#n: cardamom

[myscentarchive]

SANTAL 33 - Le Labo

Eau de Parfum - 1.5 ml (atomizer)

Notes- Sandalwood, Leather, Papyrus, Virginia Cedar, Cardamom, Violet, Iris, Amber

Gender: Unisex Imagine sitting in solitude on the rugged, wide plains of the American West, firelight on your face, indigo-blue night skies above. There is nothing around save for the soft, desert wind. You. Are. Free. From this defining vision was born SANTAL 33: a perfume that touches the vast and wild universality of this dream… that intoxicates… It combines a mix of cardamom and notes of iris and violet, which crackle in the formula. Added to this smoking wood alloy (Australian sandalwood, cedarwood) are some spicy, leathery, musky notes, giving this perfume its signature and addictive comforting scent.

Here is, in a few words, what SANTAL 33 is… An open fire… The soft drift of smoke… Where sensuality rises after the light has gone.

[hungryhyena]

pro tip: cardamom affogato

[sungtaro]

ppl saying cardamom bun on the pastry post SO true I tried one for the first time last week and she may become my new fave

[mutantenfisch]

Idk if having couscous, tsatsiki and coffee at 11 am already counts as brunch, but here we go

[neontaxidermy]

My dinar

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

MUNCHIES!

Summary: Your neighbor, Kelvin, invites you to the fair. After a night of fun you end up in his apartment.

Warnings: Warnings: Short, Smut, Humor, Neighbors.

Part Two

Kelvin had just finished a day of work that started as early as 5 am. Finally home, he made his way towards his bedroom to undress, only an hour to prepare before he went over to pick up his date.

Standing in front of his wall length mirror, he secured a black durag around his head and flexed some muscles, pleased with his physique. Staring at his reflection with a pair of grey joggers on and white socks, he grabbed his cell phone to take a few pictures.

One grabbing his crotch.

One biting his lip.

And lastly one with a big smile.

He made his way into his messy bedroom littered with clothes and shoes, most of it being designer items sent to him as care packages. He was grateful, but he only had but so much space to put everything. His guest bedroom already turned into another storage area for clothes and shoes.

One habit he couldn’t shake.

Kelvin turned on his shower and quickly undressed the rest of the way. He stepped inside of his shower and started his routine of cleaning, exfoliating, and moisturizing. Warm. Enveloping. Grounded. Engulfed in a wash of amber, a hit of Australian sandalwood, cedar, vetiver; a gentle wave of cardamom. As he smoothed the scrub along his arms, he noticed a scratch there and it brought a smile to his face.

Y/N had scratched him accidentally when they’d been playing around in her apartment last night. The minute his thoughts drifted to her as he stood beneath the filtered shower water, his dick chubbed up immediately and bounced between his legs.

The things he wanted to do to Y/N.

The things he could have done to her last night had he stuck around. She would have been fucked on every surface and that pussy slurped in all sorts of contortions fucking around with him. The Cookie Monster shorts told him all he needed to know. And he was high as a kite too. When he’s high he turns into a super munch and it can’t be tamed. He had to pat himself on the back for behaving.

She had the body that’ll have you busting a premature nut. All those times she’d bent over last night…

He imagined forcing her against the cold counter top while he got down on his knees to suck that pussy from behind—

“Shit,” Kelvin looked down at his dick, “Maybe a quick nut wouldn’t hurt.”

He’d been so pent up lately. No proper release. Kelvin added more soap to his hands for extra slip. He pressed his back against the tile wall and fucked up into his hand nice and slow. Wet balls collided with the back of his hand, soap suds flying onto the glass shower door. Wet, squelching noises were deafening. That pretty, brown dick with a pink tip glistened in his soft hand, slit drooling precum to prepare him for a big eruption.

He’d started taking Maca Root regularly like Aaron suggested and the change in eating habits and vitamins had his libido at an all time high. No wonder he’d overheard his friend in their conjoined hotel room releasing several nuts. He joked him about it but now he understood. Heavy balls and a high sex drive did not mix well if there weren’t releases often.

“FUCK!”

Kelvin pumped faster, bottom lip pouted and eyes crossing. He imagined Y/N’s dainty hand milking him with her tongue on his nipples. Titties rubbing against his chest with the slickness of soap and water. Talking nasty in his face with all that bratty energy.

“Damn, daddy…this big dick wanna cum for me?”

“I bet you wish that cum was in my pussy…”

“If you cum for me I’ll let you eat my pussy all night…”

“I love stroking this big dick.”

“Y/N! Y/N!”

His load spurted out from his tip like an overflowing spout. His hips stuttered out of control. He had to plant his feet firm against the shower floor to prevent from slipping. His stomach caved in the more his ejaculate released from his tight nuts. The steam made his skin more sensitive as he touched his chest.

He opened his eyes and swiped his lips with his tongue. If she could make him cum like that without even fucking her or tasting her, Kelvin didn’t know what to expect when he finally got her.

He rinsed off and made sure his cum had gone down the drain before exiting the shower. As he towel dried his body, his phone buzzed. He entered his room and grabbed his phone from the charger, checking to see who had texted him.

Y/N: Hey, are we still going to the fair? Just checking because it’s almost three.

Kelvin had thirty minutes to prepare. He shot you a quick text before tossing his phone on his bed.

Kelvin: Hey! We’re definitely still going. Just ran a little behind schedule. Let me throw something on and I’ll be over.

Kelvin applied some lotion to his smooth skin and then a white tank top, an olive green Supreme hoodie with a floral design on the back, and denim joggers with all white Nike Dunks. He spritz some cologne on his pulse points and then removed his durag, grabbing a brush to smooth out the deep waves in his hair.

Grabbing his essentials, he exited his apartment, eyes on your text thread.

Y/N: You know I had to lite one up real quick. You better hurry before I smoke this thing down 😂

Kelvin knocked on your door and you opened it ten seconds later. He was instantly hit with a harmonious blend of relaxation and euphoria. Kelvin fixated his brown eyes on the blunt between your fingers, itching to snatch it. You draw your hand back with a giggle, causing his gaze to track a path down your body.

You wore an oversized flannel top with a body—hugging heather gray dress that gripped your hips and thighs tightly. On your feet are a pair of knee high, black converse. Your hair is styled in a braidout and gold jewelry decorated your ears, neck, and fingers. Even with casual attire you ruined him in the best way.

“Hello to you too, Kelvin!” You say with a role of your eyes.

Kelvin gave you an animated look while trying to convey his words with his hands, further annoying you.

“I’m about to close my door in your face if you don’t greet me the proper way.” You sass.

He couldn’t help but bend over and grab his knees as he laughed. Your cute voice and the fake anger you displayed humored him.

Kelvin sat up straighter and licked his lips, “Hey, sexy.”

The way your eyes went round, that told him he’d caught you off guard and that pleased him, his smile with slight dimples growing wider.

“Why are you shocked? It’s the truth,” Kelvin pressed forward, making a ‘grabby’ motion with his fingers, “Now gimmie.”

You didn’t have time to catch up to your motor skills before he stole your blunt and took a puff. As your eyes remained glued to him, he savored the hybrid strain as if he were floating on clouds.

“Wedding Cake?” Kelvin spoke as smoke billowed from his moist, pink lips.

You simply nod your head with a hint of a smile.

“Good shit, sexy…good shit…”

He handed you the blunt. You blink twice to focus before turning to enter your apartment. It was almost three, five minutes to spare.

“C’mon so we can get a good spot!” Kelvin shouted after you.

You reappear with a shoulder bag and your keys. Kelvin gave you some space to lock your door, although he’d leaned in to catch a whiff of your perfume.

Kayali Pistachio.

You turn and Kelvin interlocked his fingers with yours. You give him a look and then a toothy smile like a lovesick woman. He loved catching you off guard.

——

Kelvin found a decent parking spot closer to the entrance. Majority of the younger crowd were leaving with their exhausted parents. At the booth, he displayed his two tickets and both of you received wrist bands to ride unlimited and without having to wait in line. Finally inside, Kelvin held out his hand for you to grasp, the sensation of your soft skin sending a pleasant feeling throughout his chest.

The place is alive with booming music, exhilarated screams, delighted squeals and cheerful shouts. Colossal, gyrating rides with vibrant, pulsating lights towered over the excited visitors. A roller coaster spirals and coils, which makes it look like an elongated snake twisting through the fair. The air is filled with the mouth-watering aromas of sizzling hot-dogs, fluffy cotton candy, spiced apples and sugary donuts. Some stalls sell hamburgers oozing with burnt onions; others sell sweet treats of funnel cakes and deep fried Oreos.

Kelvin stole a glance at you as your eyes that shined bright from the many spectrums of colors danced around. There was so much to do, he wasn’t sure where to start first. Definitely nothing that involved rapid spinning. For you, no drop towers. You bright smile made him grin from ear to ear, displaying pearly whites.

“I want to do the boat ride.” You said.

Kelvin followed your finger. The captain ship that rocked back and forth like a pendulum. He didn’t mind that.

“Let’s go,” Kelvin led the way with your hand in his, “We got the wrist bands to jump the line too!”

The conductor for the ride stopped you both but Kelvin showed him your bands and they let you through. Groans and agitated whispers caused both of you to giggle.

“Where do you like to sit—oh.”

You take a seat all the way in the back. The last row.

“Why do you want to sit back here?” Kelvin questioned with a whiny voice as he settled next to you, “The middle is the best.”

The setting sun caused the brown of your skin to glow. Kelvin narrowed his eyes at you playfully.

“The middle is for punks. Maybe I should start calling you that, huh?” You joked.

“First one to scream is the real punk.” Kelvin declared.

You give him a mischievous smile, accepting the challenge.

The ride started off slow, Kelvin grabbing your hand in anticipation. You both share glances at the sudden drop in your stomach when you reach a new high. The boat whipped forward, causing you to grab Kelvin’s wrist tight. A slight squeal escaped your lips when the boat went back, bringing both of you high in the air. Kelvin squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth while you screamed like a banshee. Both of you laugh hysterically as the ride swayed to a stop.

“Like is said, a PUNK!” Kelvin pointed to you and chuckled while you gave him slaps to his arm.

“I can’t help it! Still not a punk though.”

You both take your time exiting the ride, Kelvin turning to pick you up at the waist, bringing you to your feet gently. You thank him with a pretty smile and reached for his hand. Swinging arms, they head towards a rollercoaster.

Your hair had puffed up from the humidity and it gave you a wild look that drove Kelvin crazy. Anything about you from the beauty mark on your face to the snorting laughs you do made him like you more and more.

“You still look sexy as fuck with messy hair.”

You tucked your chin bashfully, "Thank you handsome."

Kelvin tugged you closer to him, wrapping a hand around your waist. His hand rubbed against your hip and if it wasn't for being in public, Kelvin would have slipped a hand beneath your dress to see if you had any underwear on.

"If you wanna touch my ass, just do it."

You were being bold. Kelvin looked at you before using the hand on your hip to lift the back of your shirt. You laugh as his fingers grip juicy flesh before slapping it a few times.

"Double-cheeked up for real." Kelvin said between laughs.

You both were able to get on and after securing the seatbelts, the operator gave everyone a thumbs up and the cart took off.

The ride began to ascend.

“I always scream on roller coasters even when I love them.”

“It’s cool,” Kelvin's hands gripped the bar.

“We’re almost there,” Kelvin speaks in a soft tone, making you crave him more. Your eyes locked and right before you went down, you put your arms up. You gasped softly, hands coming out in front of you to firmly grasp the bars before the feeling of falling overcame your body.

Kelvin laughed and hollered while everyone else around him screamed through the thrill. Your hair whipped across your face with every turn, Kelvin watching you with a big handsome smile. Another drop came, causing you to squeal a little while your body leaned into him. Kelvin never felt this charged in his life. Your laughs and gasps of pleasure against his neck. Kelvin turns his head, your good smelling hair in his face while your lips connected.

The ride began to slow down and your thighs tightening around Kelvin's hand that came down to grip your thigh. Kelvin reluctantly pulls his hand away, causing you to whimper. He licks his lips clean of your gloss before helping you out of the cart and adjusting your dress. long curly hair all over your head, you looked adorable and freshly fucked. Kelvin smooths your hair out of your face before giving you another kiss.

As both of you walked past a few games, Kelvin pointed out a game booth with bottles and bean bags to knock them down. It was only necessary to win you a stuffed animal. It's sort of a ritual for carnival dates. Kelvin pulled you along, a short, brown-skinned girl with shoulder length locs waving both of you over.

“Knock these bottles down to win a big stuffed animal!”

Kelvin accepted his bean bags, rolling up the sleeves to his hoodie before looking down at you with a wink. You gave Kelvin a hug around his waist before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Win me a big Yoshi and I'm all yours..."

How was Kelvin supposed to concentrate now after those seductive words. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his dick ached with anticipation.

"You ready?!" The girl that hosted to gaming booth shouted.

“Yeah!”

Kelvin tosses the first bean bag, missing the bottles entirely “Hold on, hold on! that was a trial.”

“Kelvin, there ain't no trials!” You yell with a giggle while watching him make another toss “Kel! aim!”

“If you don't hush!" Kelvin tossed the third bean bag higher, knocking down the top bottle, "SEE! now what?!"

“Still got five more left.” You said.

Kelvin tosses another bean bag, the Game Worker unimpressed with his skills since most people miss. He pauses, looking down at you with his brown eyes that made her melt, “Can I still have all of you? I give good kisses.”

You blush with a bite of your lower lip, “If you win me that Yoshi I’ll give you a secret kiss in the tunnel of love.”

“How about a secret touch too? Can a nigga get that?”

You rolls your eyes with a pretty smile, “Depends on what this touch is.”

“Hmmm,” Kelvin squints his eyes with a dimpled smile, “You just gotta wait and see what these hands can do. They had you squirming with just a cuff of that ass.”

“Stopppp,” you whisper.

Kelvin prayed over the last bean bag before tossing it, knocking down the rest. He was more excited than you with his jumping and cheering. You gave him a high five with a big smile.

“Wow!” The Game Worker who’s name tag read Kim claps, "Guess that Yoshi is all yours!"

“YAY!” You spoke excitedly while watching Kelvin accept a pink Yoshi.

You continue to squeal, jumping up and down before giving Kelvin a one arm hug.

"Uh-uh. Where's my kiss?"

You shook your head with a giggle, bringing one hand around to the back of Kelvin's neck, bringing him closer. Kelvin shut his eyes and grunted when his lips finally touched yours. Soft. Sugary. Skillful. Kelvin almost dropped the Yoshi when you'd slipped him some tongue. Things were turning up the more you kissed. You finally pushed at Kelvin's chest to stop him from sucking on your neck openly.

You licked your lips, "Okay, Cassonova. calm down."

"Seriously? Seriously? after you just kissed me like that?"

You turned your back towards him, Kelvin stretched his arms out with an astonished expression.

"You play too much!" Kelvin said.

"Look who's talking!" You replied.

The remainder of your time at the fair, you ate junk, took pics in a photobooth, rode the ferris wheel, bumper cars, and even tried the tunnel of love even though it broke down on them halfway through.

——

“Kelvin. What is it with you and this art?”

You pace his living room, blunt in hand and eyes taking in the symbolic photographs in a collage on his wall.

Kelvin slid over to you on his hardwood floor and you laugh at his silliness.

“I am OBSESSED with it…the female body is art.”

He put on a poetic voice, whispering in your ear.

“Oh, but the pussy is brave…lest we forget…how much pain the pussy can take…how much pleasure it delivers,” he laughed softly in your ear while you giggled, “Unto itself and others. Remember how it spit you out without a flinch. Now here you are! Using the word pussy like an insult when you’re not even strong enough to be one.”

“WOW,” you turn to look him directly in the eye, “That was impressive.”

“Rupi Kaur.” Kelvin shrugged.

He took the blunt from your hand and put it between his lips, eyes still staring you down hungrily.

“I had a great time today. Thanks for making it happen. You could have asked out any other girl and you chose me. Your chaotic neighbor.”

“I love chaotic. It’s my specialty,” Kelvin replied with a smile, “On a serious note, yeah…I could if I wanted…but I like you. I like everything about you. And I want you. We wouldn’t be here…surrounded by my art and sharing a blunt…and I’m sure arousal…if I didn’t.”

Kelvin placed the blunt between your lips and as you smoke, he played with your ass.

His voice was all raspy and dangerous, “I wanna play.”

“Play how?” You tugged at his gold chain.

Kelvin started kissing along your neck, causing you to flinch from how it tickled.

“STAWWWWP!”

“I like the way you sound when you giggle and tell me to stop,” Kelvin picked you up, your legs straddling him, a streak escaping your mouth.

You’re just so...soft. So soft to him.

“How many licks…until I get…”

Before you know it, you’re in his bedroom. How many licks? Kelvin placed you on his bed while he takes off his hoodie. You instantly feel your clit jump.

“I like the sound of this game.” You finally said.

“I bet you do. And I’m high too. My favorite thing to snack on when I have the munchies.”

Fuck.

You don’t waste time taking off your flannel shirt, tossing it on the floor. You already have your shoes off. Kelvin watched you lay back against his bed with that dress on and a hand between your legs with your knees drawn to your chest. He arched a brow at you.

“No panties?! What a nasty girl!” Kelvin said.

“Figured I’d make it easy for you.”

“Oh, so you just knew what was going to happen, huh?”

Kelvin took off his tank top, shirtless with a six pack. Your eyes swept over his frame with a nibble of your bottom lip. He settled at the foot of the bed, staring down between your legs with his tongue slowly swiping his top lip.

“Move your hand.” Kelvin commanded.

“Gotta say the magic words first!”

“Open sesame!”

Kelvin waved his hands in front of his like he was conjuring magic. You roll over onto your side in a fit of laughter.

“Aight, spread your legs, Y/N! I’m drooling!” Kelvin begged.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

You open your legs side to side but your hand remained over your pussy. Kelvin sucked his teeth and then he crawled onto the bed.

“So, I gotta move your hand myself? I wanna see it,” Kelvin reached for your hand but you scoot towards the head of his bed, “Y/N! I’m tryna eat!”

“Kelvin! Ah!”

Kelvin wrestled with you, both of you rolling around on his bed. You were on top of him, hands together as you try to overpower him. Kelvin let go of your hands and quickly lifted your dress, peeking under and you try to climb off of him but he successfully flipped you onto your back.

“As much as I love to reenact WWE, I need my entire mouth on your pussy…respectfully…now.”

Your chest heaved up and down and your nipples instantly stiffen from his words. Mingled breaths and locked eyes. Kelvin stared at your lips.

“Please?” He lowered his face and started kissing along your jaw, “I wanna make you feel good, baby…”

You scrunch your brows and moan.

“Okay. Be my munch.” You say barely above a whisper.

Kelvin chuckled.

“Gladly.”

You both stare at each other for a while until Kelvin’s hand lifts your dress around your waist. You follow his gaze between your legs. He pushed your thighs so that your knees touched your chest.

