle live—an experience you’d dreamed about for years. And thanks to Haneul, it was going to be even more unforgettable than you could have imagined.

-----

The concert is electric, the kind of performance that leaves the air humming with energy long after the final note fades. Belle’s stage presence is commanding, magnetic, as though the entire venue bends to her will. Her voice carries through the space like a force of nature—raw, powerful, yet impossibly intimate. Each note seems to wrap around you, as though meant for you alone. The stage lights flare and dim with every shift in tempo, casting her in a glow that feels almost ethereal. You’re completely enraptured, caught in the pull of her undeniable charisma.

But what surprises you most isn’t your own reaction—it’s Haneul’s. She’s usually composed, steady, the picture of quiet confidence. Yet tonight, there’s something different in her demeanor. She watches Belle with an intensity you rarely see, her dark eyes following the singer’s every movement. There’s a tinge of admiration in her expression, subtle but unmistakable, and it catches you off guard. You notice the way her lips part slightly during a particularly sultry note, the faint rise and fall of her chest as she leans forward in her seat, as though caught in the same spell that has ensnared you.

By the time the concert ends and you head backstage, a shared excitement buzzes between you. It’s an unspoken thing, lingering in the quickened pace of your steps, the faint blush on your cheeks when Haneul glances at you with a knowing smile. The backstage area feels quieter than you expected, the air still charged with the energy of the performance. The faint roar of the departing crowd filters through the walls, a distant echo of the electricity that filled the arena moments ago. Overhead lights cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of sweat and faintly floral perfume lingers in the air like a reminder of Belle’s presence.

And then there she is.

Belle is as radiant up close as she was on stage, her charisma somehow even more potent in the intimate glow of the backstage lounge. Her dark hair is pulled into a loose, slightly tousled style, a few strands falling artfully across her face. The soft sheen of sweat on her skin catches the light, making her look both human and larger than life, her beauty almost surreal. She’s dressed casually now, in a loose-fitting top that clings in just the right places and snug jeans that highlight her long legs, but she wears them with the kind of effortless grace that makes them feel like a designer ensemble.

Her laughter fills the room like music, light and genuine, a perfect counterpoint to the quiet hum of post-performance energy still lingering in the air. She moves with an easy elegance, her gestures fluid as she pours drinks and chats with her team. But as you step into her orbit, her attention shifts.

Her gaze lands squarely on you, and suddenly, it feels like the room has shrunk. Her eyes are sharp, focused, as though she’s appraising you in a way that makes your chest tighten. She tilts her head slightly, her smile widening into something teasing yet calculated. "So," she begins, her voice carrying that same sultry edge you’d heard on stage, "you’re the big fan, huh?"

The words hit you like a spotlight, and your heart stutters in your chest. Her attention is magnetic, pinning you in place as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. "Uh…" You struggle to form words, your throat inexplicably dry. "Y-yeah," you manage after a beat, your face flushing under her scrutiny. "You were… incredible."

Belle’s laughter spills from her lips, soft and teasing, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she steps just a little closer. "Incredible?" she repeats, her tone lilting as though savoring the word. "I’ll take that." She lets the pause linger, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting yours again, sharper this time, like she’s testing your limits. "Though you look like you weren’t expecting me to be that good."

Her hand brushes your arm lightly, a fleeting touch that somehow feels deliberate, calculated to send a jolt of nervous energy through you. Her fingers are warm against your skin, leaving a faint trace of heat that lingers even after she pulls back. "Relax," she says, her voice playful but carrying an undertone that’s far more suggestive. "I don’t bite." She lets her smile linger for a beat before adding with a low laugh, "Not unless I’m invited."

The air between you shifts, growing thicker, charged. Her proximity makes it hard to focus on anything else, her perfume—soft with a faint musky undertone—wrapping around you like a net. Your hands twitch slightly at your sides, your mind racing with a mix of awe and nervousness. You glance toward Haneul, desperate for some kind of grounding, but what you find isn’t exactly what you were hoping for.

Haneul is sitting nearby, watching the exchange with a quiet smile that gives away nothing. There’s a glimmer of amusement in her expression, but beneath that, something else—something curious, almost approving. When she notices your panicked glance, her grin deepens, and she tilts her head slightly, as if silently telling you to keep going.

You’re about to stammer out another awkward attempt at conversation when Haneul decides to step in. "He’s more than a fan," she teases, her voice light but purposeful as she rises from her seat. She walks up beside you, slipping an arm around your waist in a way that feels both comforting and mischievous. "You should’ve seen him watching you tonight," she continues, her tone dripping with playful exaggeration. "I thought he was going to pass out at one point."

"Haneul!" you hiss, your cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment as you glance at her, your wide eyes begging her to stop.

Belle chuckles, clearly entertained by the dynamic. "Oh, really?" she asks, her smile widening as her gaze flicks back to you. "Well, I guess I made an impression."

"He couldn’t stop talking about you for weeks after I got these tickets," Haneul adds, clearly enjoying herself now. She looks up at you with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He even practiced what he’d say if he ever got the chance to meet you. Something about wanting to thank you for inspiring him?"

Your hands fly up in protest. "I did not!" you protest, your voice cracking slightly, but your flushed cheeks betray you. You glance at Belle, who’s watching the exchange with open amusement, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Don’t worry," Haneul says, patting your chest as though to reassure you. "I think it’s cute." She looks back at Belle, her grin softening slightly. "He’s been looking forward to this for a long time."

Belle’s expression shifts slightly, her teasing smirk taking on a hint of warmth as she studies you. "You’ve got a good one," she says to Haneul, nodding toward you. There’s a flicker of something sly in her expression as she adds, "If he weren’t taken, I’d probably have jumped on him by now."

Her words land with a weight that seems to linger in the air, bold and unapologetic, resonating like the echo of a drumbeat. Your blush deepens, creeping to the tips of your ears as your pulse quickens under the intensity of her gaze. You try to respond—to say something clever, to deflect—but the words tangle in your throat, refusing to form. The tension in the room presses against you, thick and tangible, like a storm waiting to break.

Haneul’s calm voice cuts through the charged air, steady and deliberate.

"Is that so?" she says, her tone light but deliberate. Her head tilts slightly, her gaze steady as she looks at Belle. There’s a confidence in her voice that you don’t expect, a calmness that feels deliberate. "What’s stopping you?"

Belle’s eyebrows shoot up, her usual confidence flickering as surprise flashes across her face. "Wait, are you serious?" she asks, her voice a mix of laughter and disbelief. Her eyes dart between you and Haneul, searching for any sign of a joke.

Haneul pauses, the weight of her words settling over her as Belle’s question lingers in the air. Her calm exterior belies the storm of thoughts rushing through her mind. The idea—watching you with Belle, this untouchable, magnetic performer she’d admired from afar—felt like it should spark jealousy, like it should tighten in her chest in that all-too-familiar way. And there was a flicker of it, faint and fleeting, but what surprised her more was everything else.

Excitement. Thrill. A low, unexpected hum of arousal that made her breath catch for just a second. It struck her as strange, almost absurd, but she couldn’t deny the way her pulse quickened at the thought. She could picture it so vividly—your hands on Belle, the way you’d look at her with that same hungry intensity that sometimes set her own body aflame. It made her stomach twist in a way that was as exhilarating as it was unsettling.

Her gaze flicks to you, catching the uncertainty in your expression, the way your shoulders are just slightly tense as though you’re waiting for her to pull back. But she doesn’t. Instead, she shrugs, her lips curling into a small, almost teasing smile. Her voice is steady when she speaks, but there’s a softness beneath it, a quiet acceptance of the strange mix of emotions surging through her. "I mean, I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at him." Her gaze softens slightly, her eyes flickering to you as though grounding herself. "And honestly…" She pauses, her voice lowering just enough to draw Belle’s full attention. "The idea isn’t as crazy as you might think."

Her words send a rush of heat through you—confusion, excitement, and something else that twists low in your stomach. You glance between Haneul and Belle, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all. The silence that follows feels alive, buzzing with possibility.

Belle leans back slightly, her lips parting as she processes Haneul’s words. She looks between you and Haneul, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "Well," she murmurs, stepping closer to you, "if the lady insists… who am I to say no?"

Haneul lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks faintly flushed. Despite her calm exterior, you can see it now—the rush of excitement sparking behind her eyes, the slight rise and fall of her chest as though she’s steadying herself. She glances at you again, her gaze warm but charged, and you realize this isn’t just about Belle. It’s about you. About the thrill of watching something unfold that neither of you had planned but both of you are suddenly open to.

Her hands brush against yours, her touch light yet deliberate, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. She leans in closer, her lips hovering near yours. "Are you okay with this?" she whispers, her voice low and inviting, her breath warm against your skin.

Your throat feels tight, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. You glance at Haneul, who is sitting on the couch, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. She nods encouragingly, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted. Her reassurance steadies you, and you turn back to Belle, nodding softly.

With your consent, Belle closes the distance between you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, her movements confident and commanding. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before, and it leaves you breathless. Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing yours in a way that makes your knees feel weak.

As the moment stretches, Belle pulls back slightly, her breath mingling with yours. "Why don’t we make this a little more private?" she murmurs, her tone sultry yet casual, as though it’s the most natural suggestion in the world.

Haneul rises from the couch, her movements slow but deliberate, her gaze locked onto yours. There’s a shared understanding between the three of you now, an unspoken agreement as Belle gestures toward a door in the back corner of the room. Her hand slides into yours as she leads you both toward it, her touch firm and steady, her confidence pulling you forward.

The room you enter is dimly lit, with a plush couch in the center and soft, ambient lighting casting warm shadows across the walls. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the three of you in a space that feels intimate, almost sacred. Belle turns to face you both, her smirk softening into something more inviting as she steps closer, her movements fluid and deliberate.

"Now," she says, her voice dropping lower, her gaze flicking between you and Haneul, "where were we?"

The weight of the room’s privacy settles over you, amplifying every glance, every touch, every unspoken word. Haneul steps closer, her hand finding yours as her other rests lightly on your arm. She glances at Belle, her cheeks still flushed, her expression open and eager. The anticipation in the room is electric, the boundaries between the three of you dissolving as the night takes its next step.

You can’t help but glance at Haneul again, seeking her reassurance even as Belle consumes your focus. Haneul’s eyes meet yours, her expression calm but undeniably aroused. She nods again, her lips curling into a small smile, as if to remind you that she’s there, fully supportive, fully in control.

Belle pulls back slightly, her lips brushing against your jaw as she murmurs, "Relax. You’re doing fine." Her hands begin to explore, slipping beneath your shirt, her touch warm and deliberate. One by one, pieces of clothing fall away—yours and hers—until you’re left stunned, standing before her.

Your breath catches as your gaze roams over Belle’s bare skin. She’s everything you’ve admired for so long: radiant, confident, and breathtakingly real. For years, she’s been a distant fantasy, a figure on a screen or in your headphones, and now she’s here, naked before you. You’re too stunned to move, your eyes wide, your body frozen in awe.

Belle notices your reaction and smiles, her confidence unwavering as her eyes sweep over you. Her gaze flickers downward briefly, pausing, and a subtle shift in her expression betrays her thoughts—her smile widening slightly, her brows lifting just enough to suggest admiration. When her gaze returns to your face, there’s a flicker of something playful and knowing in her eyes, the kind of look that makes your chest tighten.

She glances toward Haneul, who is still seated on the couch, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and arousal. Belle tilts her head slightly, giving Haneul a knowing glance—a silent, almost conspiratorial expression that says without words: You’re a lucky girl.

Belle takes your hand and guides you to the couch, her touch firm yet unhurried, every movement exuding confidence. She nudges you to sit, her eyes locked on yours with a smirk that sends a thrill through you. Her graceful form lowers between your legs, her movements deliberate as she kneels. "Let’s see how much you can handle," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, every word dripping with intent.

Your breath catches sharply as her hand wraps around your length, her touch warm and deliberate. Her fingers glide over you with practiced precision, each motion sending ripples of sensation up your spine. The faint trace of her perfume—subtle and musky—lingers in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. A soft gasp escapes your lips, unbidden, as her grip tightens just slightly, perfectly calibrated to draw the first hint of tension from deep within you. Belle doesn’t rush; her eyes flick upward, locking with yours, and for a moment, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. Her gaze is intent, assessing, drinking in every shift in your expression. The faintest smile tugs at the corners of her lips, a quiet show of confidence, before she leans forward, parting them to envelop you in her warm, wet mouth.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, a rush of heat and pressure that leaves you breathless. Her tongue moves with deliberate skill, teasing and exploring as it swirls along your length. The contrast between the firm seal of her lips and the soft, wet heat of her tongue is electrifying, sending shivers coursing through your body. Your fingers instinctively grip the edge of the couch as you try to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. Each flick of her tongue against the sensitive underside of your tip feels impossibly precise, perfectly tuned to unravel you. Her movements are controlled, calculated, and maddeningly slow, as though she’s savoring every moment—and daring you to do the same.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Haneul shifting on the couch. At first, her gaze is fixed on Belle, her dark eyes following the rhythm of her movements with a mix of fascination and intrigue. Her chest rises and falls steadily, though her breath catches ever so slightly when Belle’s head dips lower, taking you deeper. The faint flush on her cheeks deepens as she watches, her lips parting subtly as if to echo your own shaky breaths. But soon, her attention drifts upward—to you.

