#scald hill

[kvetch19]

Scald Hill

[viralarcadian]

everyone in the searing gorge was just passing cursed blood back and forth for like five minutes after killing hakkar and it nearly killed me three separate times

[ivysangel]

WHERE ARE YOU TONIGHT? (JASON TODD)

NOTES/CW - mild angst but it's short lived, porn with plot, mutual masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, shower sex, happy ending, the endings a little rushed, i think that's all?

It was the early hours of the morning, and you had been "sleeping" restlessly all night. The worry of something happening to Jason loomed in the darkness every time you closed your eyes. Tiredness weighed you down, but it was no match for the sickening feeling in your gut that came around every time he was a little late coming home. It didn't matter how long it had been since you started dating him; you found that nothing eased the nerves or the ache when you started to overthink about what he could possibly be doing at that moment instead of being beside you. 

Hot water runs down your chest, and you crane your neck away from the heavy streams coming from your showerhead. Steam curls up and out of the shower, dampening the ceiling with tiny droplets of water. And the heat doesn't do much for your mind but it does ease the physical ache that comes with sleep deprivation. That's not what you needed right now though; what you needed were the thoughts of Jason dying alone, again, out of your head.

Your hand reaches for the knob and turns it the absolute farthest it would go, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out your surroundings and the familiarity of this space you'd shared with him so many times. 

Jason, Jason, Jason. Where was he? 

The jarring sound of metal sliding across metal invades your ears and is quickly followed by the presence of someone else entering the cramped space. "Did you hear me? I was calling your name."

There he was.

The feeling of his arms around your waist brings you back to reality. His voice could have just been your head messing with you, but this, him wrapped around you, this was real. "How was patrol?" You say carefully, trying to keep your words, even for fear that he'll hear the distress in your voice. "You're home later than usual." He noses at your neck, and he hums into the skin, water pelting his head and soaking his hair. You bring your hand up to his wet locks, rubbing gently, deciding not to ask again, knowing he wouldn't answer anyway.

His fingers knead at the flesh on your hips as you both just stand there in the scalding hot water. "I missed you." You say, feeling him exhale deeply into your neck and slide his hands further up your body. Large, warm hands find your breasts, squeezing lightly. He breathes in your scent, a comfort to him after a long night of taking out criminals, something to ground him the same way he grounds you. He pinches at your nipple, rolling it around and tugging lightly, and your breath hitches at the stimulation of the lewd action. 

"Did you miss me?" You sounded desperate, pathetic even, like you were begging for your life when you really were just craving his affection. He laughs wryly, head lifting from out of the crevice of your neck, and his lips find the space behind your ear.

He presses a kiss to the skin and brings his head down again to nip at your earlobe. "You always ask me that," he says lowly, the bass in his voice reverberating against your eardrum. "I just wanna know." 

One of his hands slowly drags down your chest, over the hill of your chest, and you moan at the warmth spreading through your body. "You're too..." he moves further down your torso, "in your head sometimes." Lower and lower, "but it's okay," until it settles between the wet heat between your legs, "I can fix it."

He rubs gently, pointer finger ghosting over your clit, while he presses his boner into you. You hadn't even realized how turned on you were until this very moment, until you were suddenly all too aware of how close he was to you, drenched in water and naked. His thumb presses the sensitive nub between your legs, the added pressure making your back arch into him, feeling his dick dig into the soft flesh of your ass. 

"You know I love you, right?" He asks, rubbing small quick circles into your clit, earning a gasp from you. "You do, right?" You swallow hard, nodding your head while one of your hands finds its way to your lonely breast while the other slips behind you to Jason's crotch. "Mmm, that's right, I know you do."

You feel around for his cock, the task made more difficult by the fuzziness clouding your brain from the thick finger that was slowly making its way into your cunt. The size of your hand was nothing compared to the size of his dick; his erection was heavy in your hand, radiating heat and weighing it down, but god, did you need it in you. 

You stroke from the base to the tip, using his pre-cum as lube, and he groans into the side of your neck. His thumb leaves your clit as his middle finger joins in on stretching you out. Two thick fingers sit deep in your cunt, curling into your sweet spot, the sensation sending chills down your spine. The pitter-pattering conceals the squelching sounds of Jason fucking his fingers into you and the pornographic moans escaping your lips.