“Ugh, fuck, you got the pinkest, wettest pussy I’ve had the pleasure of staring at.”

Your lower lip quivered.

His lips gave you open mouthed kisses on your phat pussy lips and inward. Any part of you his lips would wrap around and lightly suck. You watch him keep your legs open with his hands and the sight of his fine ass with that pink tongue and those pink lips eating you up had you eager to cum in his mouth.

“Yes, mmm, eat that phat pussy, yes, baby,” You encourage Kelvin to go harder. Kelvin scrunched his brows, eyes closed as he licked your juicy slit in long strokes. Deep pressured strokes. He had that pussy wide open while giving you everything you deserved. You started rocking your hips, feeding that tongue, moving your hips in tune with his licks. 

“Kelvin, oh my gosh,” You place a hand on top of his waves, “Yes…mmm…I love those lips.”

Kelvin smiled and used those lips to suck on your clit. You throw your head back from the sensation, the blunt sat discarded on a table, no longer needed. You sat up on your elbows when he added two fingers. This man could finger pussy too? You were unable to control your moans. He would look up at you with a smug expression and a mouth full of pussy.

This was the hardest your clit has ever been from head. This was the most turned on and wet you’d ever been from head. You push at Kelvin’s forehead and he grabbed your wrist. His lips and his tongue was sending you into bliss and you could feel yourself preparing to cum.

“Mm, mm, keep still,” Kelvin stroked your spot and he looked at your with low eyes, “What I tell you to do?”

“It feels so good,” You reply with a weak voice, thighs shaking.

“Then why stop me if it feels good. Punk ass.”

“SHUT UP!”

Kelvin’s lips were back on your clit. You couldn’t close your legs because he had you pined to the bed. Whenever your hips moved side to side, he followed you. Nowhere to run.

“What was all that shit you were talking?!”

Kelvin smiled at you when you tried to move again. He simply flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue. Side to side. Up and down. In a circle. In your hole. Your eyes crossed.

“Fucccck!”

His loud eating had your pussy making noise. Wet, raunchy noises. Kelvin suckled your clit again while curling his fingers over your spot.

“This my pussy? Say it.”

He paused, staring at you.

“Say it’s my pussy.”

You were in a daze. And it wasn’t the weed.

“It’s yours, Kelvin!”

“Good girl.”

You could feel your release coming. The closer it got the more Kelvin sucked on your pussy. He gently tugged on your clit with his lips before sucking it into his mouth like he was slurping oysters out a shell. Your eyes rolled and your hands reached out to grab onto the sheets. Kelvin gave you his hands to hold. You let out the most angelic moan with your head turning from side to side. You came all in Kelvin’s mouth. He mumbled something into your pussy while slapping your phat ass. Kelvin lifted his face from between your pussy lips, licking his lips while his brown eyes connected with yours.

“I’m not finished.”

Kelvin had you on all fours.

He was eating both holes from the back.

You were dripping to the sheets.

That clit didn’t stand a chance.

That pussy continues to cream all in his mouth. Your dress and bra were somewhere in the room. You couldn’t keep track. Words were lost to you and all you could do was drool against his pillow.

“Ima cum in your mouth again!”

Kelvin gripped your ass cheeks as his tongue darted in and out of your pussy from the back. The sound of his tongue had you moaning.

“Eat that shit! Fuck!”

The sucking. He probably had cum dripping from his chin at this point. Orgasm rocked your body so hard you fall to your stomach. Kelvin slapped your ass and with a laugh he settled next to you with a content smile and a glossy face. He rested his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. You just stared at him like he was the Devil.

“What I tell you?”

Kelvin turned to look at you.

“You think you can handle more?”

You could only blink at him. This man can’t be real.

“I don’t get tired, Y/N. Hm,” kelvin turned onto his side and ran his fingers down your spine and over your ass, “Wanna sit on my face?”

It was as if his words had some sort of power over you. You wanted more. NEEEDED MORE.

You sit up and Kelvin gave you a smile before helping you to sit reverse cowgirl on his face.

“Ride my tongue…do it.”

You brace yourself on his thighs and whine your hips. His tongue and lips savored your sopping wet folds.

“Right there, daddy…”

Kelvin reached around your body to pinch your nipples. You whirl your hips when his lips found your clit again.

“Stay on it…mmm…stay on that clit…”

You bit your lip, a confidence flaring up within you.

Kelvin ate to his hearts desire and you couldn’t get enough of it. Your eyes fall to his crotch, a heavy bulge right there in his briefs. You take your hand and stroke him, that dick jerking against your palm. While he ate your pussy for the third time, you freed his dick and when that warm girth touched the flesh of your hand, you whimpered.

Eight inches. Smooth. Brown. Pink tip.

You stroke him, pre cum spilling over your fingers. His balls are so big. You cup them and roll them in one hand while stroking him in your other hand. Kelvin moaned into your pussy, thigh muscles tightening.

“Such a pretty dick, Kelvin…”

You lean forward a little, spitting on his tip. Kelvin tongued you down from clit to hole and you twist your wrist to stroke him while riding out your orgasm. You could feel yourself coming in his mouth.

“I want this dick in me.”

Arching your back, you wrap your lips around his tip and start sucking. Kelvin’s hips jerked out of control.

“Fuck, Y/N. Suck that dick.”

He could see you from his angle, bobbing your head with his dick hitting the back of your throat.

“Mmm, I knew that mouth was made for dick.”

You had his balls while you throated him.

“Dick taste good, don’t it?”

You were loving his dirty talk. It did taste good. You knew it would.

“I made myself cum earlier thinking about you, Y/N…I couldn’t help myself…I think about you so much…how you would look riding my dick…how deep I can fuck you…”

His dick in your mouth, his balls in your hand, your cum on his lips. All of it had you ready to fuck this man into oblivion. Ride him like you were throwing ass to a bounce beat. He was so fine and so deserving of the pussy. He makes you laugh, he’s a gentleman, he’s a certified munch. Boy were you lucky.

Kelvin stared at your pussy and rubbed it from behind.

“Squeeze my nuts…mmm…suck that tip, baby…Y/N…I’m a cum…you want me to cum so bad, huh…shit…”

Kelvin sank two fingers deep inside of you and his dick swelled to the point of making your jaws sore. He let off a big nut in your mouth and you gulped it down like a good cum, guzzling slut.

Kelvin twitched while you sucked down as much nut as you could. His fingers slipped out of you and you finally release his dick. You turn to look at him, and before you know it, Kelvin is sucking on his fingers and then bringing you to the bed to kiss you. He’s on top of you with his tongue in your mouth and his dick flesh against your pussy lips.

Breaking the kiss, Kelvin locked eyes with you.

“I wanna fuck you now.” He whispered.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter @dashhoney25

[tteotlma]

Silk and Submission

lingerie - virgin - degradation

(Older Bf!Logan/Reader) 5.1kw

a/n: everyone pretend im posting this on 10/1 and not 10/2 oops sorry i just got carried away.

tw: sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (25-53), degradation, virginity, consent dynamics, intense emotional experiences, body image, possible manipulation, emotional intimacy, potential objectification, light BDSM themes, physical intimacy, power dynamics, explicit language, feelings of nervousness or anxiety related to sexual experiences, and exploration of personal insecurities.

See you tonight - xoxo

You bit back a smile, your lips twitching with the effort to maintain composure. The handwriting on the card was unmistakable - a familiar, elegant scrawl that sent a flutter through your chest. You knew exactly who the "anonymous" sender was, despite their playful attempt at secrecy. 

With deliberate care, you tucked the card and its accompanying envelope back under the luxurious red silk ribbon. The ribbon encircled a massive white box, its pristine surface unmarred and tantalizing in its mystery. The cardboard was cool and smooth beneath your fingertips as you accepted it from the mailman's weathered hands.

"Thank you," you murmured, offering him a warm smile. Your voice sounded breathless even to your own ears, betraying your excitement. As you retreated into your home, you kicked the door shut with a gentle nudge of your slipper-clad foot. The soft thud echoed in the entryway, underscoring the sudden privacy of the moment.

Curiosity gnawed at you as you hefted the box, raising it up and down a few times, trying to guess its contents by the shift and rustle within. The movement sent a waft of something tantalizingly familiar - a blend of cardamom and vanilla - curling up from beneath the lid.

Your bare feet padded softly across the carpeted floor as you made your way to the dining room. Sunlight streamed through gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow across the polished surface of your table. You set the box down with reverence, your fingers trailing along its edges before coming to rest on the silky texture of the ribbon.

Just as you considered untying the bow, a vibration from your back pocket startled you. The insistent buzz of your phone against your hip was like a spell broken, pulling you out of the moment. With one hand still resting on the silky ribbon, its texture cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, you pulled out your phone. The screen illuminated, casting a soft glow on your face and revealing a notification that promised to shed light on this intriguing mystery.

Logan H.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, spreading down your neck like wildfire. Your thumb hesitated for a heartbeat before sliding across the illuminated screen, leaving a faint, fleeting smudge.

"Hi," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you brought the cool device to your ear. The contrast between the phone's chill and your flushed skin sent a small shiver down your spine.

"Have you opened my gift yet?" His deep voice rang through your ears, rich and velvety, like dark chocolate melting on your tongue.

"I was just about to open it now," you respond, your free hand absently toying with the ribbon. You pinched it between your fingers, rolling the smooth silk, feeling its luxurious texture.

"Let me know what you think," he says softly. The low rasp in his voice, like rough silk, sent another shiver cascading down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You make a small sound of agreement, a soft "mhm" that's more breath than voice, and sandwich the phone between your ear and shoulder.

Finally fed up with the mounting anticipation, you unravel the silk ribbon. It slithers off the box like water, pooling on the table beside you. With slightly unsteady hands, you shimmy the snug lid off, the soft scrape of cardboard against cardboard unusually loud in the quiet room. A layer of light blue tissue paper greets you, crinkling softly under your trembling fingers as you gently peel it back. The susurrus of paper fills the air, building the tension until—you let out a small gasp, the sound sharp and sudden in the still room.

"What do you think?" Logan's voice, low and expectant, cuts through your daze.

"L-Logan, I-" Your voice falters and dies, words evaporating like morning dew. You're utterly speechless. If you thought your face was hot earlier, you must be charred to a crisp by now, the heat of your blush practically radiating off your skin.

Atop the baby blue crinkled paper sat a lingerie set that took your breath away. The delicate pink lace caught the light, shimmering softly like the inside of a seashell. Your eyes traced the intricate floral pattern of the fabric, marveling at the artistry woven into every thread. The plunging neckline of the triangle bra promised to flatter, while the scalloped edges looked so soft you could almost feel them against your skin just by looking.

The matching underwear, with its high-cut leg openings, seemed to beckon your touch. As your gaze roamed over the garment, you noticed with a start that a string of tiny pearls, like drops of morning dew, connected the sides. Each pearl gleamed softly, adding a touch of luxury that made your heart skip a beat.

The blush pink color matched the discarded ribbon perfectly, as if Logan had meticulously orchestrated every detail of this moment. It was a color that spoke of romance, of whispered secrets and stolen glances.

Your fingers hovered over the lace, almost afraid to touch something so intricate. The phone nearly slipped from your grasp as you struggled to process what you were seeing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

As your eyes traced the delicate string of pearls connecting the sides of the underwear, a sudden wave of realization washed over you. Your stomach dropped, a fluttering nervousness taking root. The reality of tonight - your upcoming date with Logan - came rushing back.

Swallowing hard, you gathered your courage and asked, your voice small and uncertain, "Logan... am I supposed to wear this tonight?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Logan's voice came through, low and gentle but with an undercurrent of anticipation that made your heart race even faster.

"If you'd like to," he murmured, the sound sending a shiver down your spine despite your nervousness. "I chose it especially for you. But only if you're comfortable."

Your breath caught in your throat, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling in your chest. You bit your lip, looking down at the lingerie again, its delicate beauty both alluring and slightly intimidating. 

"Okay," you whispered, as much to yourself as to Logan. 

“Perfect, I’ll be there to pick you up at 7:30.” 

Your fingers skimmed the delicate lace again, the soft pink shimmering in the afternoon light. Logan had always known exactly what you needed—just like tonight. His gift wasn’t just beautiful; it was thoughtful, deliberate. A statement. This wasn’t just about the physical—it was about trust, desire, and the way he had always nurtured your confidence.

You couldn’t help but smile as you thought of how it all started. Logan had entered your life when you least expected it, quiet and steady, offering something more than anyone ever had. He wasn’t just older, he was experienced in ways that made you feel grounded. With him, you didn’t feel like a girl figuring things out. You felt like a woman—his woman. Logan had this way of seeing you, not just for who you were, but for who you could be, and he always encouraged you to embrace that.

From the beginning, there had been a strong undercurrent of attraction. He’d made you feel desired in a way that was undeniable, but it was more than that. He made you feel safe. Not just in the physical sense, but emotionally. He had a way of standing by your side, unwavering and dependable, his strength not just in his body but in the way he treated you. He gave you space to grow into yourself, never rushing, always waiting, allowing you to define your pace.

When it came to intimacy, Logan had been nothing but patient. He never pushed, never crossed a line. Even in the moments when your bodies were close, his touch had been restrained, respectful, always waiting for you to make the call. It only made you want him more.

And now, you were ready. You had been ready for a while, but Logan hadn’t known that until now, hadn’t known until you’d whispered it to him a few nights ago in the soft glow of candlelight. The way his eyes had darkened with a mix of desire and reverence told you everything. He wanted you, but more than that, he wanted it to be on your terms. 

And now that he was aware of how you felt, nothing was going to stop him from making you feel wanted. 

Your fingers traced the tiny pearls on the underwear, the soft blush of the lace catching the light. The thought of wearing it for him, of seeing the way his eyes would roam over your body, made your heart race. You knew Logan. He wouldn’t just look at you like you were beautiful; he’d look at you like you were everything. And that thought alone was enough to send a shiver of anticipation through you.

As you waited outside your apartment building, the evening air kissed your skin, a light breeze tugging at the hem of your sleek black dress. The soft fabric of the dress clung to your figure, every inch tailored to perfection, but beneath it, your thoughts were consumed by what you wore underneath.

The lingerie Logan had gifted you felt like a secret only the two of you shared. The delicate pink lace caressed your skin, and with each step you took, you were acutely aware of the pearls, a luxurious detail pressing softly against you. They rubbed with each subtle movement, sending tiny sparks of sensation through you, teasing your senses. It was an intimate reminder of Logan’s presence, even though he wasn’t there yet.

A heat began to bloom low in your belly, excruciating in its slow build, the weight of your anticipation mounting with every passing minute. You swallow, your throat dry, the ache between your thighs growing with every shift of your hips. The pearls were a constant, maddening pressure, accentuating the warmth that pulsed through you.

The slit in your dress allowed just enough freedom to move, but with the silk brushing against your legs and the sensation of the lingerie beneath, you could hardly focus. The heat in your lower belly coiled tighter, the anticipation making your heart race.

You clenched your thighs together, trying to steady your breath, but the friction only heightened the sensation. Every soft press of the pearls sent a jolt through you, making the wait for Logan feel even more unbearable. You felt flushed despite the cool evening air, your pulse thrumming in your veins. You were ready — more than ready. You felt your phone vibrate inside the black velvet clutch you carried. 

“I’m outside, pretty girl.”  was all that was heard before the line went dead. 

You let out a shaky breath, shoving your phone back inside your bag, snapping the case shut. The sharp echo of your heels against the marble floors of the lobby reverberated with each step, your heart pounding louder in your chest as you neared the exit. With a swing of the door, you were greeted by the sight of Logan leaning casually against his sleek black car.

He wore a dark gray suit that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, the fabric taut against the muscles of his arms. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned beneath the suit jacket, a hint of casual disarray in an otherwise refined appearance. His beard had grown thicker, streaked with shades of gray, matching the tousled, salt-and-pepper hair framing his weathered face. 

The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes, hidden behind a pair of slightly scratched glasses, locked onto yours. Your thighs quivered with each step you took down the stairs. You couldn’t tell if it was nerves, excitement, or because your legs were finally tired of the heels you decided to wear. 

Logan extended his hand to you as you reached the last step. You smiled shyly at him, a nervous flutter in your chest as he took your hand. He lifted it slowly, pressing his lips to your fingers in a gesture that sent warmth pooling low in your belly.

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, his breath brushing your knuckles before he let your hand go, the ghost of his touch lingering.

Your heart raced faster, but you didn’t have time to answer before Logan opened the car door for you. You slid inside, the cool leather beneath you doing little to calm the heat rising in your body. He joined you on the driver’s side moments later, his presence filling the enclosed space as the door shut with a soft click.

The car hummed to life, but the buzz between the two of you was louder. His right hand found your bare thigh, thick fingers curling around the softness of your skin. You exhaled shakily, eyes flicking to him as his thumb brushed lightly back and forth, each stroke of his rough skin setting your nerves ablaze.

“You nervous?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it—like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your breath hitched, the sensation of his thumb squeezing the softness of your thigh, inching just slightly higher, leaving you teetering on the edge of frustration. “No,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Good.”

The drive continued in thick silence, the tension building with every inch he moved closer, every stroke of his thumb that stayed just a little too long. You clenched your thighs, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from giving in to the temptation of his touch.

By the time the valet took the car, you were barely holding it together. Logan’s hand had left your thigh, but the memory of it remained, lingering like the scent of his cologne. He rounded the car, opening your door again, and you could feel his hand hovering just behind your waist as he guided you into the restaurant. His touch was firm, and there was an unmistakable heat radiating from him, seeping through the fabric of your dress. 

He kept his hand there as the maître d' greeted you, but it wasn't until he pulled you to the side, away from the rest of the guests, that you felt the warmth of his hand slip lower. It rested on the curve of your hip, his fingers pressing into the lace of your lingerie, confirming what he already suspected.

His lips brushed your ear as he leaned in, voice dark and teasing. “You wore it, didn’t you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you barely managed a nod, feeling a pulse of heat spread through you.

He hummed, satisfied, before pulling away, his fingers still tracing the lace under your dress as he guided you to the table. You tried to focus on the conversation during dinner, but every word, every glance, was tainted with the knowledge of what was to come. Logan’s eyes lingered on you, dark and knowing, while his hand continued its slow, deliberate caress of your thigh beneath the table, making it impossible for you to sit still.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m just—” You shifted slightly in your seat, his hand giving a gentle squeeze. “Thinking.”

“Hmm.” His gaze sharpened, the edge of desire clear in the way he looked at you. “About what?”

You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks. “About later.”

His smile widened, and there was a low, amused hum that left his throat. “Good girl.”

The warmth of his words settled in your chest, amplifying the steady thrum of anticipation. You felt it in every stolen glance, every small touch, and by the time dinner was over, you could barely sit still, the heat between you both undeniable.

As you stood, his hand slipped once again to the small of your back, guiding you out of the restaurant with that same hot, heavy touch. And as you walked side by side, his fingers brushed your hip, dipping slightly lower as he leaned in to whisper, “You ready to head home?”