Haneul’s eyes widen slightly as they meet your face, and her breath hitches as she takes in the rawness of your expression. Your head tilted back, your jaw slack, every part of you consumed by the sensations Belle is drawing from you. There’s a hunger in your gaze, an unguarded intensity she’s rarely seen, and it sends a wave of heat coursing through her. Her thighs press tightly together, her own arousal building as she drinks in every detail: the faint sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the tension in your arms as you grip the couch for stability, the way your lips part with soft, uneven breaths. It’s as if she’s seeing a side of you she never has before, and the sight ignites something deep and primal within her.

Belle’s pace shifts, the languid rhythm giving way to something more insistent. Her lips slide along your length with increasing fervor, her tongue teasing you mercilessly. The slick sounds of her movements fill the room, mingling with the soft gasps escaping your lips. Her hand joins the effort, stroking you in perfect sync with her mouth, her touch firm yet tantalizingly smooth. Each stroke feels like a deliberate test, designed to push you closer to the edge. Your breathing grows ragged, shallow inhales interspersed with low groans that you can’t suppress.

You glance down at Belle, and the sight alone nearly undoes you. Her dark eyes are locked onto yours, gleaming with satisfaction and something deeper—possessive, teasing, utterly confident. Even as she takes you deeper, her cheeks hollowing with effort, her lips curl into a subtle smirk, the look of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. Her tongue flicks against the most sensitive spots with maddening precision, each motion sending jolts of electricity racing through your core.

Behind her, Haneul’s gaze is transfixed. Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with visible urgency as she watches you unravel. One hand rests against her thigh, trembling slightly, while the other lingers near her folds, her fingers twitching as though tempted to join the intensity surrounding her. Her lips part slightly, soft sounds escaping her as her arousal mirrors your own, her body responding to the raw display of pleasure before her.

Belle’s rhythm intensifies, her mouth and hand working together in perfect tandem. The wet heat of her lips contrasts with the firm, deliberate strokes of her hand, the combination almost unbearable. Your fingers dig into the couch, your body tense and coiled like a spring as the fire in your stomach builds. A deep groan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, echoing in the room as Belle’s relentless pace pushes you closer to the brink.

Haneul’s eyes remain locked on you, her own breathing quickening as she watches the moment unfold. The sight of you trembling, completely lost in the force of your climax, sends a jolt of heat straight through her. She feels her thighs press together involuntarily, a rush of slick arousal pooling between her legs as her own body responds to the rawness of the scene. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her fingers curling against her thighs as she watches, captivated and overwhelmed by how unrestrained you’ve become.

Belle pulls back slightly just as you reach your peak, her hand stroking you with firm, deliberate movements. Your release comes in hot, thick waves, spilling across her lips and cheeks with startling intensity. Belle tilts her head slightly, her mouth parting as she lets the remnants land on her tongue, the streaks of your climax glistening against her skin. She doesn’t flinch or hesitate, her expression one of pure satisfaction. A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth as she slowly drags her tongue along her lips, savoring every drop.

Haneul lets out a soft, almost imperceptible gasp, her body reacting before her mind can fully catch up. Her thighs shift, a faint ache blooming between them as she feels a flush spread across her chest. The sight of you—completely undone, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath—is impossibly arousing. And Belle, kneeling there with your release dripping down her face, wearing it with an unapologetic confidence that makes her look even more untouchable—it’s almost too much.

Belle meets your gaze, her smirk deepening as she licks one final drop from her lower lip. "Not bad," she murmurs, her voice low and rich with satisfaction. Her fingers trail down your thigh briefly, a playful reminder of the control she wielded just moments ago.

Haneul’s breath hitches as her eyes dart between you and Belle, her own arousal impossible to ignore now. The heat, the tension, the sheer audacity of the moment—it all swirls together, leaving her both awestruck and deeply, undeniably turned on.

Belle leans back slightly, her gaze flickering toward Haneul, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "I think he enjoyed that," she says, her voice smooth, teasing, and dripping with satisfaction. Her eyes flick briefly to you, then back to Haneul, as though gauging her reaction. Haneul doesn’t respond immediately, her breath shallow, caught up in the rush of her own thoughts. Her heart races as the moment lingers, a strange thrill mingling with the heat coursing through her body.

Belle rises with fluid grace, moving to the couch. Every step is deliberate, each motion exuding a confidence that seems to fill the room. She sits on the side, reclining back against the armrest, her legs spreading slowly, confidently, as she positions herself. Her bare skin glows faintly under the dim light, every curve and line of her body sculpted as though by an artist’s hand. Her poise is magnetic, her gaze unwavering as she locks eyes with you.

You stand there for a moment, frozen. Your breath catches as the surreal nature of the scene washes over you in waves. Belle, the woman you’d admired for so long, was waiting for you, her body open and inviting, her smirk daring you to act.

Noticing your hesitation, Belle’s smirk softens slightly, something warmer flashing in her expression. "Come here," she murmurs, her voice low and velvety, carrying an unspoken command that sends a shiver down your spine. The authority in her tone leaves no room for doubt, yet there’s a tenderness beneath it, an acknowledgment of your hesitation.

You move toward her, your legs feeling heavy as your heart pounds in your chest. Kneeling between her legs, you look up, meeting her gaze as her dark eyes bore into yours. She’s utterly in control, even as she spreads herself before you, her confidence radiating in every deliberate movement. For a moment, you almost blank out, staring at her with wide eyes, overwhelmed by the reality of it all. Belle, this untouchable goddess of a performer, was here, her legs open, waiting for you. The thought leaves you dizzy, your breaths shallow as you try to ground yourself.

You lean in slowly, your breath brushing against her skin as the faint, intoxicating scent of her arousal fills your senses. It sharpens the edge of your nerves, each detail of her more vivid than the last: the glisten of her skin, the subtle quiver of her thighs, the soft rise and fall of her chest. You hover there, so close and yet frozen, as though one wrong move might shatter the spell. The surreal nature of the moment presses down on you, leaving you suspended in sensory overload.

Belle notices immediately. Without hesitation, her hand shoots out, her fingers tangling in your hair with a firm, possessive grip. She pulls your head forward with deliberate force, pressing your lips firmly against her folds. The suddenness of the gesture snaps you out of your trance, the taste and warmth of her flooding your senses as she holds you there.

Her hand lingers, her fingers tightening slightly as if to make sure you’re fully engaged before releasing you. The soft vibration of her moan travels through her body, pulling something primal from deep within you. Instinct takes over, and your lips begin to move against her, brushing tentatively at first. Your movements are slow and deliberate, each stroke of your tongue light and exploratory, as though savoring the taste of something rare and exquisite.

Belle’s moan deepens, her voice low and unrestrained, a sound so intimate and raw it sends a jolt through you. Your member twitches at the sound, your arousal building with each note she releases. Encouraged, you grow bolder, each movement of your tongue more confident, more deliberate. You start slow, savoring every inch of her, your strokes measured and intentional as if this were a feast meant to be lingered over. The warmth of her, the way she reacts to each flick and swirl of your tongue, is utterly intoxicating.

Belle’s hands grip the armrest behind her as her head tilts back. Her breathing grows heavier, her chest rising and falling in time with your movements. The soft, melodic sounds she makes pull you deeper into the moment, every moan spurring you to explore more, to find new ways to make her lose herself.

Her thighs tremble faintly under your touch, and you steady her, your hands moving to her hips to keep her in place. Her soft gasps grow louder, her voice dipping into raw, unguarded cries of pleasure. You press closer, your confidence mounting as you lose yourself in the rhythm of her body, every sound she makes driving you further.

Belle’s back arches slightly, her breathing quickening as your tongue swirls around her sensitive nub before dipping lower to tease her entrance. The way she reacts—her hips shifting toward you, the way her fingers grip tighter against the couch—sends a fresh wave of desire surging through you. You keep going, pulling every ounce of pleasure from her as her soft cries fill the room, each one a melody more beautiful than the last.

With each moan, your confidence builds, the initial hesitation melting away. Soon, your movements grow less restrained, driven by an almost primal need to pull more from her, to hear her voice climb higher. You press your tongue more firmly against her, each stroke hungrier, more desperate. The desire to make her lose herself completely consumes you, fueling every motion. You focus intently on the way her body responds—the slight tremble in her thighs, the way her hips instinctively shift toward you, chasing every sensation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Haneul shifting on the couch. Her breathing has deepened, the subtle hitch in each exhale betraying her growing arousal. When you glance briefly in her direction, your heart skips. Her thighs are pressed tightly together, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin flushed with heat. Her dark eyes are locked on you, a mix of fascination and hunger, drawn to the intensity with which you’re worshiping Belle. The sight of you so consumed, so eager, is clearly affecting her.

The realization sends a thrill through you, but you return your focus to Belle, determined to elicit even more from her. Each movement of your tongue becomes calculated yet frantic, teasing the edges of her folds before delving inside. You savor the way her body reacts, the faint shudder that ripples through her as you alternate between swirling around her entrance and flicking lightly against her clit. Every motion pulls another sound from her lips, a fresh wave of breathy, unrestrained moans that fill the room like music.

Your hands grip her thighs to steady yourself, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as you hold her open. When her legs begin to tremble, instinctively trying to close against the overwhelming sensations, you tighten your hold, refusing to let her escape the intensity. Belle’s moans grow louder, her voice breaking into gasps as her back arches, her hands gripping the couch tightly. The usual control she carries so effortlessly is unraveling before you, every sound she makes spurring you on.

From behind you comes a soft gasp, breaking through the haze of your focus. You pause, turning your head slightly, and your breath catches. Haneul is completely naked now, her clothes discarded and forgotten in the growing pile on the floor. Her hands move over her body, one slipping between her thighs, her fingers working rhythmically as she watches. Her gaze is locked on you and Belle, but there’s something deeper in her eyes—a connection that pulls you back toward her every time. Her breath is uneven, her lips parted, her expression a mix of arousal and admiration.

The sight of her—the way she’s looking at you, her body glistening in the low light—ignites something even hotter inside you. As much as you want Belle, as consuming as this moment is, Haneul’s presence grounds you, intensifies your desire. You turn back to Belle, your determination redoubled. If this was your moment to impress, to give them both something unforgettable, you weren’t going to hold back.

Your attention zeroes in on Belle’s clit now, your tongue moving with rapid precision against the sensitive nub. Each flick and press earns you a sharper gasp, a louder moan. Her hips buck against you, her movements desperate as her body chases the pleasure you’re giving her. Your hands hold her legs firmly in place, spreading her wider, ensuring she can’t escape the onslaught of sensation. Belle’s cries grow louder, her usual poise dissolving into pure, unrestrained pleasure.

"Don’t stop," she gasps, her voice high and trembling, her chest heaving with every word. Her fingers dig into the couch, her thighs quivering beneath your grasp as she teeters on the edge. You don’t relent. Your tongue is relentless, teasing and pressing and flicking with a rhythm that drives her higher and higher. Her legs strain against your arms, her muscles taut, but you hold her open, refusing to let her pull away from the intensity.

Belle’s climax builds rapidly, her moans turning into sharp cries as her body begins to quake. You can feel it—the way her thighs tighten, her hips jerk involuntarily, her entire body preparing for release. When it hits, it’s like an explosion. Her voice breaks into a loud, unabashed cry as her back arches, her fingers clutching the couch for dear life.

A sudden rush of liquid warmth drenches your face and chest, Belle’s release coming in an overwhelming wave. It’s powerful, unexpected, and utterly intoxicating. The sharp, heady scent of her arousal fills the air, thick and unmistakable, as her body jerks uncontrollably beneath your grip. You pause for a heartbeat, stunned by the rawness of the moment, the sheer force of her climax leaving her trembling violently. Her soft whimpers fill the air, each one high-pitched and shaky as the last waves of pleasure crash through her. Her thighs quiver, her knees giving out completely, and the tension in her frame melts into exhausted surrender as she slumps forward, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Behind you, Haneul lets out a choked cry, her voice breaking with the intensity of her own release. You turn your head just in time to see her arch back, her body taut as if caught in the grip of something uncontrollable. Her hand moves frantically between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as her hips buck against her touch. Her thighs clamp together momentarily, her movements erratic as her climax overtakes her with full force.

Her moans are raw and unrestrained, filling the room as her body trembles violently. Her free hand grips the edge of the couch. She fights to keep herself grounded, but her body betrays her—every muscle quakes as wave after wave of pleasure floods her senses. A sudden gush of her release escapes, slicking her thighs and pooling beneath her, the scent mingling with Belle’s and creating an intoxicating blend of musk that saturates the air.

Her head tilts back, her mouth open in a silent scream before another loud, broken moan escapes her lips. Her entire body shudders as the peak finally crests, leaving her slumped against the couch, her chest heaving and her skin glistening with sweat. Her cries mix with Belle’s lingering whimpers, creating a shared symphony of pleasure that echoes off the walls, binding the three of you in the raw, primal intensity of the moment.

The air feels heavy now, thick with the scent of release and the echoes of your shared sounds. The moment stretches endlessly, each of you caught in the lingering aftershocks, bound together by the raw intimacy of it all. Belle reclines against the couch, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, her body still trembling faintly from the intensity of her climax.

Her gaze flickers to Haneul, who is slumped back on the couch, her flushed skin glistening in the dim light. Haneul’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her body visibly relaxed yet humming with the residual heat of her release. Their eyes meet briefly, a shared look passing between them—something unspoken, an acknowledgment of the rawness and beauty of the moment they’ve just shared. Belle’s lips curl into a faint smile, her confidence glowing in the aftermath, and Haneul mirrors it with a soft, breathless laugh.