Long, slow strokes of his dick become short and shallow as you jerk him off while his fingers continuously move in and out of you. You attempt to focus on the task at hand, getting him off, but your breath quickens, and you go weak in the knees as your climax approaches. The tingling of your nerves puts you on edge, and you have to refrain from squeezing his dick too hard as you get lost in pleasure.

The water's almost run cold by now, and every single drop should feel like a piece of hail on your skin, but it doesn't. The nearly ice-cold droplets don't compare to the temperature of your body when he's got you riled up like this. Your climax was quickly approaching, and you knew Jason's was, too, by the way his groans and grunts were becoming more frequent. He had started rocking his hips back and forth into your hand, and you were sure your fingers would be painted in cum sometime soon. "I'm sorry, baby," He mutters, "Sorry for what I'm about to do." it comes out breathlessly, and if you were facing him, he'd see the confused expression etching itself on your face. "But it'll be worth it. Promise."

His words are followed by an unwelcome emptiness, one that leaves you clenching around nothing, aching to be filled once more. He withdraws his fingers from your cunt with a pop that you can't hear but definitely can feel, and his hand grabs your wrist, stopping you from jerking him any longer. You turn to face him, ready to object, and plead, and beg on your knees if you had to, but you never get the chance.

His hands cup your cheeks, and he kisses you deeply, your mouths falling into a familiar synchronization. "Feel like I can't fuck you without kissing you first." You finally get a good look at him for the first time since he'd gotten home, hair wet and eyes green as ever, strong features looking especially intimidating in the dim lighting of your bathroom, and muscles earned from years of training littered with bruises he'd ice when you weren't around.

While you find yourself admiring his features, he takes your shoulders in his hands and gently pushes you up against the shower wall. Gripping your thigh, he lifts your leg up and aligns himself with your entrance. He pushes inside of you with a deep groan and stills himself for a few seconds so you can adjust to the stretch. It's a dull pain, an intense throb deep in your womb that leaves your legs weak and you more wet than anything.

He keeps your leg up and places his palm flat on the shower wall, bracing himself before drawing out of you completely and plunging back inside. His hips rock rhythmically, each pump of his cock leaving you holding onto him for dear life. His hand curls into a fist against the wall, and you know he's close, already having been wound up from fucking your hand earlier. He towers over you, wet hair hanging in his face, muscles tensed, as he loses himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You bring your arm up around his neck, pulling him as close as you can without causing you guys to slip. His breath is hot on your face, combatting the chilliness of the water, and you're hard-pressed not to kiss him, but you couldn't, not when you were so close to release, not when you wanted to see his face when he came.

You bring your hand between the two of you, rubbing your clit, trying to bring yourself over the edge, and he lifts your leg higher and buries himself even deeper. A loud moan slips out of your mouth and echoes off the walls as he hits that soft spongy spot deep in your cunt again and again. Soon enough, the knot in your stomach completely unravels, and you tremble as your orgasm washes over you, his big arms keeping you upright as your eyes roll back. 

Your eyes flutter open just in time to see his face contort. Brows furrowed, and jaw clenched as his hips stutter, pace faltering as he's sent off the deep end. His grunts get louder, and he begins to sound almost animalistic until he lets out one final sound, long and drawn out as he fills your guts. 

The both of you stand there, catching your breath as the shower rains down on you, skin dripping and water pooling at your feet. Your chest heaves, and your eyes close to avoid drops of water getting in your eyes. He pulls out slowly, giving you time to adjust to the emptiness before gently letting go of your leg and helping you stand up straight. His hand finds the shower knob, turning until the water stops, and you admire him from behind as he steps out of the shower, grabbing a couple of towels.

"Do you get it now?" He asks, holding open a towel, waiting for you to step into it. "Get what?" you ask, using the wall to hold yourself up, legs still weak from Jason being so deep in you just a few moments ago. "Get that I love you?" 

His arms wrap around you, tucking the towel into itself before pulling you close and bringing his lips to your forehead. His lips are warm, and he smells nice, like a mixture of soap and gunpowder. Ironic because he didn't wash and will probably hop back in the shower when you're fast asleep. 