The answer was already written in the way your body leaned into his, craving the inevitable.

---

The ride back was quieter, the air thick with anticipation. Your heart raced, and the buzz of the night lingered in your veins. Sitting beside Logan, you couldn't stop your mind from wandering to what was waiting for you both at home.

But this time, you made a bold decision. You lifted your hand, your fingers hovering just above his shoulder before they slipped into his hair. The soft, unruly strands felt warm between your fingers, and as you started to gently stroke the nape of his neck, you could feel his breath catch ever so slightly. His hair was a little rougher at the roots, and you couldn’t help but smile as your nails grazed over the sensitive skin behind his ear.

Logan didn’t say anything, but his body reacted to your touch. His posture, always so composed, shifted slightly. His jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of something primal cross his face in the glow of the streetlights.

Your fingers continued to explore, softly playing with his ear, tracing the curve of it before slipping down to rub the nape of his neck. His skin was warm, and as you gently massaged the base of his hairline, you felt him exhale a slow, controlled breath. He was trying not to react too much, but you could tell he liked it.

"Careful," he muttered, voice low, as if warning you of the line you were crossing. His hand tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening just slightly. But there was no stopping you now.

"I like this," you murmured, your thumb brushing just below his ear. His neck was thick, strong, and your boldness grew as you felt the tension under your fingers.

His eyes stayed on the road, but you could feel the shift in his attention, the way his focus narrowed in on your touch. You continued stroking, teasing him with the gentleness of your fingers, letting them wander through the short strands at the back of his neck. The power of that small, intimate touch sent a thrill down your spine.

And then, Logan made his move.

His hand slid from the steering wheel, down to your thigh, resting there with a heat that matched the fire growing in your belly. There was no hesitation this time as his fingers curled around your flesh, pulling the fabric of your dress higher.

You could barely breathe as he slowly pushed the fabric up, the cool air from the car’s vents contrasting sharply with the heat rolling off his body. His fingers edged closer to where the pearls rested against your skin, teasing the hem of your panties.

Then, with a flick of his pinky, he stroked the pearls—delicate, deliberate. You jerked in your seat, a soft gasp escaping your lips, the sensation unlike anything you'd felt before. The pearls shifted, rubbing against you in a way that sent shockwaves through your entire body.

Logan didn’t say anything at first, just kept his pinky grazing the soaked pearls, his touch light, torturous. You could feel the slickness coating the small beads, and from the way his thumb tightened against your thigh, you knew he felt it too.

“Well…” His voice was low, gravelly, the edge of amusement unmistakable. “Looks like someone’s enjoying themselves.”

Your face burned, a mix of embarrassment and arousal flooding your system. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a breathless whimper as his pinky continued its slow, teasing strokes over the slick pearls.

Unable to take the teasing without reacting, your hand slipped further into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands, just enough to get his attention. Logan’s lips parted slightly, his eyes briefly glancing in your direction as his grip tightened on your thigh.

The subtle tug on his hair made him groan, deep and guttural, his fingers pressing harder into your thigh as if daring you to pull harder. “Careful with that, sweetheart," he teased, voice dark and thick. "Unless you want to make me stop driving.”

Your fingers curled tighter into his hair, just to see what he would do, feeling the heat of his body radiating even stronger. The smirk that pulled at his lips told you he liked it—maybe more than he was willing to admit.

“Didn’t expect you to get this wet,” he murmured, his tone teasing, dark, as his thumb dug into your thigh a little harder. “But I have to say… I’m not surprised.”

Your legs trembled beneath his touch, every nerve in your body buzzing with a need you could barely contain. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the moan building in your throat, but the sensation of his pinky brushing back and forth, the slick sound of it filling the otherwise silent car, was driving you mad.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was another soft whimper as his pinky traced the length of the pearls, gliding through the wetness he’d discovered.

“Shh.” Logan’s voice was soft but commanding, his hand shifting slightly so his whole palm cupped your thigh, holding you in place. “I know, sweetheart. I know how bad you want it.”

The teasing lilt in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and when his pinky pressed a little harder against the pearls, you swore you felt your entire body shudder in response.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, fingers still moving with deliberate slowness. “I can feel how ready you are.”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t even think straight, your focus solely on the pressure building between your legs, the delicious friction of the pearls against you, his fingers toying with you like it was a game only he was in control of.

Logan chuckled darkly, leaning closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Think you can wait till we get home, or should I pull over?”

—

The dim lighting of the bedroom barely illuminated the edges of Logan’s silhouette as he hovered above you, his strong frame pressing into the mattress, overwhelming you with his presence. His dark, hungry eyes roved over your body, the reverence in his gaze sending warmth flooding through you.

You lay beneath him in the delicate lace lingerie, the fabric barely clinging to your skin, framing your breasts that were already exposed. Logan's rough, calloused hands traced the curve of your waist, teasing over the lace of your panties as if savoring the moment before indulging in his desire. His fingers ghosted over the ridge of the pearls, a growl rumbling deep in his chest.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice a deep rasp as his eyes devoured the sight of your trembling form. "Look at you… so fucking beautiful."

The low rumble of his voice made your heart stutter, your body thrumming with anticipation under the weight of his gaze. Every word out of his mouth set you on fire, the heat pooling low in your belly, your thighs already trembling. 

His hands tugged at the waistband of your panties, pulling the lace aside, baring your slick folds to the cool air. He paused for just a moment, the pearls shifting between your legs, soaked through with your arousal. Logan’s eyes darkened with lust, and he couldn’t resist teasing you one last time, brushing his fingers against the pearls, the sensation barely there but enough to make you whimper.

“You wore these for me,” he growled, his thumb pressing against your inner thigh, the roughness of his touch making you squirm. “Fuckin’ soaked already, huh?”

A soft moan slipped from your lips, your fingers instinctively gripping his forearms, trying to steady yourself. Logan’s lips twitched into a smirk, but it was short-lived. His teasing made way for something more primal, more urgent.

Without warning, Logan leaned down, his mouth covering yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His lips were rough, hungry, devouring yours with a desperation that made your entire body burn. The taste of him overwhelmed you, your head spinning as his tongue slid past your lips, claiming you with every swipe.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as you tugged, pulling him closer. Logan groaned into your mouth, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. His lips broke away for only a second, just long enough for him to catch his breath before he kissed you again, more fiercely this time—his teeth scraping against your bottom lip, his tongue tangling with yours in a messy, filthy dance that left you panting.

When he pulled away, both of you breathless, his lips were swollen, his chest rising and falling heavily. The look in his eyes, wild and filled with need, made your core clench with anticipation.

His hand slipped between your legs again, fingers brushing the pearls as he teased your entrance. The slickness of your arousal coated his hand, and Logan groaned, his cock throbbing as he dragged his tip against your wetness. You whimpered, your body arching into him, the overwhelming need to feel him inside of you driving you mad.

“Logan, I—” you gasped, but the words were swallowed by the intensity of his next kiss, sloppier this time, all tongue and teeth as he pressed the tip of his cock inside you, stretching you open.

Immediately, your body tensed, the pressure of his size making your breath hitch. He felt enormous, far bigger than you’d ever imagined, and a flicker of nervousness swept through you. Your hands went to push against his chest, but Logan was quicker, capturing your wrists and pinning them beside your head.

"Don’t fight it," he growled, his voice low, rough, and dark with authority. His lips were at your ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine. "DON’T. Fight it."

You whimpered, your heart racing as you struggled against the urge to tense up, his thick cock slowly pushing deeper into you. His mouth crashed against yours once more, the kiss wet and messy, stealing the very air from your lungs as his hips continued to press forward, stretching you even more.

The feeling of being filled so completely, stretched to your limit, was overwhelming, your body trembling as you fought to adjust. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his chest as Logan buried himself to the hilt inside of you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained, his forehead resting against yours as he stilled for a moment, letting you catch your breath. "You’re so fucking tight… so perfect.”

You whimpered beneath him, your nails biting into his chest as you struggled to breathe, the stretch of him filling you up almost too much. Logan’s eyes softened as he kissed you again, this time slower, gentler—but no less possessive. His hands moved down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled back, dragging his cock out just enough to make you gasp, before sliding back inside with a slow, deliberate thrust.

The friction was electrifying, the sensation of him moving inside you pushing you closer to the edge of pleasure. Your entire body quivered beneath him, your legs wrapping around his waist, desperate to keep him as close as possible.

“Logan…” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper as you arched into him.

“You’re takin’ me so well,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your neck as he began to thrust faster, harder. His teeth grazed your skin, biting down just enough to make you cry out softly, your hips rising to meet each of his powerful thrusts. “Such a good girl… my good girl.”

His hand came down sharply on your ass, the smack resonating in the room, and the sting of it sent a jolt of pleasure through your core. "Logan!" you gasped, your back arching off the bed.

"Fuck, you like that," he growled, his hand coming down again, this time harder, as his pace quickened. "You like bein' fucked like this… takin' my cock like a little slut."

You moaned helplessly, too lost in the pleasure to care about the degradation. Each filthy word out of his mouth only drove you higher, your body trembling as the pressure built in your core, teetering on the edge of release.

Logan’s hand slid down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against your clit in tight, teasing circles that had you writhing beneath him. His other hand gripped your breast, tugging at your nipple as he continued to thrust deep inside you, each movement pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

The kiss that followed was devastating—hot, sloppy, and rough. His lips crushed against yours, tongue sliding messily into your mouth, tasting you with an almost feral hunger. You could barely think, your entire body trembling, clinging to him as the sensation of being filled to your limit overwhelmed you.

“Come for me,” Logan growled, his voice thick and commanding, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come all over my cock, baby.”

And with one final thrust, the coil inside you snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you with a force you’d never felt before, your body convulsing beneath him, your walls clenching tightly around his cock as you screamed his name. 

Logan groaned deeply, his hips stuttering as he pulled out of you, stroking himself a few times before spilling his hot cum across your stomach and breasts, the thick, warm liquid coating your skin. His hands trembled as he held himself above you, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

He collapsed on top of you, his forehead pressing against yours, his body still trembling as he kissed you softly—so softly it almost felt out of place after the raw intensity of what had just happened.

“Fuck…” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re fuckin’ perfect… my perfect girl."

You lay there, your body still tingling from the aftershocks, feeling the weight of him pressing into you, his cum still warm on your skin. You had never felt so cherished, so completely overwhelmed by both pleasure and the connection between you two.

—

a/n: ok now everyone take a deep breath, and lmk what u think.

[kentoxo]

PLEASEEE JM BEGGING PLEASEEE. MAKE THE SMUTTIEST SMUT OF MEGUMI X F READER. Like I need it to be disgusting and vile. (Im so horny rn I’m sorry.) make them go round after round🤤 tit grabbing and everything.

I UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT

pairing: reader(f) x bf!megumi (aged up)

synopsis: he doesn't just want you-- he needs you. after you had spent days back home, you were not anticipating the beast that brewed in your apartment.

warnings: tit play, fingering, overstimulation, rounds of sex

a/n: YALL I GOT A COLD! this weather change ruined me but it will not stop me from my destiny (of writing smut). sorry this took me so long to get to xo

It wasn't like it was that long. What was it, 4 days? Family called you home, and you couldn't refuse after hearing the longing in their voices. Megumi made futile attempts to keep you home, but you had to go see your family. You remember tying up his now long hair, his face grumpy and he wouldn't make eye contact.

You finally returned, and the house was particularly quiet. Getting yourself situated by the door, you proceed into your apartment slowly, the pit pats of your slippers being the only sound. "Megumi?" You call out quietly, hoping your voice didn't intrude in the still silence.

Finding your way to your shared bedroom, you noticed the door was slightly ajar. You push the door open quietly, but the creaking made you known. Sat on his side of the bed with a small book in hand, Megumi looks up and his eyes widen.

You barely get to say a word, as he wastes not a moment of his time. Strong arms shelter you, his chiseled chin sat calmly on the top of your head. You wrap your own arms around him, closing your eyes to melt in his embrace. He smells of vanilla and cardamom. "Your hair looks messy," you murmur against his chest, smiling warmly to yourself.

"Hadn't fixed it since you left," Megumi responds curtly, his fingertips denting lightly into your back. "Didn't care 'nough to." He tightens his hold around you, his warmth taking you over. "Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up."

"It wasn't necessary," you hum, "I took a cab." As you melted more in his hold, you felt his hands snake down to your bum. His face lowers into the crook of your neck, lightly chapped lips leaving kisses there. You weave your fingers into his hair, tilting your head to give him better access. "Babe..."

"m'sorry, I should ask first," Megumi whispers in a raspy voice. He brings your free hand over to his bulge, guiding you to rub the limb up and down. "I've missed you s'much... may I?"

You giggle, lifting Megumi's head from your neck. Obsidian eyes bore into your own, his cheeks flushed pink. It took a long time for Megumi to openly express himself to you. And yet still, he was unable to take what he wanted without the need to ask. "You need not ask," you whisper, "I'm yours, Megumi."

His eyes narrow down, trying to find true confirmation in your gaze. But your eyes don't relent, and flames begin to dance in his eyes. You loved how respectful he is, but you two have been dating for too long for him to still ask permission to love on you. Especially when he was starving for you and your body.

Without wasting another moment, he hastily tosses you onto the bed. Your heart races from his sudden movements as desperate fingers begin to discard your clothing one by one. In seconds, you were just in your undergarments. He simply looks down, his lips practically salivating at the very sight of you. His hands cling to the center of your bra, dragging them opposite directions until it ripped. Your breaths poured out, a throaty moan leaving your mouth. "was that necessar--"

Before you could dare finish, Megumi's hungry lips entrap yours. Between kisses, he begins to strip himself, revealing to you the toned body, defined abs, and intense scarring ornate all over his body. You felt dirty to admit it, but seeing his scars turned you on. You'd never let that slip out, not even to your own soul.

Pulling away, Megumi stands upright once more and looks down at your body once more. Hungry eyes stared at your breasts as they bounced with every motion he did to take off your panties. "baby," Megumi begins quietly, "please let me know if i'm too rough. but, i'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll never leave without me again."

With that, he sits at the headboard of the bed, grabs a firm hold of your hips and lifts you towards him. A pool had long developed between your legs, and he knew it. "ass up for me." You lay your torso, but perk your ass up in front of him per his demand. Once you did, three fingers jam inside your leaking flower.

"h-hey!" You gasped, unprepared for his immediately quick pace. Megumi's bony fingers thrust into your pussy, your precum coating his hand in minutes. He curled his hands to drag his finger tips against your g-spot, earning him scratchy moans from you. "babe-- megumi-- it's t-too much, t-too soon to--"

You didn't want to come yet-- it would be too embarassing, and Megumi knew that. But his fingers didn't relent, and you could feel your climax coming. "i need you to finish for me right now, beautiful."

"b-but...!" You say painfully. You wanted to come with his dick inside you-- not like this in the half hour you've been home. "megumi, please--!"

"now," he demanded, with his free hand giving your ass cheek a burning spank. In moments, bursts of juice leave your cunt, the warm water dragging down to your clit, threatening to drip. Your chest heaved desperately against the best, sheets curled forcibly between your fingers.

You were prepared to be annoyed, when Megumi suddenly takes your hips and sits you down onto his cock. You writhe, your back arching against his torso. You let out strings of curses, only to be quieted by Megumi's fingers filling your mouth. The taste of your cum met your tongue as Megumi's rough fingers played with it. Your ass dragged against his pelvis, and his long, thick limb filled you up kindly.

"t-too much...!" You mewl, your toes curling from being suddenly filled. Your tight walls made Megumi dizzy, as he had been dreaming of fucking you the minute you left for your trip. He gently thrusts into you, making you hop lightly up and down his cock. As he did, his large hands scoop up your breasts. They were still warm, and slightly sweaty since you recently 'removed' your bra.

"mm, so perfect," Megumi hums against the back of your neck. He teases you, peppering hot kisses on your neck. He aggressively massages your breasts, overstimulating you in the process. Despite your pleas, you didn't want to stop him (not like you could anyways). His fingers clenched your breasts desperately, moving them every which way while your buds were being clamped and pulled at by the interdigits.

You felt light headed, unable to stop the tight hold on Megumi's thighs as he gently fucked you. His hands were the opposite, pulling and tugging your mounds, rubbing teasingly at the crevice's under your breasts. Teeth finally met your neck, with a series of sucking and nibbling to ensue.

"m'gonna cum-- again..!" You spew out, your body unable to itself. You squirmed around his cock just enough to add to the friction and force you to finish around his ever-horny cock. "megumi..." you moan slowly, but his silence made you realize that it was not over. "h-hey--!"

He pushes you against the best, positioning you as you once were when he was fingering you to your first orgasm. Firm hands take hold of your hips as he suddenly slams his cock right back inside of you. It slid it quickly, with a heavy coating of two of your orgasms all over his aching member. You claw at the end of the bed while your boyfriend fucked your lights out.

"come again, love," Megumi demands firmly. His fingertips dig into your sides, his pace a little too quickly for you to be able to recover at all. "get tight 'round me." Your pussy was burning, the overstimulation clouding your vision. But Megumi was fucking that 3rd orgasm out of you, whether you liked it or not. With a final and deep thrust, you felt your pussy clench tightly around him, with more cum seeping out of your used cunt.

But he wasn't ready to let you go just yet. He stands the both of you up, bringing you over to the large mirror you thrifted years ago. He knew your legs were weak already, but he hasn't come yet. And this night would never end until he does. You eye yourself in the mirror, your neck and shoulders ornate with hickies, and your nipples bruised a light purple. There were red markings all over your breasts after Megumi's attack. Your legs held a shine, with your cum slowly making its way down to your calves.

Without a word, Megumi put his hand on your back and silently makes you bend over. His hands find their way to your ass, and he spreads it so he can fill you up once again. In a second, his phallus fills you up once again, and you could feel the burning sensation tug at the bottom of your stomach. "megumi..." his name left your mouth in a whimper, a horny cry.

Getting back into his rhythm, Megumi's hands find their way to your wrists and pulls them back. He forces you to arch your back once more, your eyes clouded from your state of painful ecstasy. His strokes are sloppy but still consistent, considering his pent up stress and now exhaustive state.

"m'so close... so fuckin close," Megumi growls between gritted teeth. "your pussy takes me so well..." You watch your breasts bounce with each thrust. Your body was searing, waiting eagerly for his orgasm. "im gonna fill you up, mm, okay beautiful?"

You nod tiredly, incoherent sounds being the only thing you could muster. He thrusts so deeply that his tip threatens to touch your womb. But finally, his pelvis presses against your ass, and he shoots his load between your searing walls. You finish simultaneously, your body finally giving out. But Megumi pulls out and catches you, guiding you over to the bathroom for a nice, warm shower.

As he sits you down on the toilet to prepare the bath, he looks back at you and chuckles. You were leaned against the wall beside the toilet, eyes closed with sweat collecting all over. "Next time, pack me in your luggage," Megumi advises in a monotone voice.

You suck your teeth, earning another laugh from him.