As Belle’s gaze shifts, it lands on you, still kneeling between her legs. Her eyes drop slightly, taking in your form, and then lower still. She notices your member, back at full strength, glistening faintly with a mix of exertion and her previous attentions. A mischievous spark lights in her eyes as an idea begins to form. She straightens slightly, her body language shifting back into one of command, her movements deliberate and poised. Her gaze flickers between you and Haneul, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Alright," she murmurs, her voice low and commanding. Her eyes lock onto Haneul with an air of playful authority. "Haneul, lie down for me—right here."

She gestures to the space where she had just been, the fabric still warm and damp from her release. Haneul hesitates for only a moment, her eyes darting to yours, seeking silent reassurance. When you nod, she mirrors the gesture, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she moves to the couch. There’s a nervous grace in the way she positions herself, her movements tentative but unresisting. She leans back against the armrest, her legs spreading slowly, exposing folds already glistening with arousal. Her breathing quickens, and her gaze alternates between you and Belle, anticipation written across her face.

Belle shifts to the opposite end of the couch, bending over the armrest so she’s facing Haneul. The position stretches her body out provocatively, her curves taut and inviting, her flushed, sweat-slicked skin catching the light in a way that makes her look almost otherworldly. Despite her disheveled state, her smirk remains confident, teasing, as if she were still performing. She lifts her head slightly, her eyes locking onto you as she gestures with a lazy wave of her fingers. "Behind me," she says, her tone firm but laced with playful authority. "Let’s make sure your girlfriend has the best seat in the house."

Your breath hitches as you step forward, positioning yourself behind Belle. From this angle, the sight before you is almost too much to take in—Haneul reclining in front of you, her flushed face framed by her tousled hair, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Her legs remain spread, her folds pulsing faintly as her fingers move over herself in slow, deliberate circles. Then there’s Belle, bent over in front of you, her body radiating heat, her hips tilting slightly to give you better access. The combination—the contrast of Belle’s commanding confidence and Haneul’s vulnerable allure—sends a rush of heat surging through you.

You guide yourself to Belle’s entrance, your tip brushing against her warm, slick folds. The sensation is immediate, electrifying, and for a moment, you falter, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. Belle lets out a low hum of approval, her body shifting back toward you in encouragement, the motion subtle but unmistakable. She glances back at you with a smirk, her gaze equal parts amused and urging, her confidence pulling you forward.

Taking a steadying breath, you press forward, easing yourself inside her with slow, deliberate movements. The first push is exquisite, her tight warmth enveloping you inch by inch. Belle’s breath catches, her soft gasp breaking into a low moan as you stretch her. Her fingers clutch at the armrest, her knuckles whitening briefly as she adjusts to your size. The sound sends shivers down your spine, the rawness of it matching the tension coiling in your body. She exhales shakily, her voice low and laced with satisfaction. "There we go," she murmurs, her tone teasing but edged with need.

Your eyes flick instinctively toward Haneul, seeking reassurance in this surreal moment. She’s watching intently, her lips parted as her chest rises and falls in rhythm with her quickening breaths. Her hand moves boldly now, her fingers gliding against her folds as her arousal heightens. The wet sounds of her pleasure mingle with Belle’s breathy moans, creating a symphony of desire that fuels your movements.

You start with a slow, measured rhythm, your thrusts deliberate as you focus on the way Belle responds. Her body moves with yours, her hips rolling back to meet each motion, a soft hum escaping her lips with every push. The grip of her walls around you is overwhelming, each stroke building the tension higher. Your hands grip her hips firmly, grounding yourself as the moment threatens to sweep you away.

But it’s Haneul’s gaze that keeps drawing you back. Her heavy-lidded eyes flicker between your face and where your body connects with Belle, her expression a mix of awe and unfiltered arousal. Her fingers quicken between her thighs, her soft, breathy sounds spurring you on. The sight of her like this—completely enthralled, her body trembling as she watches—is almost enough to undo you.

Belle shifts beneath you, her movements growing more insistent. Her body rocks with your rhythm, her back arching slightly as she pushes against you, trying to match your thrusts. The soft, slick sounds of your connection fill the room, each movement drawing a quiet gasp or low moan from her lips. But it’s not enough. Her hips press back harder, meeting yours in a way that makes your breath hitch, her determination to draw more from you undeniable.

She turns her head slightly, her dark eyes locking onto yours over her shoulder. There’s a heat in her gaze, a challenge sparking behind it that sends shivers through you. "Faster," she murmurs, her voice breathy but commanding, every word dripping with need. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she adds, "Harder." The words land with weight, her tone tinged with expectation, daring you to give her everything she’s asking for. The tension coils tighter in your chest, and you feel the pulse of heat shoot straight through you.

You adjust your rhythm, your hips driving forward with more force. Each thrust sends a jolt through Belle’s body, her gasps turning into louder, more desperate cries as her hands clutch the armrest for support as she braces herself, her back arching deeper with every movement. But Belle isn’t content to let you take full control. Her hips grind backward into you, the motion deliberate and hungry as she matches your pace. The sheer effortlessness of her movements, the way she works her body to meet yours, leaves you breathless.

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, as the intensity builds. Her legs tremble beneath her, her knees shifting against the floor as she struggles to maintain her balance. Her hips buck against you, her movements urging you to go deeper, harder, her body demanding more. The force of each thrust pushes her against the edge of the couch, her body pressed firmly into the armrest. The soft fabric does little to muffle the sound of her cries as they rise higher, turning into sharp, high-pitched whimpers with every deep stroke.

But something still holds you back—a faint hesitation lingering in the back of your mind, the weight of the moment pressing on you. Your gaze flickers toward Haneul, seeking her grounding presence, and the sight of her makes your breath catch.

Her eyes glisten with arousal, her gaze flickering between your face and the way your body moves with Belle. Her chest heaves with every breath, her own arousal climbing as her fingers work with increasing urgency. Her thighs tremble, her movements growing bolder as she watches you, completely lost in the rhythm you’ve created. When she notices the slight falter in your thrusts, her lips curl into a soft, knowing smile.

"Give her everything, baby," Haneul whispers, her voice trembling but full of certainty. Her words carry no jealousy, only a quiet thrill, the sincerity in her tone sending a fresh rush of desire through you. "Don’t hold back."

Her words break whatever was holding you back. You grip Belle’s arms firmly, your fingers wrapping around her toned biceps as you pull her back toward you. The strength of your hold sends a jolt through her, her breath hitching in surprise. The first thrust with this newfound confidence hits a spot deep inside her, and the sharpness of her reaction is immediate—a loud, high-pitched squeal that escapes her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her body rocks forward, her legs losing their grip on the floor as the force of your motion propels her into the couch’s edge.

Belle braces herself instinctively, her body jerking forward with each powerful thrust. But with her arms pinned securely behind her, gripped firmly in your hands, there’s nothing for her to hold onto, nothing to ground her against the relentless rhythm. Her head tilts forward, dark strands of hair clinging to her damp neck and shoulders, the strain in her posture only amplifying the vulnerability of her position. Each thrust sends her rocking into the edge of the couch, the plush fabric sandwiching her hips, forcing her to take every inch of you with no escape.

The angle leaves her completely at your mercy, her body arching slightly as each deep, unrelenting stroke sends shockwaves through her. Her voice rises in pitch, raw and breathless, every sound spilling from her lips a mix of desperation and pleasure. The force you drive into her keeps her pinned against the couch, her body unable to resist the steady, punishing rhythm.

Her cries grow louder, more broken, the lack of control heightening her response. "Oh—God, Yes!" she gasps, her voice cracking as her legs quiver beneath her. Her body seems to melt into the moment, yielding entirely to the intensity of your movements, her form trembling as each thrust pushes her further into the edge of bliss. The tension in her thighs gives way, and she surrenders fully, the curve of her back accentuating the way she takes you, completely open, completely consumed.

Haneul watches the two of you, her eyes wide with arousal as her breathing grows shallow. Her gaze roams over your body, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, highlighting the way your muscles flex with every deep thrust into Belle. Her thighs press together briefly, her hand pausing before resuming its circular motions as she takes in the sight. The sheer hunger in your movements, the raw force of your rhythm, sends a fresh wave of heat surging through her. She can’t believe how arousing it is to see you like this—so primal, so utterly consumed.

Her fingers move faster as she gives in to the sight before her. Every sound—the wet slap of your bodies connecting, Belle’s unrestrained cries, the ragged rhythm of your breath—pushes her closer to the edge. Her thoughts spiral into a chaotic mix of disbelief and desire. She never imagined she’d feel this way, watching you with someone else, but the reality is undeniable.

Belle’s cries shift, her voice breaking into choked moans as the intensity of your thrusts makes it impossible for her to keep her composure. "Fuck, you feel so good." she gasps, her voice trembling. Her back arches further, her body instinctively seeking more even as the couch forces her hips upward, heightening every sensation. Her legs tremble uncontrollably now, the floor offering no anchor as her knees slide slightly with each powerful thrust.

The pleasure coursing through Belle is relentless, each motion driving her closer to the brink. "Don’t stop," she cries, her voice a ragged mix of plea and demand, her words breaking as her breaths come faster. You can feel her trembling under you, her body tightening with each deep thrust. Her arms strain against your grip, but there’s no escape. She can only take what you’re giving her, her fingers curling helplessly in the air as her legs quiver beneath her, barely holding her up.

Haneul’s eyes flick between Belle’s flushed, sweat-slicked body and yours, her gaze darting to the way your muscles flex and shift with every motion. Her own arousal mounts uncontrollably, the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter. Her breathing grows shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as soft whimpers escape her lips. Her fingers work furiously between her legs, her thighs trembling as the pleasure surges higher, threatening to overtake her. Her flushed skin glows in the low light, her lips parted as though trying to find air in the heated haze of the moment.

Belle notices Haneul’s struggle, the way her fingers falter slightly, her movements becoming erratic as the edge looms dangerously close. Between her moans, Belle lets out a shaky laugh, her voice breaking under the strain. "Not yet," she gasps, her words sharp and commanding despite the tremble in her tone. "Hold it."

Haneul’s eyes widen, her body freezing momentarily as the words sink in. Her hand stills, and her legs clamp together instinctively as she fights the rising tide threatening to crash over her. Her body trembles violently, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in a desperate attempt to hold on. Her hands clutch at the couch as she pushes back against the overwhelming wave of pleasure, refusing to let it consume her. Every nerve in her body feels like it’s on fire, her muscles straining as she teeters precariously on the edge.

You feel it too—Belle’s body clenching around you, her cries turning into breathless, frantic whimpers as her climax builds to an unbearable peak. Her head tilts forward, dark strands of hair clinging to her damp skin as her body trembles uncontrollably. Her voice cracks as she repeats the command, her tone desperate and insistent. "Hold it. Not yet."

The tension in the room is unbearable, a shared anticipation that binds the three of you together. Every sound, every movement feeds into the moment, the energy coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Belle’s voice finally cuts through the haze, gasping out in a tone laced with both authority and desperation. "Now, Haneul. Let go."

The release is immediate, and the room erupts in a symphony of pleasure. Haneul cries out loudly, her voice raw and uninhibited as her body arches off the couch, the intensity of her climax washing over her in crashing waves. Her hands clutch the fabric beneath her, nails digging into them as her thighs tremble violently, unable to contain the force of her release. Her head tilts back, her lips parted in a series of broken gasps and cries as the pleasure consumes her completely.

Belle’s body tightens impossibly around you as her own climax hits. Her cries rise in pitch, her voice breaking into a series of unrestrained moans as her legs give out completely, leaving her suspended only by the couch’s edge and your firm grip on her arms. Each deep thrust pushes her further into bliss, her body trembling violently as she surrenders entirely to the overwhelming sensations. Her head tilts back, her mouth open in a silent scream before another loud, desperate cry bursts from her lips, the force of her release echoing through the room.

The intensity of the moment sends you over the edge, the sight of both women undone by pleasure pushing you past your limit. With one final, deep thrust, you empty yourself inside Belle, the warmth and tightness surrounding you heightening every sensation. A guttural moan escapes your lips as your body trembles with the force of your release, every muscle taut before the wave of pleasure washes through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Belle’s body clenches around you, milking every last bit of your release as she shudders beneath your grip.

The room fills with a harmony of moans, each voice blending together in a perfect, raw symphony of shared ecstasy. The sounds—Haneul’s cries of pleasure, Belle’s desperate moans, and your own guttural groans—echo off the walls, amplifying the intensity of the moment. The mingling scents of sweat, arousal, and release create a heady, intoxicating musk that clings to the air, making the atmosphere feel thick and electric.

You stay there for a moment, catching your breath as the room grows quieter, the echoes of your shared moans still lingering in the thick, musk-filled air. The three of you are trembling, spent, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. When you finally pull out, Belle’s body jerks slightly at the motion. She tries to straighten herself, but her legs give out beneath her, leaving her slumped against the armrest. She lets out a soft laugh, her usual confidence momentarily replaced with breathless exhaustion.

"Here," you murmur, stepping forward and gently guiding her to sit on the couch. She shifts carefully, her movements languid as you help her settle into a position facing Haneul. Belle leans back, her legs spreading lazily, her body still radiating heat. Her eyes flicker to Haneul, and her smirk returns, teasing and wicked. "Come here, sweetheart," she purrs, her voice low and inviting. She gestures downward, her fingers tracing idly along her inner thigh. "Clean up your mess."

Haneul hesitates for only a moment, her eyes darting to yours as though silently seeking permission. When you give her a subtle nod, her lips part, and she moves forward on shaky knees, positioning herself between Belle’s legs. Her hands glide along Belle’s thighs, her touch delicate but deliberate, her fingers brushing over the slick remnants of your release. Belle shivers at the contact, her breath catching as Haneul leans in closer.