He looks down at you earnestly, waiting for a response to his question, and you would call him ridiculous, but you know he needs to hear this just as much as you need to hear him say that he loves you in the first place. "Yes," you nod. "I know that you love me."

"Good."

edited this for like four hours so if there are any typos and errors that's just what the universe intended.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ slim shady, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: your boyfriend is cool, calm, collected, and now platinum blonde? though you're mentally conflicted, you can't help but feel drawn to his new look.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: requested by an anon! this was supposed to be sunday’s game day fic but here it is today instead lol i am a proud og supporter of the buzz cut and it comes out in this fic. i will die on the "joe says cock not dick" hill.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, handjob, romantic dick sucking.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.1k.

You hummed to the rhythm of a song you couldn't quite remember, the office's background noise muffled as you waited for your coffee to brew. The sleek, black machine hissed and spat, the scent of dark roast filling the air. You checked your phone, scrolling through the mundane emails and notifications that had accumulated since your last break. Your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to dismiss the unimportant.

Then you saw it: an image sent from Joe. Your boyfriend's name illuminated on your screen as your lips broke in a quiet smile. Curiosity piqued, you tapped it open, expecting one of Joe's rare but charming selfies with his usual wide blue eyes and awkward poses.

But your eyes widened when the image loaded—instead of the familiar mess of dirty blonde hair, you found a bald head with a wide smile. The message beneath read, "New look what do you think?" Your jaw dropped as you stared at the screen, the buzz of the office around you fading into white noise.

Your mind raced with questions.

Why hadn't he told you? What was the occasion for this dramatic change?

But the office was not the place to get into this. You had a meeting in about five minutes and the coffee was finished brewing, the aroma now taunting you with the promise of a jolting caffeine rush you desperately needed.

With trembling fingers, you typed out a text, trying to match the easy light-heartedness of his message. "Why the fuck are you bald?" You decided to add an unimpressed emoji to remove any ambiguity from your words.

Joe's response was swift. "It'll grow back?" He wrote with a laughing emoji. "Got bored. Thought I'd try something new." You could practically hear the nonchalance in his voice and you couldn't decide if it pissed you off or intrigued you. The dryness of his text was typical Joe—always questionably calm. But this was a surprise you weren't quite ready to laugh off. You took a sip of your coffee, the heat scalding your tongue as you thought about his new look.

The day dragged on, your thoughts inexplicably drawn back to Joe's bald head. You had seen him in every hairstyle imaginable—undercut, grown out, and even a questionable middle part that you had mercifully convinced him to abandon under the guise of bad luck—but this was a step beyond. You tried to focus on the spreadsheets and emails, but the image of Joe's egg head kept popping up in your mind.

By the time you left the office, your curiosity had morphed into something else entirely. An excitement you hadn't felt in a while, a thrill that made your pulse quicken. You drove home, your hand subconsciously tracing the steering wheel as you imagined running your fingers over his newly shaved scalp.

The anticipation grew as you pulled into Joe's driveway. You took a deep breath before letting yourself in, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warmth that awaited you inside. "Joe!" you called out, your voice echoing through the house.

"In the kitchen!" his voice responded, and you could hear the smack of a fridge door closing. You kicked off your heels, the sound of your bare feet padding against the cool, tiled floor.

As you entered the kitchen, you saw him standing by the counter, a protein shake in one hand, and his phone in the other. Your eyes scanned upwards from his broad shoulders, taking in the stark contrast of his bald head against his muscular physique. He looked up and caught your stare, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You bleached it," you murmured, the words leaving your lips in a breathy exhale. The kitchen lights reflected off his pale scalp, giving him an unexpected edginess.

Joe chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Surprise," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Your hand flew to your mouth. "Oh my god," you whispered. "It's... it's not just a buzzcut, it's—"

"Platinum," Joe filled in, taking a sip of his shake. "Figured why not go all out?"

Your eyes roamed over his features, now so sharply defined without the hair to frame them. His strong jaw, the crinkles of his eyes, his stubbled chin—it all looked more pronounced. And you had to admit, incredibly sexy. The shock was giving way to something else, something warm and fluttery in your stomach.