[bitchface24-7]

Oops my hand slipped and I’m back again (for the 3rd day in a row (I think I have a problem))

So following the trend of me seeing too many fanfics of smthn I don’t vibe with, I’ve noticed that a lot of Jayce and/or Viktor x reader fics have the reader as a scientist (makes sense writing-wise, provides a lot of opportunity for characters to interact and bond)

Problem is, I am dogshit at science. I was good at most subjects in high school, but science? Nearly failed. I was good at math and word problems too which made it even more confusing to me but it is what it is ig. So I was hoping for another JayVik x reader where this time, the reader is an artist

Now I primarily draw OCs and people (usually digital or w/ marker) so I’d like smthn leaning towards that but frankly you can do whatever

I just think it’s be funny if, while Jayce n Viktor do their cool nerd shit, the reader is fully unhelpful and doodling in their sketchbook. Quality time except I’m drawing sexualized men (gender equality) and my hot boyfriends are solving global trade or whatever

(Mayhaps also drawing them for studies and anatomy practice and showing them because I like forcing ppl to look at my art >:)) )

Again, take as long as you need to write this, hope you’re doing good :))

MY MUSES - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: after escaping Noxus with your best friend Mel, you've cherished the peace of Piltover compared to the wartime of Noxus. You were able to flourish in the city of progress with your artistry. It was the way you and Mel found solace in your old home. Now, you've been commissioned by the council to paint a portrait of the Hextech duo.

warnings: talks of wartime, insecurities, awkward talk, becoming friends with J + V, anatomy practice, complimenting your two boys, fluff, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. I understand your frustration, even I've fallen into “make reader a scientist to make life a little easier.” I hope y'all enjoy artist reader!

You're painting in your studio at the Academy when the door is opened, and you smell the delicious fragrance of vanilla, cardamom, and sandalwood, it’s Mel.

You put your paintbrush down and turn to look at your best friend, a smile beaming on your face. You get up and go for a hug before stopping yourself, your clothes are stained with paint and you don’t want to ruin Mel’s pretty white dress.

She fondly rolls her eyes and pulls you into a hug anyway. Mel’s not a very touchy person. It was seen as a weakness is Noxus. She’s only really touchy with you, you’ve been her friend for as long as you can remember. She wholeheartedly trusts you.

And you know how rare that is.

“Hello dove. How’re you today?”

You scrunch your nose at the nickname, it was a nickname given to you when you were much younger. “It’s because you don’t see the glory of war. You’re gentle. Something I desperately need in my life.” Mel had explained, her Medarda Mask no where in sight.

“I’m good. I’m almost done the landscape you commissioned for the council room.”

Mel’s smile widens the tiniest bit, but her gaze is downcast. This isn’t a social call. She’s been tasked to ask you something.

“Mel, I understand. Just, tell me what you need from me.”

A sigh escapes the gorgeous woman, “The council has requested a portrait to be made of the two Hextech innovators, Viktor and Jayce Talis.”

You raise your brows in confusion, “Okay… why is that a bad thing?”

Mel leans on a clean section of your work station, a hand coming up to rub her forehead, “They’re constantly working. They don’t see the prospect of taking a break. If you were to paint them, you’d have to paint them in the lab; as they do dangerous experiments. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You place your hand over top Mel’s hand that’s braced against the desk, “I’ll be okay. I can’t imagine they’d let anyone get hurt.”

Mel nods sagely, the hand that was rubbing her forehead is now placed over your hand. She’s now cupping your one hand and rubbing her thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll tell them what the council has demanded. When will you be free to paint them?”

You look over to the almost finished landscape painting sitting on your easel, “Give me a week.”

Mel nods, gives you one last hug, and leaves your studio to break the news to Viktor and Jayce.

You just hope they’re nice to you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The week passed by in a flash, and here you are. Standing in front of two very large doors that make you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

You don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve painted portraits of the top-class in Piltover. The cream of the crop. The top one percent, and you were fine. You were mentally rolling your eyes every few minutes, but you were fine.

You’re now asked to paint two scientists and you feel like you’re going to have a stroke.

At least Mel gave you some advice in regards to both men, “Jayce is quite kind, easy-going, and easy to talk to. You’ll make quick friends with him as you are. His partner Viktor on the other hand… is a different story. He’s cordial, but stubborn. He’s quite witty with a sass that almost matches mine. He’d prefer it if you skipped the flowery talk and just got straight to the point. He’s not a fan of the mind numbing politics of Piltover. Say what you mean or don’t say anything at all.”

With that mantra repeating in your head, you knock on the doors to their lab.

“Come in!” A voice exclaims, “We cannot leave our stations, the gems may become volatile if we do.” Another voice adds, this time with an unfamiliar accent.

You lightly push open the doors and are stunned by the state of the lab. Papers everywhere, equations on a blackboard you don’t even want to attempt to understand, ink stains, scraps of metal.

You suppose this is their version of an art studio.

“Oh!” The first voice you heard exclaims, “You must be Mel’s friend, the one who’s been commissioned to paint us. I’m Jayce. The one brooding over there with goggles on his face is Viktor.”

A scoff, “I am not brooding. I simply do not see the purpose of a portrait being made of us. It takes time away from our research!”

You cut in, reminding yourself of Mel’s advice, “The council has ordered it. Besides, I need to study you two for a little bit. Understand your anatomy and proportions. Then when I have a clear understanding, we’ll take one day out of your schedule to get the painting done.”

Viktor raises his goggles, putting them into is hair and the most beautiful pair of eyes you’ve ever seen narrows onto you, “You’ll only need one day to paint us?”

“The weather is constantly changing. That means so is my light source, my shadows, my colours.” You explain easily, “If we spend the whole day together, I’ll be able to easily get the portrait done and you two can go back to work. Sound good?”

Viktor purses his lips before nodding, Jayce just looks between the two of you with a small smile. He thought that would’ve taken a lot longer.

Guess you’re pretty special.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One Week Later.

Their work is fascinating. You don’t understand quite a bit of it, but their enthusiasm and passion make up for your lack of knowledge.

Here they are trying to solve most of the worlds problems and you’re sketching them in your sketchbook with hearts in your eyes.

You focus on their bodies, how they bend, contort, their planes and shadows. How light glows onto them.

You focus on their unique features. Jayce’s sharp canines, Viktor’s cheekbones and moles. Jayce’s broad chest and Viktor’s cane and brace.

Those two points are especially important. They’re so detailed. And they’re a part of Viktor, you’re not going to erase something so vital to him as a human being to make the portrait ��nicer to look at” according to the upper echelon of Piltover.

You’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t feel a presence come up behind you, “Whatcha doing?”

You jolt, putting a hand to your heart as your pencil drops to the ground, “By Janna Jayce! You scared me!”

A boisterous laugh permeates the lab, “You we’re so focused, I couldn’t help but wonder what you were doing.”

“We’ll… I was drawing my two very beautiful muses.”

There’s a small silence in the lab.

“Your—“ Viktor starts, then clears his throat as Jayce stands there, stunned, “Your beautiful muses?”

You nod, not realizing their disbelief, “Of course. The two of you have such beautiful features. Jayce is quite tall, with broad shoulders, a tiny waist, and strong legs. A nice hair cut, strong brows, big eyes, and pink lips. You, Viktor on the other hand—“

You’re cut off by said man, “Are not as conventional—“

You cut him off this time, “Are also tall, lean, lithe, with long beautiful legs. You have a face carved out of marble, messy hair, eyes that look like liquid gold, beauty marks, and a nice pale complexion that compliments Jayce’s tan. You’re both quite handsome, just is different ways.”

The two men are stunned into silence, and it takes a few minutes before you realize what you said. You feel your face heat up as you try to hide behind your sketch book. Viktor lightly smiles at that as Jayce laughs and forces your sketch book back down onto your lap.

“You know, I’ve never heard such an honest compliment before.”

“Neither have I.”

You feel like killing yourself. Maybe jumping out of one of the lab windows will do the trick.

“So,” Viktor’s interrupts your dark humorous thoughts, “Do you feel prepared to paint the portrait?”

You look the two men dead in the eye, even as embarrassment consumes you.

“Yes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A day is set and you bring all your art supplies that you need into the lab. You even set up a place for the portrait to be.

The setting will be in front of their main work station, the hexcore and hexgems glittering in the background. You brought a comfortable armchair for Viktor to sit on, you know these paintings can take some time and you don’t want to over-exert his leg. You assume Jayce can stand for a few hours, placed right next to Viktor.

As you explain your thought process to them, the more excited they seem. And to think, they didn’t want to do this originally.

“Ok, get comfortable. Viktor you can put your cane to rest against one of the arms of the chair. Jayce, can you place your hand on the top of the headrest? Perfect. You two comfortable?”

You get nods and yes’ as your answer.

With that, you start to paints them.

You ensure to be as diligent as possible. You start with the boys, adding bits and pieces to the background as you go. You make sure to her the green in Jayce’s eyes, the beauty marks on Viktor’s face. The house Talis emblem on Jayce’s jacket; the intricacies of Viktor’s cane and leg brace. The purple and blue glows of the Hextech give the painting an almost magical feeling.

You have to say, this may be your best portrait yet.

A couple hours pass and you deem the painting complete. The two boys sigh, Jayce cracks his back as Viktor cracks his neck. Most of the painting was done is silence, a few tiny conversations sprinkled throughout the process.

You didn’t want them to move.

The two come to where you’re sitting and gaze at the portrait in awe. It’s… them. It looks so life like, as good as a picture. But it’s softer, it looks beautiful.

And they look phenomenal.

“Are you sure that’s us?” Viktor jokes, pointing at the painting, “Those men are incredibly handsome.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, “Now you know what to say when you look in a mirror. That’s how you look, and it’s how you’ll be remembered.”

Jayce smiles and puts a hand on both your and Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor looks touched at the sentiment.

“You should move your art stuff to be here. Permanently.” Jayce states easily.

You almost choke on your own spit, “Pardon? Why would I do that?”

“Because we'd miss you,” Viktor replies a cocky look on his face.

You huff out a laugh, “Ill be of no help to you. I'm not a science brain. I'd just be in the lab drawing you two constantly.”

“We’d pose for you.” Jayce jokes

“Even if I wanted to practice nude anatomy?”

Viktor hums, “Not in the lab obviously, but yes even then.”

You smile at them, “It’s a deal then.”

And to think you were scared they wouldn't be nice to you. You just obtained two pretty muses (hopefully for the rest of your life.)

TADA!!! This was such a cute request. I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Pebble, you keep those requests coming (and everyone else who requests too 🫵😏)

I have like four requests now in my inbox and I squealed when I saw it. I've never had so many requests before. Usually my inbox has like… spam and fishing schemes. So this is amazing to me!!

[cappulcino]

The Shape of Us

Read on AO3

Words: 6,440

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Larissa are on a “break”. When you agree to meet for coffee at the Weathervane, you finally get to begin healing.

Tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending, some fluff (flangst if you will), emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut (skippable, but maybe minors dni), maternal Larissa, character development, no Y/N

Trigger warnings: non-graphic mention of G!P (tell me if I should add more)

A/N: Quite a change of style with this one. I had the idea and just wanted to use it to practice instinctive writing, kind of. It’s also the first time I try to write present tense. Very experimental overall, not as thought out as usual, Larissa might not even be characterised the way I like her to be. Also, no beta, we die like Phasma. I hope you still enjoy it.

Eight months. That's how long you haven't seen Larissa.

You're not divorced –not yet anyway. But after four years of marriage, six years total of a seemingly perfect romance, Larissa had asked for a 'break'. You had agreed to it, and perhaps it had been the right decision, too.

You and Larissa had been constantly fighting over trivialities. And since you had been barely having any, not even sex could have saved your relationship at that point. The main argument often revolved around Elias, your son from your previous spouse.

You had met Larissa when you were seven months pregnant after a particularly hard divorce, and it had never discouraged her. She had courted you all the same, made you feel loved and beautiful like your abusive ex never had –or any other partner, for that matter–, and she had sworn to stay by your side forever.

Elias' birth had propelled your relationship into something terribly concrete in very little time. It had not been easy. But Larissa had helped you raise your little boy as her own without complaining once.

That was until your somewhat divergent views on Elias' upbringing got in the way, amongst other things, leading to endless arguments late at night, trying to keep your voice hushed so as not to wake Elias, but gesticulating and pacing furiously until you were both too tired to say another word.

And then one night, Larissa had said, "I think we should take a break."

Out of anger, you had asked her to be the one to pack her stuff and leave. You had bought your house together –she could have claimed the right to stay, too. But you had Elias and nowhere else to go. She had her quarters at Nevermore. So she had packed and left that very same night without even putting up a fight.

Eight months ago, then.

The break had hurt, kept hurting month after month, and to this day it still hasn't stopped hurting. It might even be worse.

Today, however, you and Larissa have agreed to meet for coffee at the Weathervane –just to see each other and talk, nothing more–, and you are desperate for this pseudo-date to mark the end of that damned break.

But while Larissa had been the one to initiate it, you had been the one to be a bitch about it, so you know you can't expect Larissa to jump for joy when you bring yourself to step inside the Weathervane.

Yet, you're filled with hope, and when you finally push that door, you realise it's not the chilly wind making you shiver, it's the anticipation.

With faked determination in your stance, you head towards the counter. But then you catch the shy wave of a hand with perfectly manicured red nails from the corner of your eye and stop abruptly.

Larissa is already here –of course she is– and slides a cup of coffee across the table she is sitting at. She knows she is always ten minutes early to everything and you, ten minutes late, and has ordered accordingly so your cardamom and sea salt vanilla latte is waiting for you, still steaming.

You want to run to her –you almost do. But you have to take a second to compose yourself. There is a whole range of emotions on her face, from bitterness to sadness and hurt. But she flashes you a weak smile and you are pleased to find out that there is still love underneath it all.

Slowly, with less determination than before, you walk up to the booth she has chosen and sit across from her.

"Hey…"

"Hey…"

There is a slight hesitation in Larissa's attitude and tone as you take off your coat and put your bag down, and you wonder if she's excited to see you or scared –or both, like you are.

"I took the liberty to order for you. I hope that's okay," she says tentatively, as if worried your tastes might have changed in the past eight months.

"More than okay. Thank you."

Your eyes start a game of roaming all over each other's bodies without ever meeting, and you notice how Larissa unclasps her hands and her fingers start reaching out before she changes her mind to pull away and fidget under the table instead. It makes your heart clench.

"You look good," she suddenly blurts out.

It's game over for you as your eyes snap back up, boring into hers. You tell her that you think she looks even better. You mean it. But you are pained to see the weary look on her face, the hint of exhaustion no amount of makeup can hide.

You also notice the dress she is wearing, the same one she was wearing the day Elias was born. She had complained time and time again that it didn't fit her anymore, and the thought of her losing so much weight it does again almost brings tears to your eyes. Guilt is consuming you.

Larissa clears her throat in that particular way you know she does when she is struggling to stay calm, and you know it's your cue to pretend you haven't seen anything and start an actual conversation.

"How have you been?" you ask before taking a sip of your latte.

Larissa shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, even though she is anything but.

"Oh, you know… Busy. With Nevermore, mostly. The new term is approaching, so there's a lot to take care of. What about you? And… Elias?"

You purposely ignore the first question. You feel anything but good and don't have the strength to pretend like Larissa does. You don't want to admit you have been obsessively thinking about her every single day for the past eight months either. And when she mentions your son, you can't help but let your heart speak before your brain can reason it anyway, your tone clipped and cold.

"Let's not pretend you don't know how he's doing. I know you've been calling his school, and that you 'casually dropped by' Clarisse's house right when Elias was there for Timothy's birthday."

Feeling caught, Larissa pinches her lips and looks away. But she quickly recovers, her expression slightly hardening.

"You cannot expect a mother to stay away from her child for months on end without any news. Elias is my son, too." 

"He's my son."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like dying inside, drowning in instant regret.

Larissa feels punched in the gut –so hard that it makes her gasp audibly. You notice the way her nostrils quiver and her eyes immediately water. But she clenches her jaw, forcing herself to remain cordial.

"Now you're just being cruel."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" 

"Yes."

"Then why did you say that?"

"I don't know!"

And it's true. The worst part in all this is that you never mean any of the poison you spit at your wife. It just comes out and you're not even sure why.

An awkward silence sets in for a moment, and you bring your cup to your lips with trembling hands before speaking again.

"He barely talks to me now. And when he does, it's only to ask, 'When is Mummy coming back?'"

"What do you tell him?" Seeing your lack of response, Larissa presses further. "He deserves answers."

"But I don't have them, do I? Just like I don't know what to tell him when he comes home from school and tells me that little Lisa's parents are getting divorced and her father is now with another woman, and asks me if his mummy is, too."

"What do you mean, you don't know what to tell him?" Larissa asks, briskly bringing her hands back on the table to better lean forward.

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?" 

"With another woman."

Larissa scoffs loudly, visibly shocked by your question.

"Heavens, no! I'm still wearing my ring."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"No?"

Once again, Larissa visibly aches at your reaction, and you hate yourself for it. Thing is, the fact that she is still wearing her wedding ring does mean a lot to you. It means everything. But you're too scared to get your hopes up, and before you can do anything about it, your heart decides it's best to kill that hope in the womb.

"So… You haven't seen anyone else? At all?" you ask nonetheless, still needing to make sure Larissa remains yours.

You have always felt like she was the most attractive of the two, and have always had this fear she would go look for someone better than you whenever she got the chance.

Larissa glares at you as she sips her own coffee, debating whether to indulge your jealousy or not. Eventually, she decides to be entirely honest.

"Someone did ask me out." Your eyes instantly darken while she continues. "Hannah, the florist. But–"

"But what?" you cut her off, feeling yourself turning green. You can't bear the thought of her with anyone else.

"But I said no, of course! Gosh, who do you think I am? I was never interested in her."

There is another pause and, seeing your eyes dart away, Larissa suddenly worries you might have been trying to tell her something. You notice her gaze quickly scanning your left hand to check your wedding ring is still there.

"Have you been seeing anybody else?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good."

The relief that washes over Larissa's face is undeniable. You find it almost cute, but mostly you feel a weight lifting from your own shoulder, reassured by the notion that you both remained fiercely faithful, no matter what.

Impulsively, Larissa stops fumbling with her napkin, cup, and whatever is in front of her, and gives in to her desire to touch you again, snatching your left hand. She squeezes it, presses it to her cheek. Her thumb traces loving circles on your skin, her lips pepper your knuckles with urgent kisses. Her breath is heavy as she relishes the familiar touch.

"I still love you, you know," she finally blurts out in a desperate whisper. "So much."

You can't help but gasp. Larissa wants to see you. She is wearing the same dress she wore for your son's birth. She hasn't taken her wedding ring off. She doesn't want Hannah the pretty florist. She still loves you.

It has been way too long since you last heard these words, and they make your eyes instantly well up, tears threatening to fall over your waterline like a dam bursting open.