Haneul’s lips press against Belle’s folds, tentative at first, her tongue sweeping softly along her. Belle gasps, her body twitching slightly as the sensation sends fresh tremors through her. Haneul becomes bolder, her tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes, cleaning every trace of you from Belle’s warm, sensitive skin. Her fingers follow, slipping carefully inside to scoop out the remaining seed. Haneul brings her fingers to her lips, licking them clean with a precision that makes Belle let out a shaky moan.

"God," Belle murmurs, her voice unsteady as her body shudders under Haneul’s attention. "You’re thorough, aren’t you?"

Haneul doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her tongue and lips continue their work, moving with a mix of care and hunger that draws soft, breathy sounds from Belle. Each stroke of her tongue sends aftershocks through Belle’s body, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her head tilts back, her damp hair clinging to her skin. By the time Haneul finishes, Belle is slumped against the back of the couch, her chest rising and falling heavily, a long, satisfied sigh escaping her lips.

When Haneul sits back, her lips glistening and her cheeks flushed, she meets your gaze. You’ve been watching from nearby, leaning against the armrest, your heart pounding as you take in the scene. The intensity of the moment is reflected in her expression—a mix of awe, satisfaction, and a lingering arousal that hasn’t entirely subsided.

Without a word, Haneul rises onto her knees and turns toward Belle. Her hands rest gently on Belle’s thighs as she leans in, her lips brushing Belle’s in a soft, exploratory kiss. The contact deepens quickly, their mouths moving together, sharing the mingled taste of you. Their kiss grows more fervent, their bodies pressing together briefly before Haneul pulls back, her chest rising and falling as she turns toward you.

You sit back on the couch, the cushions soft beneath you as you watch her approach. Haneul climbs onto your lap, her knees straddling you as she presses close, her arms wrapping loosely around your neck. Her lips find yours immediately, and the kiss is warm, insistent, filled with a mix of tenderness and lingering heat. You can taste Belle on her mouth—the traces of her release and your own mingling on her tongue—and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, even in the haze of exhaustion.

Haneul melts into you, her body fitting perfectly against yours as she snuggles into your chest. Her head rests on your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she presses soft kisses to your neck. Your arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her close as the weight of the night settles over the three of you.

Belle shifts beside you, her movements unhurried, her body still radiating the warmth of exertion. She reclines lazily next to you, her smirk softening into something gentler. With a quiet sigh, she leans in, resting her head on your opposite shoulder. The scent of her hair—sweet with a faint musky undertone—fills your senses as her body relaxes against yours. Her fingers idly trace along your arm, her touch light and content.

The three of you sit in comfortable silence, the heat of the moment giving way to a warm, shared intimacy. Haneul’s soft kisses continue, her lips grazing your skin as her body molds against yours, her warmth seeping into you. Belle’s breathing steadies, her head nestled on your opposite shoulder, her hair tickling your neck as her eyes flutter closed. The satisfied curve of her lips lingers even as her body begins to relax fully. Your arms tighten around Haneul, one hand brushing lightly against Belle’s arm, grounding all of you in the quiet connection of the moment.

The aftermath unfolds in a haze of gentle movements and shared smiles, the intensity giving way to an almost surreal calm. Eventually, Belle stirs, her head lifting from your shoulder as she stretches with a languid grace. Her legs are still unsteady, and she steadies herself briefly on the edge of the couch before smirking. "You two are something else," she murmurs, her voice carrying a teasing warmth as she reaches for a nearby robe. She drapes it over herself loosely, tying it at her waist before turning back to face you and Haneul.

Belle steps closer, her dark eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. Without a word, she leans in, her lips brushing softly against yours in a lingering kiss. The gesture is simple, but the tenderness behind it leaves you breathless, your chest tightening as she pulls away. Then, she turns to Haneul, cupping her face gently in her hands. Their kiss is just as soft, just as deliberate, and when Belle pulls back, there’s a glimmer of affection in her smile.

"You’re lucky," she says, her voice low and sincere, her gaze flicking between the two of you. "Both of you."

She reaches for a small bag on the nearby table, her movements unhurried. From it, she pulls out a pair of sleek, laminated passes, their glossy surfaces catching the dim light. "Here," she says, holding them out. "These will get you backstage at any of my shows. Consider it my personal VIP invitation." Her smirk softens slightly, a hint of mischief in her expression. "I hope I see you again."

With a small wave and a final glance over her shoulder, Belle steps out of the room, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume. The door clicks softly shut, and the quiet, dimly lit space feels heavier, more intimate, as you and Haneul are left alone together.

As you both step out of the venue, the cool night air wraps around you, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the evening. The adrenaline from the night begins to fade, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion that settles deep into your bones. Haneul leans heavily against you, her arm slipping around your waist as her steps falter slightly. She lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks still flushed and glowing.

"My legs feel like jelly," she mumbles, glancing up at you with a sheepish smile. "I don’t think I can make it to the car without collapsing."

You chuckle, steadying her as she stumbles again. "Want me to carry you?"

She pouts, her tone playful but tinged with genuine need. "Would you? Please? I’ll be the best girlfriend ever."

You crouch down, laughing softly. "You already are. Come on, hop on."

With a giggle, she climbs onto your back, her arms wrapping securely around your shoulders. Her warmth presses against you, and her face nestles against the side of your neck, her breath tickling your skin. "You’re the best," she murmurs, her voice soft and affectionate.

The walk across the large parking lot is quiet at first, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness. Haneul sighs contentedly, her cheek resting against your shoulder as you carry her, the weight of her feeling comforting and grounding.

After a moment, you break the silence. "So… what did you think?" Your voice is hesitant, unsure, as the memories of the night replay vividly in your mind. "Was it… okay?"

Haneul shifts slightly, tightening her arms around you as her lips brush against your ear. "Okay?" she repeats, incredulous. "That was… I don’t even have words for how hot that was."

Her words send a wave of warmth through you, a mix of embarrassment and relief flooding your senses. "Really?" you ask, glancing back at her. "I mean, I thought you’d like it, but I wasn’t sure "I didn’t think it would be so hot," she says suddenly, her tone earnest and spilling over with excitement. Her words come quickly, like she’s unable to contain them. "But watching you—" She pauses for a moment, a small, almost shy laugh escaping her lips before her voice picks up again, stronger. "Watching you let go like that, after I told you to? God, it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen."

Her arms tighten around your shoulders, and you can feel her breath hitch slightly as she continues. "You were holding back at first—I could see it in every move. But then you looked at me, and I could almost feel it—the exact moment you stopped hesitating. And when you did, it was like you became someone else. All that strength, that power—you just used it. And I knew I’d done that. I gave you that permission, and you didn’t just take it—you owned it."

Her voice lowers slightly, but the excitement lingers in every word. "And Belle," she breathes, a soft laugh escaping her. "To see her like that. She’s so strong, so confident—this larger-than-life presence—and yet, you had her completely undone. She wasn’t the performer anymore; she was just… vulnerable, giving in completely. Watching that happen, knowing you were the one doing it, it was…" She trails off, shaking her head slightly against your neck before whispering, "I don’t think I’ll ever forget it."

She shifts slightly on your back, and her voice grows softer, tinged with awe. "Seeing you like that, knowing you could let go so completely—it was amazing. I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but I loved every second of it. It was… more than I ever expected."

You glance back at her, your brow furrowed slightly. "You’re sure? I mean, you’re not just saying this to make me feel better?"

Haneul chuckles softly, her breath warm against your neck as she presses a kiss to your cheek. "I’m sure," she murmurs. "Really. Every second of it was amazing. I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but I loved it. And… seeing you happy, seeing you like that… It made me happy too."

Her words settle over you like a warm blanket, filling you with a quiet, undeniable joy. You press a kiss to her arm, your heart impossibly full as you continue walking. The night feels surreal, the world around you fading into the background as the two of you bask in the afterglow of what you’ve shared.

By the time you reach the car, Haneul’s head has grown heavy against your shoulder, her soft breaths tickling your neck as she begins to drift off. You carefully lower her into the passenger seat, her sleepy smile barely visible in the dim light. The drive home is quiet, the silence filled with a new kind of intimacy. The memories of the night replay like a vivid dream, each detail etched into your mind.

When you finally reach your place, Haneul is half-asleep, her head resting against the window with a small, contented smile. You carry her inside, her arms draping loosely around your neck as she stirs slightly. As you gently set her down on the bed, she shifts slightly, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at you.

You brush a stray strand of hair from her face and lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

Her eyes flutter open briefly, and she smiles, her voice barely audible as she murmurs, "For what?"

"For everything," you reply, your thumb tracing her cheek lightly. "For tonight. For… all of it. I’ll never forget it."

Her lips curve into a sleepy smile, and she closes her eyes again, nuzzling into the pillow. "You don’t have to thank me," she whispers, her words fading as she drifts off. "You deserved it."

As you climb into bed beside her, the weight of the night finally settles over you. The events replay vividly in your mind, and you can’t help but smile as you watch her sleep. It’s a memory the two of you will treasure forever.

[neocrias]

Heeeeey I was wondering if you could do SVT when they move in with you?

Hey!! So sorry for taking so long, we were quite packed with work (we're happily on a break rn!) Let us know if that's what you wanted!

Seventeen moving in with you

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive

Scoups

He does not move in with you, instead, he'll make you live with him.

In the first weeks, he might have some difficulty adapting to someone else in his house (he won't say a thing though, even if you leave fingerprints on his flawless fridge surface or decide to keep your underwear in a drawer that's clearly for t-shirts). He just hates the idea of leaving you uncomfortable in what's supposed to be your house too now.

And then he'll see you cutely sleeping on your new shared bed every morning before going to work and all of that's forgotten. It's worth it anyway. He’ll look at you with the biggest dreamy eyes, taking in your carefree and slightly messy state and feel so at home - and suddenly there’s nothing he wants to complain about.

As you lay your feet by the coffee table, Seungcheol’s eyes seem to widen, but he inhales deeply, trying not to think much about it. His skilful hands slowly snake around your legs, softly moving them to his own lap, patting the skin with a small grin. As you smile back at him, satisfied with the romantic gesture, he sighs lowly in relief, looking back and forth between you and the now free coffee table.

Jeonghan

Moves in with you after making you insist for months (he actually has been wanting that for a long while but wanted you to beg before he eventually did it).

The moment he steps into your now shared apartment, he'll feel instantly at home. So yes, he WILL absolutely take your things off their places to put his without any ceremony.

During the first weeks, he might play some tricks and pranks, hiding away your things just to have you looking around for them (he thinks it's adorable).

His total absolute weakness is when you cook. He gets giggly and happy and could admire you for hours while you cook in your kitchen, he's just a simp for the domesticity of it and loves that you're taking care of you both.

“Hannie, have you seen my heart-shaped earrings? I could’ve sworn I left them in the dresser!” You look out carefully through the furniture, grabbing your hair in frustration and sighing.

“Heart-shaped earrings? I might have seen them somewhere, but I just can’t remember where…” He smiles mischievously, admiring the way you’re leaning to search for them so exasperated as he fidgets with your earrings in his hand

Joshua:

He’s the one who asks you to live with him during a special moment between you too - in a certain way, he was trying to be romantic, but he also really wanted to leave the dorms anyways (lol).

As soon as you both set in, he tries to show you exactly how he usually does things, so that you won’t be lost or confused (also because he just really has his own routine and habits and can be quite methodical :p)

He’s got his own space in the house, full of plants, pottery, etc. It’s where he usually goes when he wants some time to think - and yes, he’ll totally encourage you to use it too or maybe set up your own little space.

Hear me out: SCENTED CANDLES. Those are his best friends, and he’ll surely have one for each special moment. You’re cooking together? He’ll light the tangerine and sandalwood one; Cuddling? Jasmine and vanilla; Making out? Pomegranate and red pepper coming right away.

Overall just loves being close to you on a daily basis so that he can take care of you and all your needs. Plus, he's sooo organized and clean. Everything is always in order and smelling good in your house.

“Are you good, darling?” He asks, seeing you curled up on the couch.

“Just migraines…” You shrug it off. Joshua looks at you worried, but also full of determination to help you.

“Hey, I’ve seen this new massage method for that, let me take care of you…” He says before pulling you closer with the most tender smile. “I can make you some tea too.”

Jun:

He’ll be slightly confused during the first weeks. The first time he sees underwear that’s not his in the dryer, he might go “?” for a couple of seconds before letting out a “Ahh, true, true” with a relieved sigh and a small smile, going back to whatever he was doing.

Will absolutely take some souvenirs and small memoirs from the sets of his dramas and movies to your house, displaying them proudly - and as you start setting in, he’ll cautiously ask if you don’t want to display some things from your own hobbies as well, just to make sure you’re also feeling at home. 

Jun will absolutely cook a whole home-made dinner the day you move in with him. Just the two of you, the boxes of your belongings all around and a boiling bowl on the dinner table as he eyes you expectantly and adoringly, waiting for you to taste the food he took so effort on, even if he won’t exactly admit that. 

“ The recipe kind of asked for green onions, but I didn’t put them in…” He shrugs, tasting the stew while giving you a side glance, as if waiting for your reaction.

“Oh, because I don’t like them? You remembered it?” You ask back, smiling thankfully as Jun’s eyes light up, half pride and half loving.

“Of course, since I’ll be cooking for you a lot more from now on…”

Hoshi:

His eyes will literally sparkle the moment you mention anything remotely close to “living together” and then that’ll literally turn into his life mission. He’ll come up with this all the time until you finally decide to move in with him (he’ll be so enthusiastic when that day comes).