Seeing that, Larissa brings a hand to cup your cheek without letting go of your left one, which she still kisses now and then. The movement is barely there, but you see her shake her head as well, and you can tell she hates seeing you like this and wonders if this break was truly a good idea after all. You're both more miserable than you care to admit.

Eventually, she dares express her doubt.

"Was this break beneficial to you at all?"

You can't say that a little distance wasn't needed. But God knows you can't live without Larissa either, and raising a six-year-old on your own is just too difficult.

"Was it to you?" you ask, once again eluding her question.

Larissa looks up, both forcing herself to swallow her own unshed tears and trying to come up with an answer. But for the first time since you sat at that table, she seems not to have any.

"All I know is that I miss you," she confesses instead. "And I miss our son."

"I miss you, too. We both do."

Your voice cracks at these last words.

"I want to see him. I need to see him," Larissa practically begs. "You can't keep me away from him forever."

You nod slowly and snuffle. You know that's fair –you had no right to forbid her to see Elias. Worse than that, you had no right to forbid your son to see his mother.

After a moment, you carefully pull away and grab your napkin to wipe your tears and blow your nose rather disgracefully. Larissa can't help the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she hears that sound and sees how red the tip of your nose has turned.

"Do you, uh… Do you want to come home for dinner?" you ask then. "I think Elias would be delighted to see you."

Larissa's heart skips a beat at your invitation. The idea of going home, spending some time with you, with your son… It's everything she has secretly been yearning for. Yet, you sense a slight hesitation. Larissa is still wary of how the evening could go –rightfully so, considering all the arguments you've had in the past.

"Are you sure?"

You don't want to imagine anything negative right now, so you just nod.

"Be there at eight?"

"I'll be there."

That evening, at eight, when the bell rings, you send your son to open the door.

"Elias, honey, I think you might want to answer that."

Your son turns away from the cartoon he is watching to glare at you darkly, but you insist, jerking your head towards the door, and he finally complies, sliding off the couch to go answer it.

When he does, you can see Larissa standing rather awkwardly by the doorway from where you are. The realisation of how uncomfortable she must feel to have to be invited into her own home truly tugs at your heartstrings. But then you see her eyes land on Elias, and her demeanour changes immediately.

"Hello, sunshine!"

Elias gasps loudly.

"Mummy!" he shouts, bouncing excitedly on his legs.

But just when you expect him to jump into Larissa's arms and squeal like he has just seen Santa, he freezes on the spot and a noisy whine escapes his mouth, quickly turning into full, ugly cries –the only way for him to express all those big emotions he had apparently kept bottled up all these months.

"Oh, oh, oh… Baby, no…"

With practised ease, Larissa picks Elias up, even though one of her hands is already full with the bouquet of roses she has bought for you on her way here. Hearing your son cry so desperately is killing you. But your heart breaks even further when you notice his short hair turning platinum blonde.

Elias has inherited your shapeshifting abilities but is too young to control them, of course –and you've never been too keen on teaching him how to, either. When a young, inexperienced shapeshifter feels strong emotions, it is not uncommon for their powers to go haywire. Quite often, the youngest partially shapeshift into someone they feel close to, usually a parent. For Elias, it's Larissa. Always Larissa.

"Mummy…"

"Oh, I know, sweetheart. Mummy missed you, too. More than you can imagine."

As you lean against the wall of your entrance, your hand on your chest to prevent yourself from choking on your guilt, Larissa glances at you, silently communicating her own mixture of sadness, guilt and affection.

Seeing Elias won't let go of her anytime soon, your wife invites herself inside. You come closer, closing the door behind her, while your son struggles to calm down.

"I… brought you these," Larissa says, bending at a weird angle to hand you the flowers without letting go of the little boy in her arms.

You take them, a small smile on your lips until you realise whom she must have bought the roses from.

"Did you buy them–"

"From Hannah? Yes." Larissa notices your jealousy flaring, but she quickly tames it. "I asked her for the most beautiful roses she had so I could gift them to my wife."

The pride in her eyes and her slight possessiveness make your heart soar and the smile returns to your lips.

"They're beautiful. Let me find a vase for them."

As you go find a vase for the roses, you can hear Larissa struggle to get out of her coat and then walk into the living room without ever putting Elias down.

"It's okay, sunshine. Oh… What's that you were watching? Is that Pokémon?"

"Mmh."

"You like Squirtle, don't you?"

"No. My favourite is Lucario."

"I'm sorry," you hear Larissa reply with a melancholic tone. "Of course, it's Lucario."

That simple exchange makes you realise just how fast things can change in a child's life, and therefore how much Larissa has missed because of you. You wonder if she will ever find it in her heart to forgive you. You know you won't.

Throughout dinner, Elias simply cannot stay still. Every time Larissa so much as shifts on her chair, his little hands reach for her to make sure she won't leave without him. Despite your instructions to eat his food –especially his vegetables–, he also keeps wiggling free, running back and forth between the table and his bedroom upstairs to go fetch his new toys and latest drawings and show them to Larissa. He speaks fast and loud, as if scared to give even the tiniest opportunity to either of you to say something negative and ruin the night for him.

Larissa, for her part, seems overwhelmed but far from unhappy. She holds each drawing carefully, murmuring praises as she flips through them, her smile never leaving her lips. Still, she regularly sneaks glances at you, and you understand she is waiting to be finally alone with you for a moment. You're waiting for this, too. You also both can't stop your eyes from darting to each other's lips, and it definitely doesn't help with the tension that has been building up since your coffee date at the Weathervane.

Thankfully, with all those emotions and that energy spent, Elias is quick to collapse on Larissa's lap, his thumb stuck in his mouth. You reach for his tiny wrist –you have successfully started weaning him off that habit over the past months and don't want him to pick it up again. But Larissa gently pushes your hand away.

"Leave him," she says, her voice not unkind but firm. "He needs it."

You sigh but give in. Tonight is not a night to argue about anything.

"You should go tuck him in," you offer after observing your sleepy child for a moment. By now, even his nose has shapeshifted into Larissa's.

Your wife smiles at the proposal and excuses herself, cradling Elias close to her chest as she brings him upstairs. Your gaze follows them fondly until you can't see them anymore and you decide to get up to clean the table a little bit.

But you quickly stop to go upstairs instead and see how things are going. You can't help it. Not necessarily because you want to control your wife, no. It's more because you find the sight of her with Elias comforting and absolutely heartwarming, and you need that right now.

As you arrive in front of your son's bedroom and peek through the crack of the door, you hear Larissa trying to explain to Elias how "mommies can still love each other very much and not be together for a while". You find her courageous. You've never had the balls to attempt such a difficult explanation, despite Elias' incessant questioning.

"I want you to be with me and Mommy again," you hear him plead sleepily.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Larissa coos, her fingers delicately brushing his still-platinum hair away from his forehead. "I want that, too. I really do. But Mommy and I… we're working on some things, okay? We're trying to make things better, I promise."

"I hate her."

The brutal honesty of your own child as he thinks you're not looking makes you want to scream, throw up, and bang your head against the wall. The pain burning in your chest is indescribable, and you have to cover your mouth so your inevitable sobs don't ruin the moment for Elias and his other mother.

Still, through it all, you are glad to find out Larissa has your back.

"Don't say that, Elias. I know you're sad, but Mommy loves you very much."

"But she doesn't want me to see you."

"I know, beautiful. I know. But Mommy is just… She's hurting, too. And sometimes, when people hurt, they say and do things they don't mean."

There is a moment of silence only broken by the constant stroking of Larissa's hand on your son's face. Then Elias speaks up again, his voice still weakened by the fatigue.

"Mummy?"

"What is it?"

"Is it my fault you and Mommy don't talk anymore?"

You can hear Larissa's heart break from the hallway.

"Oh, no, no, no, angel… No. Never. You have done nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing wrong. Adults disagree and need some alone time sometimes, but sweethearts like you are never the reason why, alright? Now, close those pretty eyes. You need to rest."

"But you won't be here when I wake up," Elias whines.

"I know. I'm so sorry, baby. But we'll see each other soon, I promise. Mommy will let me see you now."

You haven't even really talked about this with Larissa yet, but there is no point in denying it –Elias needs both his mothers with him and you can't prevent Larissa from loving him and wanting to take care of him.

There is a pause, and you can hear in Elias' lack of response that he is contemplating accusing his mother of lying. But thankfully, he is too tired to put up a fight and settles for a "Goodnight" instead.

You watch as Larissa tucks the covers around his tiny body and leans in to kiss his forehead, then step aside to rest your back on the wall next to the door so Larissa doesn't feel too overwhelmed by your presence when she comes out.

Still, she stops in her tracks when she spots you waiting outside. She looks at you, you look at her, and you both notice the tears in each other's eyes as you both ache deeply for your little boy.

"Do you want to say goodnight?"

You shake your head slowly. Deep down, you want to. But you figure Elias is halfway in the arms of Morpheus –if not already there– and might not want to see you anyway. With a small nod of understanding, Larissa closes the door.

"I haven't seen him so happy in a long time," you tell her as she moves to lean against the wall opposite you. "I shouldn't have kept you away from him. He misses you too much."

"You shouldn't have. But I think I understand why you did."

"He doesn't," you reply with a jerk of your head towards Elias' bedroom.

"He's just a child caught in the middle of our problems. It's not fair to him, we have to make things better one way or another."

You nod, your heart heavy with profound sadness, but say nothing because what is there to add? Larissa is right through and through –she always is. You're the one who keeps making the wrong decisions.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," Larissa eventually says, her voice soft and quiet like it always is after she has spent some time with Elias.

"Which one?"

"How are you?"

Your eyes meet hers, but only for a fleeting moment. You miss her, you long for her, you crave her, her touch, her lips, her scent… You feel like if you look at her for too long you're either going to pass out or do yet another regrettable thing.

Larissa calls your name, asks you to look at her. You don't answer. You can't. And then, in one swift motion, she is only inches away from you, tugging at your shoulders to pull you into a hug.

You don't resist, of course, and lean against her with your whole weight. But you don't have the strength to lift your arms to hug her back and instead just start crying, your face buried in her chest.

If there was any word stronger than miserable, that's what you would be.

"I know, I know," she says tenderly as if reading your thoughts. "Me too."

Her voice cracks and she finally lets her emotions fully show, too. Her silent cries pierce your heart, and only then do you feel strong enough to wrap your arms around her and clutch.

Now both crying, you hold each other like you're trying to mend the pieces of each other's broken mind. It feels so painful and so terribly good at the same time. Her body feels nice and comforting, you had almost forgotten just how much.

When you both finally start calming down, you realise you're scared of pulling away. But Larissa keeps you close, only shifting slightly to rest her forehead against yours. Her skin is warm, but as always, the tip of her nose is cold on your cheek. You don't mind it, it's one of Larissa's little things you often find yourself missing the most at night.

Your eyelids flutter open, and, inevitably, you make the mistake of staring not at her eyes but at her lips. The faint aroma of wine coming out of her mouth in hot puffs makes your skin tingle, and you know that you have to look away or you won't be able to refrain from kissing her. And if you kiss her, you won't be able to stop.

But Larissa cups your face with both hands before you have a chance to move and before your brain can formulate a single thought, her lips capture yours in a slow, loving kiss. You can feel the yearning and despair that have pent up in the past eight months in the way she moves her mouth against yours, and it makes you weak at the knees.

You reply to her kiss with a whimper and she deepens it, her tongue seeking entry into your mouth with a mix of hunger and fear. You welcome it without hesitation and move your arms up to wrap them around her neck, carding your fingers through her perfect hair bun. Meanwhile, her hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You had missed this and obviously can't prevent your hips from bucking against hers, begging for more.

Larissa responds to your silent plea with a low groan and a hand moving further down to grip your butt. The air catches violently in your throat at the intimate contact and you throw your head back with a moan.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Larissa says. "Not like that."

But there is no conviction in her words, and she still has a hand on your rear and her mouth on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your sensitive spots before soothing them with her tongue.

The noises you make are so needy that it becomes fairly evident you haven't taken much care of your own needs over the past months. The realisation makes your wife growl possessively, and her resolve crumbles. She needs to have you. Now.

"Bed?"

"God, yes."

Larissa doesn't pull away even once as she pushes you towards your bedroom. Her hands move urgently, her kisses become hungrier, her breathing accelerates.

"I love you."

You both repeat those words so much that it is unclear whose mouth they're coming from.

Larissa is quick to take off your clothes, revealing the skin she has longed to touch again for so long. You, on the other hand, try to take your time. Larissa had changed before coming home for dinner, and you've been wondering all evening if there is any fine lingerie under that burgundy dress. But it's Larissa –of course there is. You just like to torture yourself by unwrapping her like a priceless present. Besides, you don't want to look too desperate, nor do you want to make her feel like she isn't in charge. You want her to be now.

Unlike you, Larissa is not afraid to show how much she desires you. As soon as you're both naked, she pushes you onto your marriage bed, covers your body with hers and starts making up for lost time in every way possible. Fingers, vibrator, tongue… Nothing is off-limits tonight.

Then something different, something you haven't done in a very long time. Larissa shapeshifts, and you feel it –the size, the weight of it against you. Your wife looks down at you expectantly, hoping for your consent. It's something you've never downright refused, but have always felt conflicted about. It often reminds you of a past you'd rather forget and tends to make you question your sexuality in ways you don't want to think about while having sex –even though Larissa has reassured you countless times already that it didn't make you any less of a lesbian.

Not tonight, though. Tonight you nod eagerly and spread your thighs a little further to welcome her shapeshifted appendage, needing that special connection. In the faint orange glow coming from that one lamp post at the end end of your street, you see Larissa smiling brightly.

"Thank you," she whispers against your skin as she pushes into you.

She loves this, you know it, and the obscene moan she lets out as she stretches you only confirms it. It feels good, too good, and you meet her sensual thrusts with deliberate rolls of your hips, the way she moves, gasps your name, and loses herself completely to the moment only spurring you on.

She takes you twice like this. In a row. The first time, deep and slow, then rough and frenzied, until you're shaking and can't even call her name coherently. And by the time your final climax hits, you're so sensitive you feel like you're going to faint.

Larissa keeps moving, chasing her own release, her thrusts messy, uneven. And then with one last push, she spills over the edge, burying her face in the crook of your neck with a broken, "You’re mine. Mine."

You've always loved that possessive side she works so hard to mask under heavy decorum. The way she calls you hers reminds you of your wedding night and makes your chest burn with love. So when she collapses on top of you, panting in your ear, you just have to squeeze her tight in your arms and kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

You keep her close even long after she has pulled out of you, simply enjoying the warmth of her body and the scent that floats in the room in the aftermath of your passionate lovemaking.

It's about two in the morning now, but neither of you is sleeping. You're both just basking in the intimacy of the moment, exchanging gentle kisses and caresses until you break the silence.

"Come home."

Larissa shifts then, and you're suddenly scared you've ruined it all and she is going to leave. But she just props herself on her elbow to look into your eyes with a blend of vulnerability and longing.

"I want to. More than anything. I need you to know that. But…" She sighs. "There are things we need to talk about and settle, compromises to make."

"Like what?"

The way Larissa takes a deep breath before answering lets you know whatever she says won't be up for debate if you want this to work.

"We need to find common ground about our parenting styles. And I want you to try therapy."

"Are you saying I don't know how to raise my own son?"

Larissa sighs in frustration at the defensiveness in your tone.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying we have different ways of doing it, and we need to find a way to reconcile them for Elias' sake."

"You want him to explore his shapeshifting abilities," you mumble as you roll onto your back, an arm on your forehead.

"Yes, I do," Larissa replies with a kind but firm voice. "He is a shapeshifter. It's part of who he is, and it's a part we need to let him embrace, not suppress."

"The world is a terrible place for Outcasts."

"That's why there are places like–"

"If you're going to say Nevermore, I swear–"

"Yes, I am going to say Nevermore. It would be the safest place on earth for him, and he would still get to evolve around Normies. You know I've even hired a Normie teacher this year."

"And I don't trust her."

"You don't trust many people."

Touché. You sigh heavily, letting your arm fall to cover your eyes as if trying to shield yourself from Larissa's truths –or rather, from how much you hate being wrong when it comes to making choices for Elias. But Larissa pushes your arm away and tilts your chin with a finger so you look at her again.

"I know you're scared. I am, too. But what scares me the most is the thought of Elias thinking he has to hide a part of himself, even around us, or that he can only move through life safely if he denies every fundamental aspect of who he is."

If you were to be completely honest –even if only to yourself–, you would admit Larissa has already convinced you. It's hypocritical to expect Elias to repress his abilities when both his mothers are exactly like him and free to use them, or to deny him an education at Nevermore when you have spent your own childhood hoping there was a place for people like you. What would be next? He'll come out as gay, and you'll tell him it's wrong? No, this is preposterous.

But you know this is not where the problem truly lies, and it's high time you communicated with your wife to treat it at the root.

"You're his model," you finally say, your voice too hoarse for your liking. So you clear your throat and start again. "You're his model, the one he instinctively shapeshifts into when he's not doing it on purpose. Look at how quickly his hair turned like yours when you arrived. It's you, always you. Never me. I'm his mother, his birth mother. I made him. But it's always you."

Larissa doesn't like it too much when you're this possessive over Elias because it throws her lack of biological connection to him back in her face, and it is something she has always struggled with. Still, her voice remains calm and understanding.

"Yes, you brought him into this world. But I've been a part of his life since he was in your womb, I was there when he was born, I fed him, changed him, taught him how to read, and let myself be vomited on more times than I can count. I have as much an impact on the person he is as you do."

"But shapeshifters are supposed to take on the traits of their closest parent the first time, and he took yours," you protest, your voice cracking. "Why not me? What have I done wrong?"

"Oh, darling…"

Larissa sits up, pulling you up with her so she can hug you properly and draw slow, soothing circles on your naked back.

"You have done nothing wrong. Sometimes, it doesn't work like it usually does and it's nobody's fault."

"My baby hates me…"

Larissa gasps and brings her hands to your face, clasping your jaw tightly while you start weeping again.

"No. Absolutely not. Elias does not hate you. Why would you ever think that?"

"That's what he told you earlier."

Larissa presses her lips into a thin line, feeling pained that you've heard these words.

"He's only six… He's in pain and doesn't have any better way to express himself," she says, pulling you back against her chest. She stays quiet for a moment, and then continues, "It's… It's the reason why you kept him away from me all these months, isn't it? You wanted to feel him closer to you."

You realise how ridiculous this sounds and can't even begin to explain just how hard you blame yourself.

"I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," Larissa coos, rocking you back and forth, even though you know it's all but 'okay'. "We just… We need to communicate. I understand your fears, I do. I have my own. But we need to do better for Elias. I don't want him to suffer because of our problems anymore."

"I know, I know," you say with a weak nod. Then after a moment, you add, "Therapy, then."

"Yes, therapy. Please. But we're in this together, I'm not letting you go. We're a team, aren't we?"

"'Til death do us part'."

Larissa chuckles softly at your choice of words.

"Mmh, that's right. You, my love, are absolutely stuck with me. So we're going to work as a team for our son. No more isolating each other."

"But you're not coming home yet, are you?"

"No, not yet. But if we do this right, I might come back sooner than we both expected."

You untangle yourself from Larissa's embrace and let yourself fall back on your bed with a sigh. You're getting tired, and aren't sure what to feel anymore. And then you feel your wife's hand coming to rest lovingly on your belly, and it definitely doesn't help your weariness, both physical and mental.

"If you want me to leave now, I can," Larissa ends up offering, sensing your fatigue and disappointment and not wanting to cause you more pain by leaving in the morning after a whole night together.

Your eyes snap to her, wide with confusion.

"Are you serious? I'm asking you to come home, we've just had the best sex we've had in over a year… No, I don't want you to go. Stay. Elias will be so happy to see you at breakfast."

Your decision and the mention of your son's name make Larissa smile brightly, and she lies back next to you with a tiny, excited squeal before leaning in to press her swollen lips against yours one last time.

"I want to be better, Larissa," you whisper when she pulls back and makes herself comfortable on her pillow. "For both of you."

"I know, darling. I know. I believe in you."

"I love you."

Before Larissa can even reply, you're already drifting, your breath evening out and your body melting into hers.

Eight months. That's how long you hadn't seen Larissa. But you figure once you've spent your whole life with her –because you will–, it won't matter anymore.

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[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part nine: friendship is magic

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

eight | nine | ten

Lando had never intended for it to become a habit. 

Habits got people caught. Habits made people predictable. Everyone knows that predictability is a liability.

And yet, somehow, he found himself walking through the door of Books & Brews again. Not every day (he wasn’t that careless). But just often enough that he knew exactly how the shop smelled when the espresso machine had just been cleaned, and how Y/N always hummed quietly under her breath when she was focused.

It was just coffee.

Just coffee.

The coffee here was good. Better than his usual place, certainly – better than any of that overpriced, industrial-strength shit he usually drank. Instead, it was smooth, just bitter enough to wake him up, but warm in a way that settled, almost comfortingly, in his chest. She always got the temperature right, the milk-to-espresso ratio perfect—not too bitter, not too sweet. If he had to choose between an overpriced, burnt-tasting cup from a chain and the one topped with fresh cinnamon and cardamom from Brews & Books, well, the choice was obvious. 

That was why he kept coming back. 

Not for anything else. 

Certainly not for her.

It was just coffee.

And maybe a conversation.

And maybe also the way she smiled at him, like he wasn’t the kind of man who had blood on his hands.

But mostly the coffee.

Lando leaned against the counter, watching as she poured hot water over freshly ground beans, her movements quick and practiced.

He took a sip, savoring the taste—strong, a little sweet, just how he liked it.

She watched him, her head tilted slightly as she seemed to contemplate something. “Do you read? Are you really not a book kinda guy?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, brought out of his stupor. “What?”

Y/N gestured toward the bookshelves lining the café. “I mean, you come here for coffee, sure, but I’ve never seen you even look at the books.”

Lando exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “Not much of a reader, to be honest.”

She made a mock-offended face. “That’s tragic, really.”

Lando smirked. “What do you even read?”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, and Lando immediately regretted asking—because of course she had an answer, and of course she went on a long-winded tangent about different genres, authors, motifs. And God help him, he actually listened.

Lando didn’t mean to keep coming back.

The first time was just because he needed something to sober up. The second time—well, it was on the way. Again, he blamed the coffee.

It was the way she made it, the way the bitterness was perfectly balanced without needing too much sugar, the way the warmth lingered just right against the chill of the morning air.

Yet, somehow, Lando found himself there more often than he probably should.

His schedule was unpredictable—meetings in the early hours, transactions that stretched deep into the night, fights that left his knuckles raw. But still, he stopped by whenever he could, when time allowed.

Those other places didn’t come with a girl who looked at him like she believed his name really could be Liam, like she actually believed he was some normal guy who had begun to develop an unreasonable caffeine addiction.

With a moniker like The Reaper, Lando was more than used to people being afraid of him. Maybe that’s why it was so intriguing when she looked at him like she was somehow happy to see him.

How odd.

The shop was quiet this time of the afternoon, a few scattered customers tucked into corners with books or laptops. And behind the counter—

Y/N.

She was sorting through a stack of books, pushing up the bridge of her glasses with her wrist when they slid down. Her hair was a bit of a mess today, like she’d been running her fingers through it absentmindedly. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the warm aroma of espresso and vanilla filling his lungs.

Y/N looked up from where she was restocking the pastry case, her eyes lighting up in recognition. And when she looked up and saw him, she smiled. It was small, barely more than a twitch of her lips, but something about it was… nice. Authentic.

Y/N was behind the counter but her head lifted the second she saw him.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Oh, look who it is,” she teased, grabbing a cup without even needing to ask what he wanted. 

“Miss me?” he smirked, leaning against the polished granite.

Y/N scoffed, but there was amusement in her expression. “You wish. I just think if you’re going to be here all the time, I should start charging you rent.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head. He leaned against the counter, playing it cool. “That’s not how coffee shops work. What if I just like the coffee? Best coffee in town, this is.”

Y/N snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Not even a free drink?” he asked, dramatically incredulous. The numbers in his account in the Caymans indicated that he could probably purchase this whole shop several times over, but he decided that it was probably best not to mention that.

“Absolutely not.” She set a fresh cup in front of him anyway, watching as he took a sip. She hummed, scribbling something on a notepad before tearing it off and holding it out to him. “Well, I was going to offer you a frequent customer punch card, but if it’s just the coffee, maybe I won’t...”

Lando stared at the scrap of paper. Sure enough, she had doodled a crude little version of one—ten boxes, half of them already checked off, complete with a lopsided drawing of a coffee cup.

His lips twitched.

“You really made this just now?”

Y/N shrugged, grinning and clearly proud of herself, but pushing her glasses up her nose out of habit. “I like to be prepared.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took it from her. “Yeah? ‘N what’s the prize when I fill it up?” “...My undying friendship?”

Friends?

His brain had short-circuited a little at the casual way she had said it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it was something he should have expected.

She didn’t say it with suspicion. Didn’t look at him like she was piecing together the cracks in his story. No, she just said it like it was obvious.

Like he was just some guy who wanted to spend time with her.

Lando had no business having a friend like her.

Lando exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She crossed her arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to make him smile like that. Lando, who spent so much of his time analyzing humans and their microexpressions, couldn’t believe he didn’t realize it sooner.

She thought they could be friends.

Before he could even think twice, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the counter. “Give me your number,” he said smoothly. “In case I ever want to pre-order my coffee.”

Y/N hesitated for just a second, her eyes flickering to his before she let out a small laugh. “That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Did it work?”

She rolled her eyes, but still, she picked up the phone to type in her number. 

“This only solidifies our never ending friendship. You know that, right? ”

Much to his own disappointment, he smiled. “That so?”

She nodded. “I mean, I do know your coffee order by heart, and we’ve had like… five whole conversations. That’s practically marriage in some places.”

Lando forced another signature smirk, ignoring the way something unsettled coiled low in his stomach. “Didn’t realize we had a whole thing going on.”

Get it together, Norris.

Y/N laughed, propping her elbows onto the counter. “You’ve been here, what? Four times just this week?”

Three. But who was counting?

“That’s gotta mean something, I’m telling you,” she teased, eyes flickering with playfulness.

Lando huffed, shaking his head as he reached for his coffee. He could play this off. He would play this off. He didn’t do friends. Not real ones. The people in his life existed for a purpose. Business partners. Associates. Soldiers. A hierarchy built on control, loyalty, and utility.

Not this.

Not her.

And yet, he didn’t correct her.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You talk too much.”

Y/N only laughed.

“Sure,” he then drawled sarcastically, lifting the cup slightly in a mock toast. “Guess that makes us friends then.”

Y/N beamed, like she had won something, before typing her number in with an ease that made Lando feel sick with himself. She then held her phone out with that same expectant smile, waiting for him to type his own number in.

She had no idea what he was, who he was.

Lando looked down at the screen, at the saved contact and told himself he wasn’t making a mistake. Objectively, he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He was being selfish. He was putting her in danger just by existing near her.

But he was good at lying.

Even to himself.

For now, he told himself that he could have both lives.

For now, he convinced himself that nothing would go wrong.

a/n: made you guys wait, so i think today will be a double update day! i'm excited for the next one :)

[myscentarchive]

34 Boulevard Saint Germain (Our Impression) - Oil Perfumery

Inspired by Diptyque's 34 Boulevard Saint Germain Fragrance Oil - 10 ml (roller ball)

Notes- TOP: Blackcurrant, Green Leaves, Citrus, Pink Peppercorn, Clove, Cinnamon, Cardamom MIDDLE: Rose, Geranium, Tuberose, Iris, Violet BASE: Woody Notes, Eucalyptus, Balms, Resins

Gender: Unisex

[sungvrhs]

SWITCHING SIDES - Lee Heeseung

"You may try to take control, my love, but I would always be the one holding the reins." warnings: EXPLICIT! SubxDom play. Female!readerxMale!Heeseung. The roles switch in the midway. Use of chains, cuffs and blindfolds, slight nipple play and fingering? WORD COUNT: 2.3K note: Posting for the Diary 2024: #15240822 with my twin @diorsyun! Reblogs and comments would be appreciated. It has been long since I wrote so please ignore the tipsy plot! English ain't my native language so please ignore any grammartical errors

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"Y/n! P-Please, Agh-" A choked moan escaped his lips as tears of frustration slipped down his orbs, wetting the silk cloth covering his vision. He was beyond frustrated since the moment you had him under your hold. What was even more was that you were sly enough to have him under your grip as you smirked to yourself whilst his hands fought against the cuffs restraining them. Having him helpless was super fun since you would always be the one to submit to him.  A little switch twitch was necessary wasn’t it? This was the third time you edged right before he released, causing exasperated sighs to escape his lips, heart heaving at a slow yet paced rate. “It has just been a little while till now Hee, I thought you were strong enough to pull through this.” You sulked, your fingers resting on his abs, tracing down the outlines whilst you took your seat on the bed right next to him. His mouth fell apart as he gasped for air, the choker around his neck being confined to immobilized his breathing just by a fraction. He was too hazed by the environment, and not hearing a response from his end had you pissed off as you grasped the loose end of the chain, pulling it taught as his neck jerked forward, your face leaning down to meet his with a space of few inches in between while; he could feel your minty breath clouding his lips. “Use your words, pretty boy.” It took him a moment to gulp down his saliva, nodding sideways at your statement. “I-It’s too much of the-” “Too much what? Didn’t think of the consequences twice before messing up with me did you?” You spoke in a higher pitch, practically scolding him which had him silenced. He prayed for you to not go on another round of teasing and torturing him silently as you looked at him, your heart swelling at his messed up state which swelled your heart.The way he thickly gulped down his saliva, his Adam’s apple bobbing at his former actions, the silk cloth almost drenched in his tears, you couldn’t take it anymore. Although, to be fair and square, this was what he had asked for. 

You pushed him back in the pillows, a low grunt escaping his lips which you engulfed with your lips in a chaste kiss. The haste reciprocation of your mild actions reflected his utter desperation, with your fingers lightly gripping on his jaw. Nibbling on his lower lip, your tongue mingled with his, fighting for the upper hand. He fought for dominance but your hands were quick enough to grasp on his retrained ones, pushing them further to let him know who was the real boss here. With the scent of cinnamon and the taste of cardamom slipping on his tongue, his taste buds gulped down the bitterness, his face scrunched; the taste contradicting the sweetness of the lip gloss you wore. The bitter sweet flavor had him faltering his strength to fight back against you, but he really couldn't wait any longer. And he could not beg for it anymore. Whilst you noticed the tiresome body responding low to your fiery actions, you broke the kiss, causing him to chase your lips as to which he failed miserably. He was disappointed, although he didn’t make it evident, but you knew how he was feeling. He had been very patient with your painful yet amusing play and he was secretly enjoying every inch of it, despite the odds of his cries that rang through your ears. 

You slowly reach out for his blindfold, giving him an indication that you were going to take it off as he leans forward, his vision blurring and eyes squinting at the sudden exposure of light blinding him, a soft groan escaping his lips. He blinks a few times to get familiar with the surroundings, the exotic environment hazing out his brain as his gaze met yours. His chocolate orbs, glistening with slight tears, traveling up to meet your hazel ones whilst you straddled him. Your siren gaze had him shuddered with his doey ones as he found himself at the loss of words. Your locks hung loose as to which he wanted to tuck them behind your ear so bad. If only telepathy was something that existed but what was greater was how the eyes spoke in silence. The synchronized rhythm of breathing with chests heaving at a slow pace, eyes blinking at the same time as you found it hard to maintain the eye contact any longer, bursting into laughter as your head fell on his chest, the small vibrations causing him to chuckle. Funny how a small intimate moment turned into something hilarious. “Heeseung I can't do this with seriousness anymore.” Your light chuckles caused his face to flush with embarrassment, since your fingers were resting on his bare chest. Least to say that he was pretty sensitive when it was you who was turning him on every passing second. And you know your game pretty well. You knew he was trying to hide it well when you were resting your palm on his pecs. “You were t-the one who started it though.” He spoke in the midst of his chuckles, trying his best not to groan whilst your thumb softly grazed over his honey skin. You chucked, your right hand making way to cradle his jaw as you leaned close to whisper. “You were the one who recommended it. Besides, wasn't this all written in your ‘wildest dreams of desires?’” His eyes slightly widened at the mention of the secluded section of his diary. No one was supposed to read that. His face heated up whilst he stuttered. “N-No, nobody was supposed to read that.” Your palm left his face, your lips pressing small kisses on the shell of his ear, tracing it down to his jaw as his mouth fell open. He knew exactly where this was going and he wasn't prepared for the rest.

“But what's the fun in not doing it? Don't you always fulfill my needs? So why shouldn't I comply to fulfill yours?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you lay on top of him, your clothed body against his, your body temperatures were the only thing that were distinguishing the two of you. The silence was unexpected, as if he was in the midst of his thoughts trying to find his path out to draw a single conclusion. And he was taking longer than you had expected as you sighed, your fingers pinching on his nipples as he let out a groan. “Y/n!” His eyes widened at your actions. “Come on Hee, don't think much about it. I'll give you 3 seconds to either say a yes or no. 1…” And he panicked, not knowing as to what he was going to agree or disagree. “But what is it abou-” “...2…” Your fingers traced down his collarbone, his uneven breathing picking up pace as he stuttered. “3-” “F-Fine, fine. I agree.” He dropped his head back to the pillows, knowing well that this was how he was going to be for the next few minutes. You lightly squealed, tossing a candy in your lips as you purse your lips, relishing the taste as you hummed. “Thank you babe.” You smiled sheepishly, pulling him in a messy kiss as to which he responded back, the zesty taste of lemonade flavor causing his face to scrunch up whilst he tried to break the kiss, but you were quick enough to chase his lips. Your teeth engulfed his lower lips, pushing the sour candy into his mouth whilst you broke the kiss, the string of saliva keeping you both attached. “I hate it.” He spat out, disgusted at the flavor you chose causing you to raise your eyebrow as your hand traveled down to his clothed shaft, earning a low moan from his lips as he jerked his hips forward, hands fighting against the cuffs. His lips fell apart at the little ounce of pleasure he was receiving, your movements slowing down whilst you felt his need to chase his high. “No fuck, please don't stop Y/n.”

“I wonder who was incharge here in the first place Mr.Lee.” You spoke, pouring as your hand and face gestured gears running in the back of your head. “Please!” The word came out exaggerated, exactly how it would be when he would be pissed off on his need not being fulfilled. Besides, you couldn't let him suffer this time, he had been too patient in the last few hours. “Of course of course my love.” Lowering his boxers whilst he helped you remove them, you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his shaft. He shuffled in his place, another moan escaping his lips as you continued to stroke it down, pacing up whilst you helped him chase his high, a sigh of relief escaping his lips after a series of chanting your name and enticing melodies of pleasure.

You went up to unlock the cuffs, his hands dripping down the very next second they were lose as you mumbled a small ‘sorry’ with an apologetic gaze, softly massaging his wrists that had a few marks on them by now. “God I am not doing that again I swear.” He spoke, sitting up a little as you got off him, ignoring how you were drenched at the moment. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you took the corner of the bed sheet in your wrist. “We'll see.” You spoke getting up to head to the restroom. You definitely had to take care of yourself before you headed out but feeling a light tug on your wrist had you halted on your place. Turning to face him you could sense the hunt of mischievousness in his eyes. “Where are you going?” He questioned, technically not wanting you to leave but you wanted to escape this asap so as to not embarrass yourself that you weren't soaking for him. “To change.” Your reply was short, contradicting the heartbeats that were racing a marathon. You went back to leave, only to get pulled by him harshly, as you landed on the bed next to him, your arms seeking for his support as you stumbled. You lifted your face to meet his, clouds of lust lurking in his orbs. He was quick enough to change positions, having you underneath him whilst his hands held your shoulders, pinning you down. Leaning down to whisper against your ear whilst his knees made their way in between your legs. And you knew what was coming.

“Are you drenched?” His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear, repeating your actions whilst they traced down to your jaw. You bit your inner cheek, trying your best to not let out those pretty sounds as you cleared your throat. “Drenched in sweat after the play? Of course. You were one hell of a ride.” If this was strong enough an excuse to be bought, Heeseung halted his movements, his face buried in your neck as he let out a small chuckle, the vibrations sending chills down your body. He pulled back to lock gaze with you, hands resting on the sides of your head as you answered back with a stronger gaze, the corner of his lips curving into a slight smirk. “Oh really?” Eyes traveling back and forth between your lips and orbs, his fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts, causing your breath to hitch. “How would you explain this?” his fingers pulled them down, a short gasp escaping your lips as the cool air met your pelvic, sending chills through your body. “I was the one being tormented, yet here you are, being a whole damn mess right in front of me.” His gaze locked yours, the hint of disappointment being evident through his orbs whilst you broke eye contact, your face flushed at his words. “I-I’m not.” you mumbled, voice inaudible with the way his fingers were drawing circles on your inner thighs.

“What was that hun?” You whispered in a low tone, sitting back to use his hands to part your thighs that you had kept shut right when you felt his fingers hover around your core dangerously. “I said I’m not-” Your words were cut short as his lips crashed yours, pulling you in a messy lip-lock. Every ounce of dominance left your mind once you felt his fingers pushing through your cervix, your back arching at his actions, letting out a moan which he gracefully swallowed, never once breaking the kiss whilst his fingers continued to work in rhythm. Breaking the kiss after a few moments, you were left breathless, completely ruined at the pace he was going that was almost going to knock up your orgasm but he pulled back, breaking the tempo as you groaned. “F-Fuck you Heeseung.” He smirked, watching the slick dripping down his fingers, eyeing it up and down as it glistened under the dim lights, with you dismayed at his actions under him. “Your wish is my command.” Smudging your own arousal on your lips, he shoved his fingers in your mouth, taking you by surprise whilst his other hand pushed his shaft inside you, thrusting at a wild pace which only accelerated with every passing second whilst your eyes rolled back at the pleasure. It had you lost that you failed to notice the chain slipping around your neck as he jerked it towards himself, the knot tightening by a fraction causing your eyes to flutter open wide.