Like, what do you mean he’ll be able to annoy you and banter with you 24/7? That’s a “yes” for him, thank you very much. He also just likes the concept of seeing you in all natural states possible way too much. 

Similar to Jeonghan, he will also be very comfortable with the situation the moment you set in. His brain won’t take much to process that now your things are also his and his things are also yours, so he will be using and touching whatever he sees through the house as if it’s always been there in the first place.

One of his favorite things to do will be definitely coming up with a speaking voice for his dog, using it to communicate with you playfully when he wants something.

“Oh someone’s in a bad mood, right dad?” Hoshi coos, holding poor Latte on the level of his head, facing you.

“Really, Soonyoung, this is not the time to play around.” You answer, trying to remain serious.

“But mom, dad swears he didn’t do it on purpose when he forgot to separate the colored and white clothes on the washing machine!” He whines again in a high-pitch voice, shaking Latte slightly

“Damn…Fine, but just because you’re way too cute…” You mutter, sighing and scooting closer. Hoshi hands Latte in your direction, expecting her to lick your face, but you surprise him as you dodge the dog, going straight for his own lips.

Wonwoo:

You’ll be the first one to suggest moving in, but it isn’t as if he hadn’t already thought about the idea. Quite a lot, actually.

Wonwoo might worry to get you extremely comfortable in his home, knowing that his own habits might not be the most fit for you, but still trying to accommodate your own routines together. He’ll constantly ask you if you need anything before he dozes off to his room to play, and he’ll make sure he organizes his stuff properly before you move in so that you’ll have a lot of space to junk your stuff in.

Despite being slightly nervous when you first started moving in, in a few weeks he will realize that really, it’s all fine. You’ll be in the living room doing whatever it is that you want while he games the evening away, and that’ll take much less to worry than he previously thought it would.

“What about ordering some pizza?” You suggest, head laying on Wonwoo’s lap, eyes not leaving the sight of the book in your hands. You sense your boyfriend adjusting himself slightly before answering, his eyes not leaving his own book either.

“Sounds good to me. I’ll get it delivered for us.” He mutters, finally closing his book to grab his phone, taking a quick glance at your focused look below him, a soft smile threatening to break on his lips as he sighs in contentment.

Woozi:

The second you accept moving in with him, he’ll be arranging space in his indoor gym for you to put whatever you want in there; after all, if he’s not working, he’ll probably be working out in there, and he’d love to have you in the same room, doing what fits you best.

Despites that, he’ll make sure that you both have your two separate spaces in the house; maybe different bathrooms and different wardrobes. The thing is, he’s so busy, and his things can get dirty, but he doesn’t want to burden you with that. Solution? He dirties his own bathroom, and you can enjoy your own clean and pretty one.

I also feel like he might have a very minimalistic, and empty place, not much furnished or decorated, so he’ll love it when you start making yourself at home, hanging over small decorations or pictures on the wall. It’ll make him feel more cozy, and surrounded by you.

During the first days, he might be making some jokes and puns about you living together with him, but during the second week he’ll be already used to it as if you guys have been living together for years now. 

“Babe, can you get me my headphones in my bedroom?” He asks cautiously as he sees you moving in that direction, before cracking up a small smile in realization “Oops, I mean our bedroom”. You nod, leaving the room, listening to him chuckling softly by himself at his own little comment.

DK:

He’s so thrilled by the idea of living together he might as well just move to your house, plus, he doesn’t want you to pass through the burden of having to move all your stuff.

Literally sooo excited about it, he’s another one to cook you a “welcome to the living-together life” dinner, as he clumsily adjusts himself to the placement of things in your kitchen. He’ll bump into some stuff and search for utensils he literally just placed away before smiling sheepishly at you, promising that dinner’s going to be ready as soon as he gets to understand your kitchen’s layout. 

In the first days, he’ll be so cautious not to disrupt the organization of your house, always asking whether he can set his things where he wants to, or asking politely where do you keep the toilet paper, or the cleaning supplies.

But he’ll soon have your whole house all mapped out in his mind, and as soon as you realize, you’ll be the one asking him where the things are (lol).

He’ll take sooo good care of your shared house. He’ll preserve it and happily do the chores, knowing that he’s simply letting your own little space more cozy for you both to enjoy. 

“Hey, love, sorry to ask again…but can I use that smaller pan that’s in the oven?” He shyly asks, hoping to cook you both a meal.

“Dokyeom, for god’s sake, it’s your house too. Of course you can use it.” You smile back at him, trying to reassure him for the nth time this week. 

“Oh, that’s true…” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flush to the sound of your words “I keep on forgetting that”

Mingyu:

He’d happily move in with you, but you decide to go to his house and he just accepts it. Be prepared not to move an inch during moving day - he’ll carry all your boxes, suitcases and basically anything you want to shove into his apartment. 

Mingyu will also help you place every single one of your belongings, making sure that you get to decide where you want your things to be, but at the same time having some control over the changes in his own space. He’ll explain to you where things are so thoroughly that you’ll never have trouble finding anything.

He’s very likely to have a sappy moment while glancing at your toothbrushes together by the sink, internally loving the way your personal belongings are now sharing the same space (and so are you!)

“Okay, let’s order something to eat, baby” He sits down exhausted, sweating slightly after spending the whole day unpacking your stuff around.

“Oh, but I thought you would…cook for us. Like you always do.” You admit shyly, naturally expecting your top-chef boyfriend to serve you your very first domestic scene together.

“I will, baby, everyday, don’t worry about that.” He winks playfully. “But today I’m spent…” He sighs and you laugh softly, appreciating Mingyu’s pouty face.

Minghao:

I feel like Minghao is likely to ask you both to move together, so that you two can decide where you want to live, how the apartment will look like, how to organize it, etc.

And he’ll have MANY opinions, don’t doubt it. Minghao wants his home to look like a home, to display both yours and his personality on the walls (and if it depends on him, your apartment is going to be super sophisticated and elegant, damn you for being so aesthetically aware Xu Minghao!)

He’s also very organized and totally in favor of you having your own personal spaces to unwind. 

One of his favorite things about living together is getting to share his quiet hobbies with someone else, more specifically things that he could do by himself, but that could be much more pleasant if you were by his side - such as having tea ceremonies, painting, reading or just watching a movie.

“Darling, I’m going to meditate for a while, so if you could turn the TV volume down a little, please…” He asks politely, head peeking at the bedroom door frame. As you nod readily, Minghao stops to think a little, looking at you again with a gentle smile. “Actually, would you like to join me?”

Seungkwan:

If he's the one moving in with you, he'll judge the way you do things in your house (like what do you mean you keep your underwear in the second drawer of the dresser!? everyone knows it's supposed to be kept on the first one!), but if you move in with him, he'll carefully show you all around as if it was a big tour or a tutorial of 'how to live in here' - which might be totally cute 

Will totally make you watch sports with him. It doesn't matter if it's the most obscure sports team playing the most random sport you've ever seen, he'll watch it (and so will you!).

He'll try to explain to you how the game works, but at any hints of questions or doubts he'll either 1- explain to you overly-dramatically as if you were a five y.o or 2- say "nevermind, sweetie, you'll understand it better as the match goes on"

“But Seungkwan....I already know your house, I've been here countless times!” You mutter as he keeps on making a sort of MCing voice to present every corner of his apartment to you. 

“ sHUT UP, so, here's where we keep the toilet paper…”

Vernon:

Guy's a little messy, so when you finally move into his place, he'll try to tone it down for a while. He won't necessarily clean up everything, but he'll probably refrain from, I don't know, leaving his wet towel in the bed. For your sake, at least.

Hansol's said to make tons of online shopping and not even opening them when they arrive, only stocking numerous boxes of trinkets. Well, hear me out, his love language is that when you start living with him, he'll start online shopping for you too! He found something cute online? Totally buying it for you. Don't get too excited though, you'll never see those presents, because as soon as they arrive, they're going to the long pile of unopened deliveries (he probably won't even remember that he bought anything in the first place, but the thought still counts, right?)

I just feel like he also would like to have his own space, even if you're living together, so it won't be strange if you spend the whole afternoon in the bedroom and him in the living room, doing your own things.....but yeah, he will be down to cuddling given the chance, no need to ask twice

“Sollie, what’s this…?” You carefully shake one of the dozens of boxes in your living room. 

“Hm…” He ponders. “It might either be a Sponge Bob cutlery set or a pair of flip flops. Not sure.” Hansol murmurs, a little pensative. You roll your eyes, opening the box impatiently only to be surprised by a beautiful and seemingly expensive perfume kit. “Oh, yep, that’s for you.” He smiles softly, taking in the gift he bought a couple of months ago, and had totally forgotten about.

Dino:

He’s so happy and excited about it, you literally have to stop and tell him that you can’t actually move in together at the spot, but actually plan and organize this stuff.

Chan might just want to get a completely new place for you both. A space that’ll truly be new and fully yours. 

He’ll totally let you decide on most things regarding the new place. Not because he doesn’t care, or because he doesn’t want to work on it, but because he actually wants the whole place to be filled with you and your taste. So yes, just decide it and he’ll make it work.

You will be spoiled. If you ever mention that you like a specific snack, or a fruit, or any type of beverage, you’ll wake up to a fridge dramatically filled with it the next day. 

It’ll only dawn on him that you’re actually living together when he sees you doing something incredibly domestic like cleaning something or walking around in your loungewear, and then his heart WILL flutter, believe me. 

“Woah… I must be really lucky.” He mutters to himself while lazily lying on the couch, seeing you walk around the apartment in your pajamas.

“What did you say?” You call out from the other room.

“Nothing!” Chan calls out back, smiling sheepishly. “Hey! You know we moved in together to spend more time with each other, right? You’ll leave me all by myself all day?” He whines playfully, but with a hint of sincerity as you chuckle to yourself, quickly heading back to your clingy boyfriend in the living room. 

[kristina100000]

ok so, the lait virginal mexican tuberose from buly. i have been wearing this for a couple of days ever since i picked it up, just dousing my neck and wrists in it like crazy after the gym and waiting for it to settle on for me.. before anything, i was biting my hand over how familiar this smelled to me until i remembered my mojave ghost sample from a while ago (i thought i’d never had anything with tuberose, but i was mistaken). it reallyyy reminded me of smoky shea butter and a big, lit-up vanilla candle when i first opened the bottle but it quickly became much more vanilla oriented, its true form. the smokiness definitely comes from the clove. i do wish it were more aromatic cos i looove kitchen/cupboard vanilla, like charred vanilla beans, grated nutmeg, toasted cinnamon... the potency of nutmeg or burnt cinnamon would've made this so much more poignant and preponderant, or even star anise to make the vanilla more liquorish, but i think that would be an overkill for the tuberose, possibly.

the tuberose on the other hand... there is a lot of wistful nostalgia around it. i so badly want to experience floral worship but this feels like a misguided pursuit; running after something that is clearly not there or chasing after something/someone in the dark but i feel like this is very in theme for tuberose as the flower blooms only at night (i was reading about this the other day, and in hindi it's known as "raat ki rani" which translates to "queen of the night". it is also known as "omixōchitl" in nahuatl, which from my findings translates to "bone flower" because the flower is so white. it is also associated with xōchiquetzal, a goddess of fertility in aztec mythology).

at times it does come through, almost crawling its way out of the musk and smoke. that one person who did not want to come to the night club with their friends and is being pushed around by sweaty and heavily perfumed people filling the space with 100+ different scents loool BUT when it does come through it's very delicate and jasmine-like (likely due to the jasmine lactone found in tuberose, this could also explain the creaminess). it is there, it's just not as present when it's applied to my skin but otherwise i can smell it. really wish it was more amplified simply because i love how different smells meld with your body chemistry.

i feel like this could be so much easier to wear during cold days, but it's been a breezy spring here so i think it fits just fine. even though lately i have been trying to avoid labelling any smell as either seasonal or out of season and i mean it is body milk/lotion after all so whatever. the projection is minimal due to the lack of oils, they do have a dry oil with the same breakdown (vanilla, tuberose, clove and musk). it wasn't available and still sadly isn't, so i went with this instead and i like it a lot. this is a new experience for me for sure and honestly i have a completely different perspective on lotions now, or rather the various approaches to them.

[organic-artisanal-hrisikesh]

Enhancing your bath and body time with jasmine and vanilla-scented candles is a delightful way to infuse tranquilly and luxury into your self-care routine. The calming effect of jasmine combined with the comforting aroma of vanilla creates the perfect ambience for relaxation and rejuvenation.

[starsthewitch]

Star’s beginners guide to Aphrodite worship 🐚💕

Who is Aphrodite?

Aphrodite is the goddess of love, sex, beauty, seduction, and war. She is most commonly known for her immense beauty and her many associations with sex.

What are some things she is associated with?

Doves

Flowers like roses

The colors pink, red, blue, green, white, and gold

Crystals like rose quartz, clear quartz, pearls, diamonds, sapphires, amethyst, rubies, moonstones, and aquamarines

Incense that smells of rose, cinnamon, myrrh, frankincense, vanilla, and jasmine

Her tarot cards, The Lovers, The Empress, and The Star

What can I give to her as offerings?

Shells or shell imagery

Ocean imagery

Swan and dove imagery

Heart imagery

Valentine's day gifts like chocolates

Imagery/paintings that depict her

Roses or rose imagery

Doing skincare for her

Perfumes or colognes

Hairbrushes

Mirrors

Doing your makeup

Moonwater

Strawberries, apples,and raspberries

Devotional acts or things you can do in her honor

Giving compliments to people

Collecting things you find pretty

Wearing jewelry you've offered or devoted to her

Watch or read romantic material

Self-love

Masturbation (if comfortable in doing so)

Sex (if comfortable in doing so)

Wear perfume dedicated to her

Spend time with loved ones

Create a digital altar (these can be done on Pinterest)

Write poetry about her

Write a letter to her

Create or listen to a playlist dedicated to her

Talk to her (tarot cards, dice, pendulum, and other forms of divination work just fine)

What is it like working with her?