"You may try to take control, my love, but I would always be the one holding the reins."

note#2: NOT MY BEST WORK I SWEAR I TRIED MY BEST BUT THIS MIGHT HAVE GONE THE OTHER WAY ROUND. BUT I hope you all liked it! Reblogs and comments would be appreciated <3

[the-kr8tor]

could i get some cardamom and ⭐️ with hobie? play fighting and wrestling is fun until he forgets his strength and accidentally hurts r! -@thesevenofstaves

Bestie! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it 🥺👉👈

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck! Hobie, slight injury, hurt/comfort.

Katy's one year anniversary 🎉

You've forgotten how you ended up slammed on your shared bed. It's either your smug comment about Hobie's nonexistent ass, or the length of the spikes atop his head. Either way, you're met with the soft mattress against your face after he carried you over his shoulder to the bedroom. After bouncing a few times, your playful giggles echo around the dark bedroom, save for the single yellow lamp on the bedside table that's illuminating his grinning expression.

“Give up?” He says lowly, crawling over to your form as he flips you over with his hands over your hips.

“Nope!” You laugh out, hands reaching for his shoulders while he parts your legs with his knee, settling in between them with a hearty chuckle.

His arms cages you in, leaning closer as he blows air against your ear making you squeal under him. “Apologize.” His lips graze the shell of your ear, teeth biting it for a teasing second.

You yelp, eyes wide whilst your grin grows wider. “What are you, a carnivore?” Trying to pull yourself up, Hobie stops you with a hand grasping both of yours easily, lithe fingers wrapped around your wrists. “Hey!”

Hobie shows all of his teeth in a playful grin, “only for you, love.”

“Sap,” smiling, you manage to wiggle out of his hold, reaching up his cheek to poke it. He chases your finger, threatening to bite it but you're too fast for him to get a nibble out of you. “Too slow!”

“I can dodge bullets.” He scoffs out, knee nudging your own.

“Really? Oh, I didn't know!” You sarcastically say as you wrap both legs around his waist. His signature smirk appears the second you squeeze him. Winking, you use the opportunity to quickly flip him over his back. His shocked expression stares at you from below as you've flipped the position with you now above him. Legs straddling his waist with a teasing grin. “See, slow…” you run your palms over his chest up to his handsome face. “...poke.” Poking each of his warm cheeks, your victorious smile has him thinking of a way to avenge himself.

“Fine, love. You win.” Falling limp, he takes a peek at you as he sighs.

His hands slowly inched its way towards your thighs while you lean down towards him with the sole purpose of peppering him with kisses. If only he saw it that way. With his hands on your thighs, he flips you on the bed lightning quick. The bed creaks as you land on it with a thud.

“Ow, fuck!” You hiss, groaning out as you clutch at your shoulder.

Hobie's on you immediately, worried eyes scanning over you. The atmosphere turns from playful to serious within a half second. Your pained expression fills him with guilt as his hand hovers over your wounded shoulder.

“Fuck, are you— shit, love, let me see.” With a thudding heart, he tries to lift your hand away gently. Your fingers are wrapped around your throbbing shoulder, not letting him see the damage that he caused. “L–love,” his voice breaks, “let me help.”

You wince through gritted teeth, letting the wave of pain wash over you. “I–I'm okay, I think I just need an ice pack.” His concerned glistening eyes makes your heart ache, knowing that his guilt is eating away at him. “Hobie, baby,” patting his clammy cheek with your good arm, you smile at him. “Can you get me an ice pack from the freezer, please?”

“I hurt you.”

“It was an accident.” You inhale deeply, thumbs rubbing along his worry lines. “You can still help me, it's nothing, my shoulder just landed wrong. I think I landed wrong.” He hovers over you in a shocked almost frozen state. “Hobie.”

He darts his eyes away from you briefly, closing his eyes tightly, he nods, moving to grab an ice pack as the bed squeaks.

You lay there, unmoving like a statue. Pain ebbs in and out from your strained muscle as you rub your thumb in circles around the joints. Your eyes close just as the bed dips down next to you.

“Love, can I—?”

You open your eyes to meet with his worried ones. “Always, Hobie.” The heavy atmosphere practically chokes you out. You hate seeing him like this, guilt stricken as if he purposely hurt you.

With a nod, his cold fingers gingerly move yours away from your aching shoulder. The freezing ice pack soothes the throbbing pain through the thin cloth he wrapped around it. He pats it gently, you almost don't feel the pressure, but you definitely heard his languishing sigh.

“Hobie, it's okay. I'm okay.” You reach for him with your uninjured arm, palm rubbing down the goosebumps on his bicep.

“I could've broke it.” He mutters, eyes flicking towards yours, his hazel eyes are glimmering pools of guilt. “I hurt you.”

“You don't mean it, I know you'll never purposely hurt me.” Patting his knee, you signal for him to lie down next to you. With a heavy sigh, he surrenders, head laying next to your own as he lays on his chest, hand keeping the ice pack still on your shoulder. You smile at him, placing your hand above his own, warming his cold hand. “See, I'll be fine. It's far from my brain.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood.

He inhales deeply, scooching closer to you as he weaves his leg around yours, which you reciprocate by intertwining your leg around his. His socked feet brushes along your foot, the soft material making you smile.

“I need to reign it in better, I could've— love, I could've cracked somethin’.”

“You didn't, trust me I would be in a lot of pain if it was. It was an accident, Hobie.” Your hand rides up his arm until you reach his cheek. Rubbing along his furrowed brow, you flatten it out with a sweet smile. “See I can barely feel it now.”

“Maybe we should get it looked at.” Hobie moves towards you, bottom lip bitten from his ball of nerves bouncing around his stomach. His forehead leans atop your own as he nudges your skin affectionately.

“Okay, if the pain doesn't subside, we'll go and have it checked.” You know it's not worth going to the hospital when you can barely feel the ache anymore. But if it makes him feel better, you'll wait in the emergency room for hours for him.

He leans away, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You're tryin' to make me feel better.”

“You got me.” Your lips curl into a smile, chuckling as his expression.

Snorting, he lays his head back down next to yours. Pecking your cheek sweetly in hopes it'll make you feel better. “'m sorry.”

“I know, Hobs, I forgive you.” You kiss the tip of his nose, earning a genuine smile from him. “Promise me that you won't stop play fighting with me?”

“I promise, lovie, whatever you want.” He says against your lips before he kisses the pain away.

“I won by the way.” You joke, and he finally chuckles as he kisses you back. You continue to smooch him until the ice has fully melted into the bed sheets.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

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Masterlist

Chapter 5

Echoes and Whispers

The officers' mess fell silent as Ella's footsteps faded down the corridor. For several long moments, no one spoke, each man lost in his own thoughts as the encounter settled in their minds. It was Wooyoung who finally broke the silence, unable to contain himself any longer.

"It's her," he declared, voice pitched low but vibrating with certainty. "You all see it, right? It has to be her."

Seonghwa raised a cautionary hand, his expression carefully neutral. "We need to be methodical about this. Confirmation bias is a powerful force."

"Confirmation bias?" Wooyoung scoffed, leaning forward intently. "She breaks honey cakes in half before eating them—exactly like she did on The Crimson Serpent. That's not bias, that's observation."

"A common eating habit," Seonghwa countered firmly. "Many people break food into manageable pieces. It proves nothing."

"She recommended cardamom in the compote," Wooyoung pressed, frustration coloring his voice. "The exact spice I used to grind up for our 'magic potions' when we were children. And you should have seen her face when she first tasted the tea this morning—recognition, clear as day."

"Or simply appreciation for good tea," Seonghwa replied. "Cardamom is hardly an obscure spice, Wooyoung. It's commonly used in Halazia and throughout the southern territories."

Hongjoong studied the remnants of dessert in his bowl, his expression thoughtful. "Each of us has noticed something," he acknowledged. "Moments where she seems..." he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "...familiar with our habits."

"The stars," Yunho added quietly. "She knew exactly where Orion would be positioned tonight, despite it not being visible in daylight. And she mentioned Canis Major with Sirius—the same constellation I taught her about during night watches on The Crimson Serpent."

"Self-taught astronomy, she claimed," Hongjoong noted, glancing at Seonghwa. "Through a window in her quarters under Blackwell."

"Convenient explanation," Wooyoung muttered.

"But entirely plausible," Seonghwa reminded them. "Many captives develop intellectual pursuits to escape their circumstances mentally. Astronomy requires minimal resources—just consistent observation and perhaps access to a basic text."

Wooyoung opened his mouth to object, but Seonghwa continued before he could speak.

"Consider this logically: how many young women her age would recognize constellations? Thousands of educated people study the stars. It's compelling that she shares this interest with y/n, but far from conclusive."

His methodical dismantling of their evidence created a moment of uncomfortable silence. Wooyoung's shoulders slumped slightly, the wind taken from his argumentative sails.

Mingi, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, suddenly spoke. "She makes me feel.." He taps his chest. Trying to make his point. "Same as y/n did."

The others turned toward him, surprised by both the contribution and its significance. The gunner rarely participated in group discussions unless specifically addressed.

"Mingi that could be just a feeling because a pretty girl is around. A crush, or simply lust" Seonghwa counters, though his conviction slipping slightly. 

"Mingi doesn't get crushes. Having a crush would require him to speak with them! And he doesn't he's too scared!" Wooyoung exclaims pointing to Mingi like it’s a critical point in his case. "No offense Mingi." He says with a sympathetic look. 

"Offense taken." Mingi says looking down. Yunho chuckles and pats his friend on the back in sympathy. 

"What I mean is, he doesn't get close to women to speak to them because he's scared, but he's not with Ella!" Wooyoung clarifies. 

The implication hung in the air between them. Hongjoong looks at Mingi contemplating Wooyoung's observation. 

"There is how she arranges objects," Seonghwa admitted after a moment, surprising the others with what seemed like supporting evidence. "This morning in the chart room, she aligned the navigation tools in perfect right angles—identical to my own organizational pattern."

Wooyoung perked up immediately. "See? Even you've noticed these things!"

"But," Seonghwa continued deliberately, "when I mentioned it, she seemed embarrassed, as if caught in an unconscious habit. She quickly explained that order and precision were valued in Blackwell's household, with severe consequences for disorganization."

Wooyoung throws his head back in a dramatic groan at his friend’s thought process. Earning chuckles and an eye roll from their captain.

He leaned forward, meeting each man's gaze in turn. "Again, an entirely rational explanation for behavior that superficially resembles y/n's. We must consider that slaves often adopt the preferences of their owners as survival strategy."

Hongjoong nodded slowly, absorbing this analysis. "And the way she watches the horizon," he added thoughtfully. "It's reminiscent of her expression during our stargazing lessons as a child—that specific combination of wonder and calculation."

"Memory does play tricks," Seonghwa noted quietly. "Especially with someone we've been seeking for fifteen years. We've conjured y/n's image in our minds countless times, possibly distorting our recollection of her actual mannerisms."

He paused before continuing, his voice gentler than before. "I want her to be y/n. We all do. But wanting something doesn't make it true."

"So you're convinced she's not y/n?" Wooyoung challenged, frustration evident.

"I'm not convinced either way," Seonghwa replied with careful precision. "I'm simply urging caution before we emotionally invest in a conclusion that might prove false. We've experienced disappointment before."

The reminder of previous false leads—young women who had initially seemed promising but ultimately weren't y/n—created a somber atmosphere. Over fifteen years, they had followed countless rumors and possibilities, each failure leaving fresh wounds.

"I still believe it's her," Wooyoung stated, though with slightly less certainty than before.

"As do I," Mingi added quietly but firmly.

Hongjoong glanced between them, then toward Yunho, who appeared troubled by the conflicting perspectives.

"Seonghwa's points are valid," Yunho acknowledged reluctantly. "Maybe I've been projecting meaning onto ordinary behaviors. When she identified the stars' positions, I felt certain it was her. But that knowledge isn't rare among educated people."

"The timing is suspicious though," Wooyoung interjected. "She's exactly the right age. She was owned by Blackwell directly after our separation on The Crimson Serpent."

"Hundreds of children were sold that season. Many to Blackwell himself." Seonghwa countered. "The timing proves nothing except that she was unfortunate enough to be captive during the same period."

"So we're all in agreement?" Wooyoung asked, looking around the table with disbelief. "After everything we've observed, we're still doubting?"

"Not agreement," Hongjoong clarified, studying his quartermaster thoughtfully. "Seonghwa is advocating caution, which has served us well in the past."

He turned to Seonghwa with unusual directness. "Though I wonder if your insistence on alternative explanations stems purely from logical analysis, or if something else influences your perspective."

Seonghwa held his captain's gaze for a long moment before his carefully maintained composure softened slightly. "Is it so unreasonable to protect ourselves from potential disappointment? We've followed this hope for fifteen years, chasing shadows and coincidences that led nowhere."

His voice remained measured, but emotion threaded through his words. "Each time we believed we'd found her, each time we were proven wrong, something broke a little more. I cannot—" he caught himself, rearranging his features into practiced neutrality. "I merely suggest we gather more concrete evidence before drawing conclusions."

Hongjoong nodded slowly, understanding flowing between them. "Your caution comes from care, not skepticism."

"As it always has," Seonghwa acknowledged quietly.

Wooyoung huffed exaggeratedly, earning a scowl from Hongjoong. 

"But if it is her," Yunho wondered, returning to the original question, "why hasn't she acknowledged us? Why call herself Ella instead of y/n?"

"Protection," Mingi said softly.

Seonghwa nodded agreement, finding common ground despite his reservations. "Fifteen years in captivity would teach extreme caution. Even if she recognizes us at some level, openly acknowledging the connection would make her vulnerable."

"To what?" Wooyoung demanded. "We're not a threat to her!"

"She can't be certain of that," Hongjoong reminded him. "Think of it from her perspective. If we are the boys from her childhood, why didn't we find her sooner? What took fifteen years? Those questions would naturally create suspicion."

"We searched everywhere," Wooyoung protested, genuine distress in his voice. "Every port, every slave market, every rumor—"

"She doesn't know that," Seonghwa interrupted gently. "She only knows she endured fifteen years of captivity before our paths crossed again."

A heavy silence settled over the table as they absorbed this perspective. The thought of y/n waiting for rescue that never came, possibly believing herself abandoned or forgotten, weighed on each of them differently yet equally.

"There's another possibility," Yunho suggested hesitantly. "Perhaps she doesn't consciously remember us at all."

"That's impossible," Wooyoung objected. "We spent three months together. She gave Hongjoong her teddy bear. How could she forget all that?"

"Trauma," Mingi said, the single word carrying significant weight.

Yunho nodded. "Exactly. Trauma can fragment memory, especially in children. The separation might have been so devastating that her mind protected itself by burying the memories."

"Which would explain the unconscious behaviors," Hongjoong realized, his expression thoughtful. "Habits and preferences that survived when explicit memories were suppressed."

"If that's true," Seonghwa mused, momentarily setting aside his counterarguments, "then her reactions to us would be based on emotional echoes rather than conscious recognition—familiarity without understanding why."

"Or," he added, returning to his role as devil's advocate, "she simply has habits that coincidentally resemble y/n's. We must consider that possibility, however painful."

The concept created a moment of solemn reflection around the table. The possibility that y/n might never fully remember them—or that Ella might not be y/n at all—represented a form of loss none had anticipated when pursuing their oath.

"What do we do?" Wooyoung asked eventually, his usual exuberance subdued by these considerations. "Tell her directly? Show her Mr. Hugs? Try to trigger her memories somehow?"

"No," Hongjoong decided firmly. "If she's concealing her identity deliberately, forcing a confrontation could destroy any chance of rebuilding trust. And if she genuinely doesn't remember, overwhelming her with information could cause more trauma than healing."

"And if she's not y/n at all," Seonghwa added quietly, "we risk creating profound confusion and false connection."

"So we continue as we are?" Yunho asked. "Observing and waiting?"

"For now," the captain confirmed. "We create opportunities for familiarity to grow naturally. If she is y/n, whether she remembers us or not, she deserves the chance to choose when and how to acknowledge that connection."

"And if she never does?" Wooyoung challenged, the question giving voice to their collective unspoken fear. "If Seonghwa is right and she's just a woman who happens to share some habits with the girl we knew?"

Hongjoong's expression remained resolute despite the doubt now visible in his eyes. "Then we honor our oath in a different way. We ensure her freedom and safety, provide her with resources to build whatever future she chooses, and accept that the little girl we knew might remain lost to us, whether this woman is y/n or not."

The others absorbed this possibility with varying degrees of acceptance. Yunho nodded slowly, his gentle nature naturally aligning with the compassionate approach. Seonghwa's expression revealed calculation—already planning how to implement this strategy with maximum effectiveness and minimum risk.

Mingi, as usual, offered no visible reaction, though the slight tension in his shoulders suggested internal conflict. Of all of them, he had been most devastated by y/n's loss fifteen years ago, his already limited speech becoming nearly nonexistent in the months following their separation. The possibility of having found her only to maintain artificial distance—or worse, to be mistaken entirely—clearly troubled him deeply.

Wooyoung appeared ready to protest further but stopped himself, respecting the captain's judgment despite his evident frustration, getting up and storming out. 

Hongjoong let out a deep sigh watching Wooyoung's dramatic display. 

"We need to address practical considerations as well," Seonghwa noted, redirecting the conversation toward manageable problems. "If she is y/n, then her connection to Blackwell takes on new significance. It can't be coincidence."

"You think he knew who she was?" Yunho asked, brow furrowing with concern.

"No, not when he purchased her. A least he didn’t know she had a connection to us. We were children when he purchased her." Hongjoong replied. "But something seems suspicious. After we claimed the ATEEZ and began targeting slave ships, Blackwell would have had reason to investigate our backgrounds."

"Could explain—," Mingi took a breath to speak more. “Why he kept her for so long” He look at Yunho who smiled in support and continued for his friend. "Leverage against potential threats."

"Or insurance against future encounters," Seonghwa agreed. "Though if he knew her significance to us, why transfer her to an associate 2 years ago?"

"Maybe so we wouldn’t find her," Yunho suggested. "Maybe we were getting close to finding her and we didnt know, or the connection to us is pure coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences of that magnitude," Hongjoong stated firmly, then hesitated, glancing at Seonghwa. "The man from the Southern Trade Company did seem more angry than disappointed when they lost at the auction. As if he was the one meant to win.”

“You mean the auction was staged? That she was planned to go the someone from the Southern Trade Company?” Yunho said, confusion written on his face as he looked around.

“Many resources went in to education and training for her. Makes sense why he wouldn’t want her to go too far out of his grasp.” Hongjoong said grimly, his fist clenching.

"We need more information," Seonghwa concluded. "About her specific position in Blackwell's household, how she was treated, what she might have overheard about his operations and motivations."

"Precisely the details she's been most careful to avoid discussing," Yunho pointed out. "Her descriptions of Blackwell's organization have been remarkably comprehensive while revealing almost nothing about her personal experiences within it."

"She's protecting herself," Hongjoong acknowledged. "Compartmentalizing trauma is a common survival strategy."

"Then how do we earn enough trust for her to share those experiences?" Wooyoung asked, walking back in after taking a moment to cool down. "If we can't tell her who we think she might be, how do we convince her we're truly on her side?"

"Through consistency," the captain replied. "We demonstrate through actions rather than words that her safety and agency are genuinely respected here. We create an environment where disclosure feels like a choice rather than an obligation."

"And meanwhile," Seonghwa added, "we continue gathering intelligence about Blackwell through other channels. Wooyoung's contacts in Halazia might provide context for her acquisition and subsequent transfer."

"I'll send messages with the morning supply boat," Wooyoung confirmed. "My usual sources at the harbor taverns might know something useful."

"Good," Hongjoong approved. "Yunho, continue with the stargazing plan tomorrow night—it clearly resonates with her and might naturally prompt further disclosure."

"What about Mr. Hugs?" Wooyoung asked. "He's still locked in your sea chest, right?"

Hongjoong nodded, his expression softening at the mention of the teddy bear he'd carried for fifteen years. "For now, he stays secured. Presenting him too soon could seem manipulative rather than sincere."

"Doesn't feel right," Mingi murmured. "Keeping him hidden."

"I know," Hongjoong acknowledged, genuine understanding in his tone. "He's been our talisman for so long. But now he may belong with his true owner again—when she's ready to reclaim him. If she is his owner," he added, Seonghwa's caution influencing his phrasing.

As the meeting concluded and the officers prepared to return to their duties, Seonghwa remained behind with Hongjoong. The quartermaster waited until the others had departed before speaking, his voice pitched for the captain's ears alone.

"Thank you for understanding my position," he said quietly. "It's not that I don't want to believe."

"I know," Hongjoong replied, studying his oldest friend. "You're protecting us the only way you know how—by preparing for disappointment."

Seonghwa nodded, grateful for the understanding. "There's another factor to consider," he continued. "One we haven't addressed directly."

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow in question, though his expression suggested he already anticipated the topic.

"The emotional complications," Seonghwa clarified. "We swore an oath to find y/n, to bring her home. But we were children then, with children's understanding of what that meant."

"And now?"

"Now we're men," Seonghwa stated simply. "Men who've carried the memory of a lost girl into adulthood, transforming that memory in ways we might not fully recognize. I've observed certain... reactions among the crew that suggest our childhood protection has evolved into something more complex."

Hongjoong's gaze sharpened. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing improper," Seonghwa assured him. "Merely that our collective oath to protect y/n might now be complicated by individual feelings that extend beyond that original promise. Feelings that could potentially conflict with each other, or with her best interests."

The captain was silent for a long moment, considering this assessment with characteristic thoroughness. "You mean romantic attachment," he said finally, making explicit what Seonghwa had delicately implied.

"It's a natural human response," the quartermaster acknowledged. "We've carried her memory for fifteen years, elevated it to almost mythic significance. Now, confronted with the reality of her as an adult woman rather than the child we lost, certain... adjustments in perspective are inevitable."

"Have you observed specific evidence of such adjustments?" Hongjoong asked, his tone carefully neutral.

"Nothing definitive," Seonghwa replied diplomatically. "But I know our crew, Captain. Better, perhaps, than they know themselves in some respects."

"Including me?" Hongjoong asked, a rare note of challenge in his voice.

Seonghwa met his gaze steadily. "Especially you."

"And that's yet another reason for your caution," Hongjoong realized. "You fear we might be seeing what we wish to see because of these... adjustments in perspective."

"It's a consideration," Seonghwa acknowledged. "Human perception is easily influenced by desire."

Another silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken implications. For fifteen years, their shared purpose had aligned perfectly—find y/n, fulfill their oath, rectify their childhood failure. They had never needed to consider what might follow success, what complications might arise once that unified goal was achieved.

"I appreciate your candor," Hongjoong said finally. "As always, your foresight identifies potential problems before they materialize."

"It's my function," Seonghwa replied simply. "To consider factors you might overlook while focused on broader strategy."

"And your recommendation?"

"Caution," the quartermaster advised. "For all of us. Whether she is y/n or not, she has endured fifteen years of captivity where her autonomy was systematically violated. The last thing she needs now is to become the object of inappropriate attachment from men who should be focused solely on her recovery and reintegration into freedom."

Hongjoong nodded slowly, acknowledging both the wisdom and the implicit warning in Seonghwa's counsel. "I'll speak with the others individually. Discreetly."

"And yourself?" Seonghwa pressed gently.

A flash of something—perhaps defensiveness, perhaps simple recognition—crossed the captain's features before his expression settled into resolute determination. "My only priority is fulfilling our oath. Everything else is secondary."

Seonghwa accepted this declaration without further comment, though his eyes reflected knowing awareness that some questions remained deliberately unaddressed. Their partnership had always balanced Hongjoong's decisive leadership with Seonghwa's meticulous consideration of complex variables—a dynamic that had served the ATEEZ well through countless challenges.

"One final thought," the quartermaster added as he prepared to depart. "Whatever her true identity, whatever her level of recognition, she has already endured profound trauma. We must ensure she never experiences another—regardless of how her presence affects us individually."

"On that," Hongjoong replied with genuine conviction, "we are in complete agreement."

As Seonghwa departed, leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts, the captain moved to the small cabinet secured behind his desk. Unlocking it with a key kept on a chain around his neck, he retrieved a compact sea chest inlaid with navigational symbols—a custom piece Mingi had crafted years earlier for a very specific purpose.

Hongjoong opened the chest with careful reverence, revealing its solitary contents: a worn teddy bear missing one eye button, its fabric patched in multiple places, stuffing periodically renewed over fifteen years of constant handling. Though faded and repaired, Mr. Hugs remained unmistakably himself—the faithful companion of a little girl long lost, preserved through years of searching by five boys who refused to forget their promise.

For a long moment, Hongjoong simply gazed at the teddy bear, his expression revealing emotions he allowed no one else to witness. Then, with gentle care, he straightened the worn bow tie around Mr. Hugs' neck—a ritual he had performed thousands of times since that fateful day in Halazia's harbor.

"Is it really you we've found?" he whispered, words meant for the teddy bear alone. "Or are we chasing ghosts again? I wish I knew."

Closing and securing the chest once more, Hongjoong returned it to its cabinet before moving to his navigation table. Whatever the truth about Ella's identity, the ATEEZ still had a mission—undermining Blackwell's operations, disrupting the slave trade, fulfilling the larger purpose that had emerged from their childhood oath.

As the ship sailed onward through darkness, its captain plotted courses both literal and figurative, balancing multiple objectives with the strategic brilliance that had transformed five orphaned cabin boys into the most formidable crew on the seven seas. On the deck below, four officers returned to their duties, each carrying private thoughts about the woman sleeping in the guest cabin—the woman who might or might not be the fulfillment of fifteen years' searching, the living embodiment of their shared defining purpose.

And in her small cabin, Ella slept soundly for the first time in years, unaware of the currents swirling around her, the whispered conferences and careful observations, the complex emotions and doubts her presence had awakened in five men bound by blood oath and shared history. Whatever memories might lie buried in her consciousness, whatever name she might claim as her own, her arrival aboard the ATEEZ had irrevocably altered its course—creating ripples that would eventually touch every aspect of life aboard the black-sailed ship and the men who commanded it.

The compass that had guided them for fifteen years now pointed in new and uncharted directions, leading them all toward a future none could fully anticipate or control.

Morning found Ella waking naturally to sunlight streaming through her small porthole—another luxury after years of schedules dictated by others' convenience rather than her body's needs. For several peaceful moments, she simply lay still, absorbing the gentle rocking of the ship and the distant sounds of morning activity on deck.

The previous day's events replayed through her mind, a collage of interactions that continued to puzzle and intrigue her. The consistent consideration she'd been shown by the ATEEZ's officers defied her expectations based on fifteen years of calculated subjugation. While she maintained healthy skepticism about their motives, she could not deny the growing evidence that these pirates operated according to principles beyond mere self-interest.

Most unsettling were the persistent echoes of familiarity she experienced in their presence—not just collective déjà vu but specific resonances with each officer. Wooyoung's infectious enthusiasm and culinary "magic." Seonghwa's meticulous precision and careful planning. Yunho's gentle guidance and star knowledge. Mingi's quiet competence and protective vigilance. Hongjoong's strategic thinking and subtle leadership.

These qualities seemed fundamental to their characters rather than recently acquired traits. Which suggested either remarkable coincidence or some connection predating current circumstances—a possibility both tantalizing and terrifying in its implications.

If these men were somehow connected to her past before Blackwell, what did that mean for her present situation? Was her "rescue" from the auction house part of some larger design? Were they manipulating her toward purposes she couldn't yet discern?

Or—most unsettling possibility of all—could they possibly be the boys from her most treasured memories? The five children who had protected her aboard another ship, whose nicknames she had recited nightly for fifteen years, whose attempted rescue had failed so catastrophically that she'd been sold into captivity despite their efforts?

The thought seemed simultaneously too coincidental to be probable and too specific to be impossible. Five boys, five men, five names preserved through fifteen years of determined recitation: Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy.

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yunho, Mingi.

The parallels were undeniable once she allowed herself to consider them directly. Yet the implications seemed too vast, too significant to accept without absolute certainty. If these pirates were indeed her childhood protectors, why had they not found her sooner? What had occupied the fifteen years between her sale at auction and their current encounter?

And if they recognized her, why maintain the pretense of her being merely a valuable intelligence source about Blackwell? Why not acknowledge their shared history directly?

Unless—and here her thoughts turned toward darker possibilities—they didn't actually care about her specifically. Perhaps she represented merely a symbol to them, an oath unfulfilled, a mission uncompleted. Perhaps their interest lay not in her as a person but in what her rescue represented to their collective identity.

Or worse, perhaps they blamed her in some way for the consequences of their failed rescue attempt. Children's thinking could be surprisingly concrete; perhaps they had interpreted her sale as somehow her fault rather than circumstantial tragedy.

These spiraling speculations led nowhere productive, Ella realized with practiced mental discipline. Without more information, she could not determine the truth of her situation. And information gathering required continued interaction, careful observation, and strategic disclosure.

For today, she would maintain her established approach—providing valuable intelligence about Blackwell while revealing minimal personal details, observing the officers' reactions for additional insight, and remaining alert for opportunities to discover their true motivations.

A knock at her cabin door interrupted these reflections. "Breakfast in the officers' mess whenever you're ready," came Yunho's gentle voice. "No rush—it's deliberately informal this morning."

"Thank you," she replied, appreciating both the information and the implicit respect for her autonomy. "I'll join you shortly."

As she prepared for the day, Ella made a conscious decision to continue the small openings she had begun the previous day—allowing glimpses of her true self to emerge as strategic disclosure rather than vulnerability. If these men were indeed connected to her past, such glimpses might trigger reactions that would confirm or refute her emerging suspicions.

And if they weren't—if all these parallels were merely remarkable coincidence—then she had lost nothing beyond slight emotional exposure that could be recalibrated as necessary.

Either way, the mystery of the ATEEZ and its officers demanded resolution. Fifteen years of survival had taught Ella patience in gathering intelligence, persistence in seeking answers, and caution in forming conclusions. These skills would serve her well as she navigated the complex currents surrounding her unexpected "rescue" and the five men who had orchestrated it.

Whatever game was being played aboard this black-sailed ship, she intended to uncover its rules, identify its players, and determine her own role within it—before committing to any irreversible decisions about her future course.

With that resolution firmly in mind, Ella completed her preparations and headed toward the officers' mess, ready to continue her careful investigation into the mysteries of the ATEEZ and the men who commanded it.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki

[asunflowerana]

sunday couple — satoru gojo

summary: Satoru does anything for good and cheap food, especially making you his girlfriend.

warnings: satoru is on his early twenties, friends to lovers, lots of banter, gojo smooth like butter. wc: 1400+

a/n: satoru could take me to eat crickets, and I'd still follow this stupid gorgeous man.

The red, and yellow lamps hanging on poles illuminate Shibuya’s central square, crowded with citizens scouring the fair full of assorted supplies. The smell of cardamom powder from a spice stall enters your nostrils, making your nose numb as you try to follow your friend Satoru, the one who left you behind for a taiyaki seller. 

You never thought you’d be traded for a fish cake, but here you are. 

Satoru checks the pockets of his pants in front of him, taking the coins and handing them to the friendly old lady owner of the sweets. She gives him one small cake, and you can almost see him salivating with the piece of sugar in his hands. 

“Your grandma taught you to share, Toru.” You counter with arms crossed, at the same time as he fills his mouth with a good bite of cake, the chocolate ganache sticking out to the sides and smearing his fingers. He breathes in pure relief, and you wonder how hungry he really was since you both went outdoors. 

“It’s too small for two.” He has the courage — stupidity is better — to eat the last piece of the taiyaki in front of you, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the remains of bran and stuffing after that. You could cut his white hair right there. 

“Then buy me another one,Toru! I’m hungry too!" 

”Sweets aren’t good for your teeth, little ______.“ He sends you his special sunny grin, moving his hand to call you closer, his black jacket hanging loose on his shoulders. "C'mon, I’ll find you a diner. My treat.”

His smooth manner almost makes you forget for a moment that he had just refused to share that sweet with you. Not even a little apology, what a goon.

“You better,” Mumbling, you join his pace, walking right beside him as you both stroll through the park.

You were supposed to be at home watching the six-hour marathon of your favorite comedy show, but Satoru showed up at your door in the afternoon, puppy eyes asking you to help him pick out a present for Shoko’s birthday next week, and you couldn’t say no. Not only because you wanted her to have something nice, but because unfortunately, Satoru has a special power over your heart, that makes you want to say yes even if he shows up at 4 AM in the morning for a bike ride through town — which actually happened once, but that’s a story for another time. 

He had this infuriating power since third grade, when both became neighbors and he decided to kick a soccer ball right to your window, giving you quite the fright. You can remember the way you threw the ball on his chest, mad at the crazy boy who didn’t stop laughing and left without a single scratch. 

The crazy boy that owns a part of your heart, a part that you wish could be noticed by him. But Satoru has always been too unpredictable to read, especially when it comes to his emotions. 

A new smell, fried fish and miso soup catch your attention, and a man in his forty approaches you both, coming out of a small but attractive restaurant, izakaya type. He wears casual clothes, portraying a very large smile and belly. 

“Come close young couple, here at Goro’s house you’ll find Shibuya’s best of the best food to fill your hungry tummies, ho ho ho-” You both look at each other with the same frown on your faces. Does this man think you’re in kindergarten? 

Well, Satoru actually has the face, but anyway. 

“...and lucky for you, today is a couple's Sunday!” This caught your attention. 

“What do you mean by "lucky for us”, sir?“ The man’s eyes pop even more open, excited for more clients. 

"Every Sunday couples only pay half for the dinner combo! Here is on our board.” He points at the medium black slate place beside an array of plants at the izakaya’s entrance. 

“COUPLE’S SUNDAY: 50% OFF FOR COUPLES BUYING THE SPECIAL GORO’S FISH COMBO." 

"Wait,” Satoru gulps down, his hands almost trembling from such good news. “So couples really pay half for dinner?” 

He abruptly catches your hand in his, his warmth heating your skin and making your heart flutter in response. “Because we totally are!” He practically shouts that, with a huge grin on face like a kid spotting a candy store. He looks at you, shining marine eyes gazing at yours with excitement. 

“Right, baby?" 

You don’t even know how to react, completely shocked by the nickname that you’ve always daydreamed of him calling you. The way it comes out of his mouth, with his voice, it’s such a precious moment, you can’t believe it’s all for a ridiculous excuse to get a food discount. Before you realize your situation, you’re already seated by a diner table, your friend on the opposite chair in front of you, his goofy smile still on his face as he checks the menu.

His hand remains holding yours on the table, and you can already feel the sweat forming on your palm from the heat and your nerves.

"What… in the world just happened?” You blurt it out, confused as ever.

“Told you I’d buy you dinner, dear  _____. And guess what?” He leans his torso towards you, his chest pressing on the wooden table keeping you both apart. “They have free dorayakis for dessert." 

Rainbows could come out of him by now. 

”But we’re not a couple, you dumb!“ You hiss, leaning just the same as he did, worried that the customers around might notice your facade. 

”I know, we’ll just keep pretending and it’ll all be good.“ Satoru is really good at acting, talking to you like he was babbling sweet praises like those dorky clingy couples. 

He’s such a tease, and he doesn’t even know. Actually, you think he does know it.”Toru, this is not a—" 

A waiter comes to your table, making you both split from your previous position and sit right in your seats. From his trail, he places on the table bowls of udon, plates of unagi, portions of tempura, and green tea. The smell from the steam coming out of the dishes is so amazing, that the only thing your brain processes now is food.

“You were saying?” Satoru playfully questions, thanking the waiter before picking up his chopsticks and digging the thick noodles before him. 

“…..Fine.” You surrender, not really having the strength to refuse this. “But if there’s only one dorayaki later, it’s mine." 

"We can share." 

”But sweets aren’t good for your teeth, little Satoru.“ You mock him right after sucking a noodle into your mouth, the food tasting much better now that you can see his speechless face scrunching up. 

"That’s totally unfair!” He protests, crossing his arms with a pout, a piece of nori on the corner of his mouth. “I’m your boyfriend, you should treat me nice." 

You wish your heart wouldn’t beat so fast. 

But since you’re both pretending, you may as well enjoy it. "First lesson for you: don’t ever let your girlfriend be hungry. Ever." 

"If I give you all of my tempura, will you share the dorayaki?” You hum, pretending to think. “C'mon now, baby! I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

In the end, you let him have a good bite of dessert, which is kinda fair since he was the one paying for the whole meal. That dinner really made you heavy, tummy full of food, completely satisfied and pleased. You even wrote down the name of the place, to come back with your friends in another opportunity.

And it seems that your friend also had a similar idea. 

“Are you free next Sunday?” He asks, walking ahead of you, his gaze facing the starry sky as he ponders something alone. 

You know sometimes he likes to venture ahead to ease his mind when there’s something on it, so you don’t mind him going a few feets ahead, knowing he’s still aware of your surroundings even if you’re behind him.

Satoru never failed to protect you. 

“You’re not planning on doing the dating story again, right?” You chuckle, sensing that this will become a Sunday routine for both of you. “They’ll start suspecting if we keep coming every week, you know we’re not really dating.”

“Then let’s date for real.” And again, he turns his wholesome blue gaze towards you, offering another one of the famous, breathtaking Satoru’s grins. But in this case, this one is reserved only for you. 

“How about that?”

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