When it comes to Aphrodite, in myth, she was often known as a wrathful and jealous goddess. However, since the myths are just stories and are known to exaggerate some details, this isn’t usually the case.

However, when people mention to others that they are interested in working with Aphrodite, they usually say that you absolutely should not. That she is needy, requires a lot of attention and offerings, that if you don’t do what she says, she will take your beauty away.

This is also not the case.

In my experience as an Aphrodite worshipper, she is very loving, along with being insanely passionate. Also being very vocal about her needs and wants.

Often getting signs from her isn’t at all uncommon. I remember the first few weeks I started working with her, I got an image on my feed that had these two eels intertwined together in a heart shape.

You will often feel connected to sea life, the sea in general, wanting to do things for yourself like dressing nicer and wanting to take care of yourself more.

Here are some things I’ve experienced in my time in working with her.

When I first started praying to her, I stuttered and fumbled over my words. A lot. I was oddly nervous about it? I’m not the type to stutter and fumble often. But beginning to feel nervous and even embarrassed in the presence of the goddess of love? Very normal.

She often enjoys getting milk and dark chocolate, along with roses or any kind of flower, real or not. I gave her chocolates, a fake rose, and a real flower for valentines day and she was insanely happy with it. So much so that her candle rested in a heart shape for a short while.

I often saw butterflies, a symbol of Aphrodite.

I often feel inclined to go to the beach, collect seashells, and do things that make me feel good.

I feel more comfortable expressing love. Before, I was never the type to use pet names for people, especially for friends. But i’ve noticed that I now call people sweet and endearing names. Honeybun, sweet pea, boo, sweetie/sweetness, and babes are things i’ve been saying lately.

She is very honest, often not sugarcoating things. I asked her when my ex first asked me out if we’d last. She said no and gave me explicit reasons as to why. Though I still went out and dated them anyway, and it pretty much ended in the way she said.

She very much enjoys art work of her. I’ve drawn her a few times, asking her to guide my hand in doing so.

Whenever I feel unattractive or hate something about my appearance, she usually makes someone compliment me that day or that week. I was having an off day with my hair, and in that same hour, a girl walked up to me and said that she loved my hair and the style it was in.

That is it for my beginners Aphrodite worship guide! I will be doing these for the other two deities I work with, Apollo and Freyja.

I do hope these were helpful. If you have any questions or need assistance with anything, my ask box and my dms are always open. So be sure to shoot me a message!

Much love to you. <3

[spencereidluver]

C is for Celebration

September 16, 2009

summary: You and Spencer celebrate your one year anniversary.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: smut

The smell of old books and coffee lingered in Spencer’s apartment, like it always did, but today it was mixed with something softer. Jasmine, maybe, or vanilla. It was the candle you liked to light whenever you stayed over. Spencer had already lit it before you arrived, which meant he’d remembered. Of course he had.

You stood in the doorway, holding a brown paper bag with dessert and a small wrapped box tucked inside, your smile warm and easy. Spencer stepped toward you, looking like he’d just barely stopped pacing.

“Hi,” you said, voice quiet.

“Hi,” he echoed, his smile immediate and boyish. “Happy anniversary.”

A year. One whole year since that rainy night when you'd both realized you couldn’t keep pretending your partnership was just professional. A year since whispered confessions over case files and after-hours Chinese food. A year since the best thing in your life began.

Spencer reached for the bag, but you sidestepped him and set it on the coffee table first, wrapping your arms around his waist instead. He let out a surprised breath and immediately hugged you back, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about this day all week,” he murmured.

You smiled into his neck. “Me too.”

When you pulled back, he kissed you, slow, unrushed, with the kind of gentleness that came from someone who had memorized your every reaction. His hands lingered on your waist as he led you toward the couch. A small bouquet of wildflowers sat in a mason jar on the table beside it. His gift.

“I know it’s not extravagant,” he said, catching your glance.

“It’s perfect.” You leaned down to smell them. “Did you pick these?”

He flushed, just slightly. “There’s a little park near the metro. I went early this morning.”

You grinned and kissed his cheek. “Spencer Reid, you are romantic.”

He ducked his head. “You haven’t even opened your gift yet.”

You handed him yours first, a neatly wrapped book he’d mentioned in passing months ago but hadn’t bought for himself. A rare first edition, tracked down by you and shipped from across the country. He held it like it was sacred, his eyes wide.

“I– how did you find this?”

“Librarians talk,” you said with a wink.

Spencer pulled you into a kiss again, this one firmer, his gratitude pouring out in touch more than words.

Then it was your turn. He handed you a small box, wrapped in dark green paper. Inside was a slim gold bracelet engraved on the underside in his neat handwriting:

I Love You Y/N –Spence

Your throat tightened.

“I wanted you to have something simple,” he said. “Something you could wear even at work. But… still ours.”

You didn’t speak. You just leaned forward and kissed him again, pushing him back gently until his back met the cushions and your knees straddled his lap.

He let out a breathy laugh. “So dessert later?”

“Much later,” you murmured against his jaw, already slipping your fingers under the hem of his cardigan. “Right now, I want to thank you.”

His breath hitched as you kissed along his neck, slow and deliberate. Spencer was always quick to be shy when you were the one taking control. But he melted under praise, unraveled under intention. And tonight, that’s exactly what you wanted: to take your time, to let him feel everything.

You pulled his shirt up and off, letting your hands run along the warm skin of his chest. He was still so lean, so beautiful, and yet so unaware of it.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” you whispered, brushing your thumbs across his ribs.

He blushed deep, his hands gripping your hips. “I– thank you,” he said softly, his voice already breathy.

“Lie back,” you instructed, gently pushing on his chest. He obeyed instantly, laying against the couch cushions, his curls spreading like a halo around his head.

You kissed down his chest, down his stomach, undoing his belt slowly. He watched you with parted lips, one hand already curling against the throw pillow like he needed to hold onto something.

“You’ve been so good to me, Spence,” you said as you unzipped his pants. “So patient. So giving. Let me take care of you.”

His response was a quiet, desperate sound in his throat as you slid his pants and boxers down together, revealing him, already hard, already aching.

You leaned down and kissed the inside of his thigh, then again, closer, until he gasped.

“Please,” he whispered.

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his face. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Let me hear you.”

He whimpered, his hips lifting just slightly. You kept it slow, methodical, each stroke matched with praises of how good he looked, how soft he sounded, how perfectly he reacted to every touch.

When he got close, you pulled away, shushing his soft whine with a kiss. “Not yet. I want more.”

You stripped quickly, straddling him again.

“You okay?” you asked, pausing.

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. I want to feel you.”

You sank down onto him slowly, and he groaned, his head tipping back.

“Fuck, you feel… God, you feel amazing.”

You rocked your hips gently with one hand resting over his heart. It was pounding. Alive and wild and so very real.

“I love you,” you said.

He opened his eyes, looking straight at you. “I love you too.”

Your pace stayed slow, deep, steady movements that let you both feel every inch. Spencer’s hands clutched your thighs, then your waist, then your hips, like he couldn’t decide where he needed you most.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you praised, voice warm. 

His moans got louder. More desperate. You could feel how close he was and how much he was holding back.

“Come for me, Spence,” you whispered. “You’ve earned it. Be as loud as you want.”

That did it. His eyes shut, his body tensed, and he cried out as he came, burying his face in your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around you as he filled you.

You stroked his hair and kissed his temple, letting him ride it out.

When he was quiet again, when his body relaxed beneath you, you stayed there, still joined, your fingers tracing lazy circles along his chest.

“That was…” he murmured.

“Yeah,” you agreed, smiling.

After a few minutes, you cleaned up together, and he pulled you back into bed with him. You curled into his side, bracelet still warm on your wrist, and let your fingers rest over his chest where his heart was still thumping quietly.

“Happy anniversary,” he said again.

_____

next chapter: D is for Dr. Barton

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: hihihihihihihi

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

taglist:

@justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @navs-bhat @sammy-4103 @ada--44 @moongirl27 @hopelesssheaven @cultish-corner @shycreationdreamland @violetvsworld @ivyflowers13 @taygrls @hookergutss @random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08 @leopardprintbb @theofficialfunk @skylions-den @spencereidapologist @maybe-not-this @random000000 @simpcentralnumberone @wannabewolf @silver138 @sarcasm-and-stiles @cynbx

[innisgreens]

hello, little doves!! 🕊️ to celebrate the announcement / release of THE SIMS 4: ENCHANTED BY NATURE and the long-awaited fairy occult type (i’m very much hoping and assuming), i’ve created my very first challenge — a whimsical, fairy-themed CAS challenge!

i’ve kept it short and sweet with seven prompts, and i’ve also included some vague visualizers for each for anyone who’d like a little extra inspo — but of course, feel free to go in whatever direction the prompt takes you!

𖡼.𖤣𖥧 woodland whimsy — a fairy cas challenge 𖡼.𖤣𖥧

one — dewdrop whisperer

a visualizer, if needed: soft petals, early light, mist-kissed lashes, bleary eyes, fresh fawn tracks, the hush before birdsong, forgotten earl grey tea left to cool, wild peony, young clover, sweet birch sap.

two — mushroom guardian

a visualizer, if needed: damp moss underfoot, warm soil, toadstools, a log fallen across a bog, iridescent beetle shells, the low thrum of the forest, crackling underbrush, frogs croaking in a shaded hollow, spiced cedar, moss-covered bark, black pepper, dried sage.

three — storm sprite

a visualizer, if needed: wild wind, static on the skin, the sharp bite of ozone, blades of grass, petrichor, a sky split in two, crushed violets, wild mint, windchimes, laughter on the wind, the flutter of startled birds.

four — moonlight trickster

a visualizer, if needed: a silver grin, a firefly trail, a giggle at a campfire, full moonbeams, cricket symphonies, night-blooming jasmine, smoked vanilla, star anise, plum juice.

five — keeper of the wild garden

a visualizer, if needed: smoked rosemary, a whispered secret, wildflower honey, the shimmer of a bee’s wing, berry-stained fingers, sun-warmed thyme, rosehip tea, bubbling brews on a stove, beeswax candles being lit.

six — crystal-winged regality

a visualizer, if needed: a sunbeam reflecting off a still pond, a monarch butterfly wing, the forest canopy, polished river stones, white amber, silver fir, the first frost, echoes through high trees.

seven — heir of lost things

a visualizer, if needed: forgotten buttons in the soil, a threadbare blanket, the damp earth beneath laundry hung to dry, a call from afar, chipped tea sets, the memories of last time, dried lavender, dusty rose, faded cardamom.

please tag me at @innisgreens or @cutietrait and use the #innisgreenscas tag so i can see your lovely creations!

[azzo0]

— Twenty-Eight Birthday

Summary: Every year, on Katsuki's birthday, you bake muffins, wear his favourite sundress and plan a picnic together. Paring: Bakugo x f!reader cw: angst; grief wc: 1.4k

You stood in front of the mirror, doing your makeup. You were almost done. The only thing left was lipgloss. You lined your lips and blended it with your ring finger before applying that cherry red gloss your fiancé, Katsuki, loved so much. You knew he liked it because each time you put it on, he'd give you only half an ear because his attention was on your lips. You smiled at yourself and stepped back, humming in satisfaction at the pretty sundress you had worn. You knew Katsuki's jaw would drop if he saw you right now. You sprayed on your perfume and left the room.

The apartment smelled comforting thanks to the air filled with a sweet aroma accompanied by a hint of vanilla. You drifted off to the kitchen, the origin of the fragrance. You'd baked muffins earlier and left them on the cooling rack to pack them for the picnic you had planned with Katsuki. You held yourself back from biting into one as you transferred the muffins to a tray.

You grabbed the basket with the picnic blanket inside and carefully lowered the tray into the basket. Katsuki absolutely loved the muffins you baked, even though it was a simple recipe. He claimed he hated muffins, but whenever you baked them, he'd pig out on them like he hadn't eaten in a million years. So, every year on his birthday, you planned a picnic with him, and the muffins were the main item on the menu.

You took your car keys from the counter and left home. You put the picnic basket in the passenger seat and sat before the wheel with your hands on it, mindlessly tapping your fingers on it. Starting the car seemed to drain all your mental energy, so before you could change your mind and go back home, you started the engine and reversed out of the parking lot.

Once at your destination, you took the basket and got out of the car. The smell of grass and jasmine entered your senses, making you want to linger by the jasmine tree for a bit longer. According to you, Katsuki's birthday was in the most beautiful season ever– spring. There was a different coloured flower with every step you took, waking up the sleeping butterflies which danced around you. The sun shone down on your bare shoulders, cooled down by the wind that would ever so often move through your dress and hair.

And in all that greenery and beauty lay Katsuki, the most magnificent being to have ever walked this universe. His eyelashes rested on his rosy cheeks, his milky skin bathing in the golden light. He opened an eye when he heard you approach and gave you a lazy grin, "Tsk, finally."

"Hey, 'Suki." You smiled, "I hope I didn't make you wait too long."

"Been waiting all day." He sat up with a mischievous glint in his ruby eyes.

"Oh hush, the day's barely begun!" You took out the picnic blanket and set it down with his help. Before sitting, you put your hands on your waist, looking down at him. "I went through all the effort of looking pretty, and you're just sitting there staring?"

"That's exactly why I'm starin', sweets." His lips tugged up on one corner in a smirk. "You look gorgeous."

"Just for you." You winked and took off your shoes, sitting on the blanket. You pulled the basket towards you and took out the tray. "I baked muffins."

He silently watched you unwrap the plastic film from the tray. You then proceeded to take out the candles and lighter from the basket. You stuck the numbers onto two of the muffins. You lighted the candles and beamed at him.

"Happy twenty-eight birthday, Katsuki." You continued to smile at him, and he had the same soft and painful look on his face, the sparkle in his eyes fading away.

"Make a wish. Blow the candles out." You said.

"Y/n," he whispered in reply. It was just your name. Your name, which he'd said countless times before. While laughing, giggling like an idiot, being annoyed, holding you in his arms and crying. Yet each time he said your name on his birthday meant one thing only: You needed to stop.

"Blow the candles out you repeated." Your voice grew heavier, and your eyes burned.

He responded with silence. Your fist clenched around your dress, and you closed your eyes, hot tears escaping and running down your cheeks. Your voice came out strangled this time, a desperate plea, "Please."

"Y/n." He repeated, his voice softer. "You need to stop coming here every year. It's not going to change things. You can't undo this."

"I know", you wanted to tell him. You weren't stupid. There were things in this world that simply could not be undone. Some people, no matter how dear, could not be brought back. No matter how many endless nights you spent crying for them and no matter how much your heart bled, there was nothing that could be done to bring them back.

"Please," you repeated, your hands shaking. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair, and the sun kissed your skin, blanketing you in an embrace and warming you from the inside out. It felt exactly like when he'd snuggle into you on the couch or when he'd hold you after a long day of work.

Your eyes snapped open. The candles were no longer burning. Your eyes fell on the grey gravestone with his name embedded into the rock. You looked skywards at the puffy white clouds. The wind caused a few flower petals to fly towards you, and you glanced at the muffins again, at the golden number twenty-eight.

You slowly took off the candles, putting them back in the basket. He'd been twenty-eight for five years now. You guys used to be the same age once, but now you're older, and so are all of his friends and so many people born before him. The needles on the clock were never going to stop ticking, but his age would be forever frozen in time.

You would come back older every year, but the candles you'd bring with you would be forever twenty-eight. Even if it meant celebrating the same number every year with the wind telling you to go, you would come back every year. You would bring vanilla muffins, dressed in his favourite sundress, wearing his favourite shade of lipgloss.

You picked up a muffin and took a bite out of it. He might not be sitting across from you, eating his muffin, but he was there. In the wind. In the sun. In the flowers. In the butterflies. In spring. In his season. And so you sat, celebrating his twenty-eighth birthday. Alone.

[fortunxa]

「 ✦ soft to the touch ✦ 」

Jinx x ballerina!reader / modern AU

─── ballerina masterlist ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ // fourth position

summary: From recitals to the quiet moments after, Jinx was there—watching, waiting, memorizing every movement like it was meant just for her. She’d seen her girl dance before, but never like this—never under stage lights, never with an entire audience holding their breath. And yet, all Jinx could think was, “She’s mine.”

contents: modern AU, opposites attract, established relationship, Jinx being the best gf ever (duh), Jinx being down bad, shit summary

wc: 5k

author's note: man the pressure was on, spent the last 48h grinding for this part.

The air smelled like grease, oil, and something softer—vanilla, maybe, or jasmine. That was your doing. Jinx had found an old candle in a junk shop last week, stuffed between a broken radio and a pile of tangled cords, and you had lit it tonight. Now, its dim glow flickered against the walls, casting shadows over the chaos of her apartment, making everything feel a little less like a storm and a little more like a sanctuary.

Jinx herself was on the floor, half-buried in wires and tools, a screwdriver balanced between her fingers. Her jeans were torn in ways that weren’t trendy, her black tank top smeared with grease, and the floor lamp beside her flickered like it was on its last breath. But none of that mattered.

Because she was watching you.

You stood at the window, bathed in the pale glow of the city outside. The skyline pulsed with a million stories—some cruel, some kind—but she barely noticed. Not when you moved like that, stretching your arms over your head, the movement slow, effortless, like every inch of you had been made to flow. The hem of your sweatshirt—her sweatshirt—rose just enough to tease a sliver of skin before settling back into place. Jinx should’ve minded that you stole it.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t—not when it looked better on you anyway.

She had seen you dance before—watched you through the mirrored walls of your studio, where everything was measured, precise, rehearsed to perfection. But here, in the dim light of her apartment, with the scent of burnt circuits and oil hanging in the air, it felt different. More real. More yours.

You weren’t a ballerina in a stranger’s world. You weren’t some delicate thing tiptoeing over the wreckage of her life.

You didn’t belong to the ballet studio right now.

You belonged here, with her—in her space, in her clothes, in the middle of her mess.

And somehow, impossibly, you fit.

Jinx swallowed, fingers twitching in her lap. She could’ve gone back to work. Could’ve tinkered with the half-built contraption on the table, focused on something, anything else.

But she didn’t.

Because you were standing there, all light and quiet elegance, and she—grimy hands, messy hair, and all—was yours.

And she thought she could watch you forever.

“You’re staring,” you teased, not even looking up.

Jinx blinked, caught mid-thought. “Huh?”

For a second, she could’ve played it off—looked away, pretended she hadn’t just been completely absorbed in the way you moved, the way the light traced the curve of your jaw.

But subtlety had never been her thing.

Instead, she just grinned, lazy and unapologetic. “Can’t help it. You’re too pretty.”

The words came out too simple, too easy—nowhere near enough to match the tangled mess of thoughts you’d just unintentionally put her through. But maybe that was a good thing. If she actually tried to explain it, she’d be talking forever.

You shook your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips as you crossed the room, approaching her. “And you’re shameless.”

“Only for you, dollface.”

Lie. Jinx was shameless anywhere, anytime—loud, cocky, and unapologetic, like she had something to prove to the world. But with you? It was different.

Her words might’ve been teasing, dripping with her usual brand of confidence, but her tone gave her away. It was gentle. She was gentle when it came to you, always. Her voice softened around you like it might bruise you otherwise, her hands steady as they held whatever delicate thing you passed her—your phone, a piece of jewelry, your shoelaces when she crouched to tie them just because she could.

She might’ve been all sharp edges, unpredictable and rough like the streets she grew up on, but you? You were smooth lines and soft landings, silk and grace and everything she didn’t know how to be.

And maybe that was the thing: Jinx wasn’t used to fragile things. Wasn’t used to handling them, much less having them.

But she wouldn’t dare risk damaging you.

Not even when she reached for you now, fingers looping lightly around your wrist, calloused against the warmth of your skin. She didn’t pull—just held you there, grounding herself, as if to prove to herself that you were real. It always surprised her, how easily she could switch gears for you—how her hands, accustomed to roughness and chaos, could find the gentlest of touches.

“What? Having an existential crisis over how much you adore me?” You glanced down at her, your playfulness betrayed by the fond look in your eyes.

She snorted. “Please. I accepted my fate ages ago.”

Still, she didn’t let go. You looked like something made to be admired, never touched—yet here she was.

Tomorrow was a big deal. Your first recital since you and Jinx had started dating. You’d been rehearsing for weeks, running through your routine so many times that she swore she could see the movements even when she closed her eyes—your turns, the arch of your arms, the way your body carved shapes into the air like it was second nature.

“Nervous?” she asked, her voice light, but there was something curious in the way she tilted her head, watching you.

“A little,” you admitted, exhaling softly. “But it’s a good kind of nervous. Like butterflies.”

She grinned. “I’ll be there, front and center. Don’t worry, doll—I’ll scare the butterflies off.” Then, quieter, like a passing thought, “Or the audience.”

“What was that?”

Jinx fumbled her screwdriver, letting it clatter to the floor, and leaned back on her hands, stretching out her legs. She studied you from where she sat, gaze low, thoughtful, utterly smitten.

She exhaled, shaking her head with a lopsided smile. “It’s just not fair, y’know? Being all graceful and pretty while I look like… this.” She gestured vaguely to herself, messy blue hair falling over her shoulder in the process.

You took her in, noticing the sock half-off her foot like she’d kicked it loose hours ago and never fixed it, before crouching down in front of her. You were close enough now that she could see the flicker of amusement in your eyes, the way your lips twitched like you were holding back a smile.

“You look like you,” you said—simple, certain.

Jinx’s smirk faltered, just for a second. “…And that’s a good thing?”

Your expression softened. Like you had already made up your mind about her a long time ago. Like she wasn’t something that needed fixing, just something worth knowing.

“It’s my favorite thing.”

The blue-haired girl felt a familiar heat creeping up her neck. The words sat between you, pressing against her ribs, warm and solid, something heavy disguised as light. She’d never been good at compliments, at sincerity. Words always came out too sharp, too loud, or too much.

But then you reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, like you were memorizing the shape of her. And suddenly, she didn’t care if she was a little rough around the edges.

Not if it meant being yours.

Jinx wasn’t built for quiet spaces. Libraries, coffee shops, waiting rooms—anywhere people expected her to sit still and blend in—were her mortal enemies. Which made the fact that she was sitting in the middle of a tiny, upscale theater kind of hilarious.

The lobby smelled like perfume and polished wood, and every person there looked like they belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. It wasn’t exactly her scene. She fiddled with her stacked rings, feeling the stares from strangers burning into her back.

“Look at her boots,” someone whispered behind her.

She grinned to herself. Yeah, the boots were old and beat up, sure. But they’d also been through hell with her, and she wasn’t ditching them just because these people thought they were ugly.

She wasn’t one for dressing up anyway. She didn’t do fancy, but for you? She could manage decent.

She actually showered—hot water, soap, the whole deal. Scrubbed the grease from under her nails, wrestled a comb through the blue chaos on her head, and even styled it into something that almost looked intentional.

Almost.

Clothes were trickier. A dress was out of the question—too frilly, too not her. A button-up? Maybe, but she’d have to dig one out that wasn’t permanently wrinkled or stained with paint. She settled on some ripped purple tights (stylish rips, not just “I fell on my face” rips, thank you very much), a pair of shorts, and a non-negotiable cropped leather jacket over a band tee that might’ve once been her sister’s. It was as fancy as she got, and hell, it even matched her boots.

Makeup was a last minute decision. Eyeliner? Smudged, but present. Lipstick? Just a swipe—something dark, something purple. Nails? Painted a chipped, electric blue.

She looked…not bad. Not boring. Not someone she didn’t recognize.

And most importantly, not someone who’d embarrass her girl tonight.

She glanced down at the pristine bouquet in her hands—roses, soft and pink, perfectly arranged with some Baby’s Breath, wrapped carefully in a satin ribbon. She had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking them out at a flower shop that had felt just as intimidating as this place. It wasn’t like Jinx to care about details like that, but you deserved something pretty. Something delicate. Something that matched you.

She never really understood the whole flowers thing.

They were pretty, sure. Some of them smelled nice. But they died so fast. A week, maybe two, and then they were just dry petals and sad stems, tossed in the trash like they’d never even mattered. It always seemed kind of pointless.

She never knew how to explain why she kept bringing them either.

It wasn’t like she had to get you flowers. There was no rule saying, Hey, when your ballerina girlfriend is incredible and does something amazing, you should absolutely go out of your way to buy her a whole damn bouquet like some lovesick idiot.

No one expected her to do it.

But maybe it was because she liked the way your face lit up every time—like it was the first time, like it was always the first time. Maybe it was because she liked proving that she could do stuff like this, that she could love loud without it feeling weird or wrong.

Or maybe it was just because it was you.

Either way, it didn’t matter. The bouquet was already in her hands, something soft and delicate, just waiting for the right moment, for that warm and grateful smile.

The lights flickered in the lobby, signaling the start of the performance. Jinx quickly made her way to her seat in the front row, like she’d promised, settling in among the fancy suits and sparkling jewelry like a riot in their midst. She slouched, legs spread wide as she gripped the ripped fabric of her tights. The guy next to her—a middle-aged man in a pressed suit—kept side-eyeing her like she was about to rob the place. She stuck out like a sore thumb, but she didn’t care.

Because tonight was your night—the one you’ve been training for, stressing over, breaking in those stupid pointe shoes for, chasing perfection like it was something you could hold.

Jinx had seen you in the studio, under harsh fluorescent lights, with mirrors on every wall and that strict, no-nonsense instructor barking out corrections. She’d seen the hours of practice, the exhaustion, the way you’d shake out your legs after too many drills, muttering about how your feet would probably fall off one day.

She’d seen you on late afternoons, sock-clad feet sliding over the kitchen floor, spinning absentmindedly while waiting for the tea to brew. She’d seen you in the cramped space of her apartment, practicing steps between the couch and the coffee table, one hand gripping the back of a chair for balance.

But this? This was different.

The theater was dim, the hush of the crowd heavier than she expected. The moment the lights hit the stage, she leaned forward, hands fisted in her lap, scanning the dancers until—

There.

You.

And, shit.

Jinx had always known you were good—great, even. She’d seen the dedication, the bruises, the discipline. But under the glow of the stage lights, you weren’t just great. You were breathtaking. Effortless. Like you weren’t just dancing—like you were the music itself.

She barely breathed as she watched, heart hammering like it was her up there, like every move had her name stitched into it. The way you turned, the way you leaped—it was the same girl who curled up next to her on lazy mornings, the same girl who stole her hoodies and made her eat actual meals. But up there, you were something untouchable, something unreal.

And Jinx? She was absolutely, hopelessly wrecked.

She sank lower in her seat, subconsciously gripping the bouquet in her hands tighter. She wasn’t used to this—being the one watching, being the one awed. Usually, it was the other way around. But now? She couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Jinx remembered a night a few weeks ago, lying on the floor together after a long day, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spun.

“You ever get tired of it?” she had asked, stretching an arm toward the fan, watching her fingers blur.

You had laughed, rolling onto your side to face her. “Sometimes. But then I get on stage, and it’s like… I don’t know. Like it all makes sense again.”

Jinx didn’t get it then.

But oh, she got it now.

“Front row and everything, huh?” a voice whispered to her left. She turned to see a snooty-looking woman giving her a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for the ballet type.”

The blue-haired girl gave her a grin that was all teeth in return. “I’m not,” she said, unapologetic. “I’m her type.” She nodded her chin toward the stage. The woman rolled her eyes but said nothing more.

When the performance ended, Jinx was on her feet before the applause even started, fingers stuffed between her lips as she let out a sharp, piercing whistle. She didn’t care if it was out of place. Didn’t care if the people next to her flinched.

Because when you took your bow, your final pose held just long enough while the last note echoed, Jinx caught it—the tiniest smile, just for her.

And the second the curtain fell, she was gone.

She bolted from her seat, ignoring the looks from the parents and fellow spectators as she rushed down the aisle. It was only halfway down that she realized she’d left the bouquet behind.

“Shit—” She spun, snatched it up, nearly snapping the stems in her grip, and took off again.

Did she know where she was going? Not exactly. Did she care? Less than zero.

People in expensive outfits gave her sideways glances as she weaved through the crowd, moving like she had every right to be there, practically vibrating out of her skin. A few ushers hovered near the backstage entrance, and for half a second, she considered slowing down, playing it cool. But fuck that. Her girl had just owned that stage, and Jinx wasn’t about to wait around like some polite, rule-abiding audience member.

She slipped past a distracted stagehand, ducked around a closing door, and found herself in a hallway lined with dancers. Some were stretching, some fixing their hair, others congratulating each other in excited whispers. But Jinx wasn’t looking for just anyone.

And then she found you.

Still in costume, still catching your breath, your face glowing from exertion and adrenaline. And god, she had never seen anything like it.

You spotted her, bright blue hair and barely contained excitement, and your eyes sparkled at the sight.

“Jinx.” Her name rang softly, like something warm, something safe, honey-sweet on your tongue.

“You—” she started, but she was already closing the distance, practically bouncing on her heels. “You were insane. Like—like actually unreal!” She gestured wildly with the bouquet, nearly hitting a passing dancer in the face. “I knew you were good, but that? That was, like—movie shit. No—better than movie shit. You—”

You laughed, reaching out to steady her overexcited, flailing arms. “Breathe, babe.”

“No, you don’t get it,” she insisted. “I didn’t breathe. The whole time. I forgot how. ‘Cause you were just out there like—” She mimed some approximation of a ballet move, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. “And everyone was just watching like it was normal, like they weren’t witnessing actual perfection—”

“Jinx—”

“—and I swear some guy next to me almost cried, like actual tears. You made a grown-ass man emotional.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head, and she could see it now—the little flicker of pride, the way your shoulders relaxed just a little.

And that? That made Jinx’s chest feel way too full.

She took a deep breath, finally steadying herself, letting your presence ground her.

Your eyes dropped to the bouquet still clutched in her grip, and just like every other time, your face softened. The flowers were a little squished, maybe a little wilted from the heat of the theater, from the way she’d been holding them for too long.

But it didn’t matter.

Jinx didn’t move at first. Didn’t say anything. Just held the flowers tighter for a second, looking down at them like she hadn’t already made up her mind, like she wasn’t going to hand them over anyway.

She didn’t shove them forward, didn’t rush the moment, didn’t try to play it off like an afterthought. Instead, she just offered them—a little stiff, a little awkward, but meaning it.

“For you.”

You slowly reached out, plucking them from her hands, brushing your fingers over the petals like they were made of glass.

And Jinx? She still didn’t get it. She really didn’t.

Because this wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the second or third. She had done this every single time she had some cash lying around, showing up with flowers like some sappy idiot—not every day, not even every week, but enough. Enough that you should’ve gotten used to it. Should’ve started rolling your eyes, started treating it like a habit, something expected.

But every single time, you reacted the same way—like it was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you. Like it was something rare. Like she had given you a piece of her heart and you were holding it between your hands, cherishing it.

The roses weren’t even her style, but you loved them, and Jinx would’ve set fire to a whole field of thorns to get the prettiest ones.

“They’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” she said without thinking, then immediately groaned. “God, that was cheesy. Forget I said that.”

“I won’t,” you said, laughing. “Because I like it.”

She ducked her head, grinning despite herself. She barely had time to process anything before you reached out, fingers curling around the lapels of her jacket, tugging her in just enough to make her breath hitch.

You were right there. Close enough that she could see the remnants of stage makeup smudged at the corners of your eyes, close enough that she could still feel the warmth of your laughter lingering in the space between you, close enough that she knew what was coming.

And then—closer.

You leaned in, slow but certain, like there was no doubt, no hesitation, like this moment had been inevitable from the second Jinx stepped backstage.

Her breath stuttered. She barely had a second to brace herself before your lips met—soft at first, tentative, like you wanted to savor it. And Jinx—Jinx, who had never known softness in a way that didn’t cut—was completely undone by it.

But then you sighed against her mouth, fingers tightening in her jacket, and—

Fuck.

She melted. Into it, into you.

The flowers crinkled between you, caught in the space of your bodies pressing together, trapped between two hearts that wouldn’t slow the fuck down.

Neither of you seemed to care. Not about the bouquet, not about the voices echoing around you, not about the dancers and stagehands weaving through the backstage chaos.

Nothing else existed.

None of it even registered.

Just this. Just you.

She didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care who whispered.

Didn’t care that she was supposed to be cool and casual when everything about this felt wild and big and terrifying.

Jinx deepened the kiss without thinking, hands finding your waist, pulling you closer, letting herself drown in the warmth, the scent, the feel of you.

It was deep, slow, loving in a way that made something in her chest ache. Because god, she was all in. Had been since the beginning, since the first time she got you flowers, since the first time you looked at her like she mattered.

And now, standing in the middle of all this noise, Jinx could only think—

Yeah. She’d set fire to a thousand fields just to keep this.

You pulled away just enough to rest your forehead against hers, the warmth of her still lingering on your lips.

“I love you, you know,” you whispered, not just to fill the silence, not just because the moment asked for it—but because it was true. Because it was the truest thing you’d ever said.

Jinx blinked, like she needed a second to process it, then let out a slow breath, voice quieter now, almost reverent.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A slow grin crept across her face, crooked and so Jinx, like she wasn’t quite sure how to hold something so big in her chest but wanted to, desperately.

“Good,” she said, nudging her nose against yours. “’Cause I love you, too. Like, a stupid amount. Like, probably an unhealthy amount.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Like a scary amount?”

“Terrifying.”

And then she was kissing you again, as if the words weren’t enough, as if she had to show you. She stole another quick kiss, then another, and then—

“Alright, lovebirds, out of the way,” someone called, brushing past with an armful of costumes. “Some of us are trying to work here.”

She scowled, pulling back with an exaggerated eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. We’re leavin’, I guess.”

You grabbed her hand, lacing your fingers together before she could start mouthing off to an overworked stagehand, and gave a small tug. “Come with me while I change?”

Jinx perked up with her signature smirk. “Oh? Bold invitation.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging her toward the dressing rooms. “An invitation to wait.”

“Still counts.”

She lingered in the hallway as you slipped inside, peeling off layers of sweat and exhaustion, stripping off the tight bodice of your costume, swapping stiff satin and tulle for soft, worn clothes that felt yours again.

By the time you emerged, she was leaning against the wall, messing with the bouquet, spinning one of the bruised roses between her fingers. She glanced up, took one look at you, and grinned like you were the best thing she’d ever seen.

“Ready?”

She pushed off the wall, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Hell yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, the city was buzzing—lights flashing, cars honking, the kind of restless energy that never really died down. The kind that made you feel like the night was still yours.

“You know, if I was rich rich, I’d totally hire a fancy car to come pick us up. Something ridiculous. Something with champagne.” Jinx turned her head, glancing down at you as she wiggled her eyebrows.

You snorted. “You don’t even like champagne.”

“I’d make an exception. For the aesthetic.”

But you weren’t rich rich. You were young and broke and still clinging to the last of your post-performance adrenaline as you headed toward the subway entrance with your girlfriend’s arm slung around your shoulders and her heartbeat pressed against your side.

The train was mostly empty when you boarded, save for the few scattered souls—an older man nodding off in his seat, a girl with headphones in, lost in her own world, a couple whispering to each other near the door.

Jinx flopped down on the bench, stretching her legs out like she owned the place, then tugged you down beside her.

“You were incredible tonight,” she murmured suddenly, like she’d been holding onto the thought, like it needed to be said.

You turned to her, lips twitching. “You already told me that.”

“Yeah, well. You were.”

Something about the way she said it—so earnest, so unapologetically sure—made your chest go tight.

You exhaled, leaning into her shoulder. “Thanks for being there.”

Jinx scoffed, as if the idea of being anywhere else was insane.

“Always.”

She was quiet for a moment, absentmindedly toying with the loose thread on your sleeve, before speaking again.

“You hungry?” she murmured. “How about we grab some noodles? I know this place that has, like, the best dumplings.”

You raised a brow. “We’re broke”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I am treating you.”

“You say that like we don’t share the same tragic bank account situation.”

“Babe, I’d rob a bank for you.”

“That is not comforting.”

“I’d get away with it, though.”

“Oh my God.”

Honestly, the idea of warm noodles and dumplings sounded perfect after the long night you’d had—your stomach was starting to protest. Besides, Jinx was stubborn when she wanted something—there was no talking her out of this. So, you let her lead you out of the subway a few stops later.

The two of you walked through the city, past neon-lit storefronts and quiet streets, weaving through clusters of late-night wanderers. Somewhere, a group of friends sat on the curb, laughing over something that didn’t matter. A street musician packed up his guitar case, counting the crumpled bills inside. The night smelled like warm pavement, like street food and exhaust, like the last lingering notes of summer fading into something cooler.

After a few blocks, Jinx veered left, leading you to a small, tucked-away noodle shop wedged between taller buildings. The sign buzzed faintly, flickering like it could go out at any second. The windows were fogged up from the heat inside, condensation blurring the fluorescent lights.

She pushed the door open with her shoulder, grinning as she held it for you. “After you, m’lady.”

You gave her a look. “Never say that again.”

She cackled, following you inside.

The place was quiet at this hour—just a couple of other people eating, a lone employee halfheartedly wiping down the counter. The air smelled rich, savory, like garlic and broth and something fried. Jinx led you to a booth by the window, sliding in across from you and grabbing a menu, even though she already knew what she wanted.

“You have to get the dumplings,” she said immediately, peering at you over the top of the menu. “It’s, like, a rule.”

You smirked, placing the bouquet of roses beside you. “Oh? And who made that rule?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice like she was letting you in on a secret. “The universe.”

You shook your head, amused, but when the waitress came over, you let Jinx order for both of you—two bowls of noodles, a plate of dumplings, and two cheap sodas.

As you waited for the food, she toyed with the napkin dispenser, spinning it absently between her fingers. You could feel her watching you, her gaze softer now, like she was letting herself settle into the moment.

When your order arrived, hot and fragrant, you didn’t hesitate, groaning at the first bite.

“Okay,” you admitted, “these are really good.”

Jinx grinned like she’d personally cooked the meal herself. “Right? Told ya.”

“Fine. You win.”

She watched you eat for a moment, chin propped up on her hand. “You know,” she said, nudging a dumpling onto your plate, “I like this.”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely between you. “Us. This whole thing.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, slow and steady. You swallowed your bite, then picked up a dumpling and set it on her plate in return.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

Jinx’s grin softened into something quieter, something real. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna keep buying you dumplings, no matter how broke we are.”

For a while, the two of you just ate, content in your usual conversations, in the warmth of the shop, in the way the city buzzed faintly beyond the glass. It was just the two of you, sharing food, sharing space, sharing something neither of you had the words for most of the time.

Eventually, she sat back with a sigh, rubbing her stomach. “Okay. Maybe I overestimated our budget a little.”

You raised a brow. “How much do we have left?”

“Uhh… Enough to get home.” She winced. “Probably.”

You groaned, reaching for your wallet. “Jinx.”

“Relax, relax. I got it,” she said quickly, waving you off before sliding out of the booth. “Wait here. If I don’t come back, assume I had to fight my way out.”

“Oh, fantastic.”

She cackled and made her way to the counter, charming the guy into letting her pay in crumpled bills and loose pocket change. She gave you a thumbs up as if you didn’t overhear their whole conversation, sitting just a few feet away in the cramped-up space of the noodle shop.

When she came back, she grabbed your hand, guiding you to your feet with a grin. “Alright, ballerina. Time to head home before we have to actually rob someone.”

You giggled, reaching for the bouquet which had seen enough for one day, letting her lead you out.

Outside, the air had cooled, the city feeling just a little quieter now, a little slower. You fell into step beside her easily, her arm slung over your shoulders in a familiar manner, your body naturally leaning into hers. It was routine at this point.

She let out a breath, glancing at you. “Tonight was good.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. It was.”

She smiled. Not her usual cocky grin, not the sharp-edged smirk she gave when she was teasing—but something softer.

Something just for you.

And as the two of you headed toward the subway again, tired but full, broke but happy, you felt something settle in your chest—steady, certain, home.