He watched you, his gaze expectant, a smirk playing on his lips. You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively to touch his head. The warmth of his skin was unexpected, and you couldn't help but let out a small giggle. He leaned into your touch, his eyes crinkling as you traced your fingers over the smooth surface.

"I can't decide if..." you said, trying to find the words. "If you look like you should be in a shitty boy band or if you're channeling Slim Shady."

Joe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Slim Shiesty," he quipped, his voice low and playful. "You know you love it." He teased, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter as he took your hands in his.

You felt your smile widen, your heart racing. You didn't know if it was the caffeine from the coffee or the sudden realization that you were incredibly turned on by his new look. The way his muscles flexed as he held onto your hands, the glint in his eye as he watched your reaction—it was all too much.

Your eyes drifted to his lips, and you leaned in, capturing them in a kiss that was equal parts surprise and desire. His grip tightened, and you felt him pull you closer, the coldness of the countertop pressing into your back as his body molded against yours. His free hand roamed your waist, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just above your hip bone.

"So you like it?" Joe murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned into you. You felt the heat from his skin and the tension coiling in your belly. You couldn't believe it, but you were insatiably attracted to this new look for him.

"Yeah," you breathed into Joe's ear, your voice silky with want, "I guess so."

Your hands slid down his body, tracing the planes of his chest before coming to rest at the waistband of his sweatpants. He leaned into your touch, his breath hitching. The kitchen light crafted an artificial halo as it bounced off the dye in his hair, and you found yourself craving more of him.

Without breaking the kiss, you tugged at his waistband, and Joe's laughter turned into a groan as your hand found its way to his cock. You wrapped your cold fingers around it, feeling it twitch and thicken in your palm. He pulled away, his eyes dark with hunger. "What do you think you're doing?" he murmured, his voice gruff.

You smirked up at him, your eyes full of mischief. "I'm just... indulging the new look," you said, your voice a seductive purr. You sank to your knees, your eyes glued to his. The kitchen floor was cold, but you barely noticed as the heat between the two of you grew.

Joe's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his cock twitching in his pants. "Babe," he said, his voice thick with lust. But you were already untying the drawstring, his dick springing free, hard and eager.

You took him in your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you tasted his surprise and arousal. He was an intoxicating mixture of salty and sweet, and you moaned around him, your tongue swirling and teasing the head. The kitchen light danced over your dark skin and cast shadows across Joe's face as he watched you.

He tangled his fingers in your braids, gently guiding your movements, setting a pace that made him groan. Your eyes flew open to meet his, the blue of his irises burning into the brown of yours. Your cheeks hollowed as you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing with the effort. The taste of him filled your mouth, the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of the kitchen's citrus cleaner.

Joe's hips involuntarily bucked forward, pushing him further into your throat, and you gagged lightly, your eyes watering. He stilled, his hand coming up to cup your face gently. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper from the effort of holding back just long enough to indulge in the pleasure you were giving him.

You nodded, your mouth still full. You pulled back with a pop, your lips glistening with the sinful mixture of his precum and your gloss, your eyes gleaming. "Yeah," you murmured, licking your lips. "Perfect."

Joe's gaze was intense, his eyes locked on yours as you took him in your mouth again. He groaned, his grip on your braids tightening, his thumb caressing your cheek. The sound was like a symphony to your ears, the sight of him lost in pleasure pushing your own desire to new heights. You bobbed your head, your rhythm increasing, your tongue flicking and dancing around his shaft.

You felt a rush of power, the kind that only came from knowing you could make him lose control. His breath grew ragged, his hips jerking in time with your movements as his stomach tensed. One of his hands gripped the counter as he cursed under his breath. You could feel his muscles tensing, his legs quivering slightly, and you smiled at the sight of him slowly losing it.

The sound of your mouth moving over him was the only noise in the kitchen, the slick sounds of your saliva mingling with his groans. You reached up and took hold of the base of his cock, your mouth releasing him as your thumb danced over his angry tip. He swore, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought the urge to come.

"Babe," he warned, his voice strained. "If you keep doing that..."

But you were beyond listening. The thrill of his impending orgasm was intoxicating, and you were determined to push him over the edge. You bit your bottom lip with a smirk, a knowing glimmer in your eyes as you watched your boyfriend throw his head back. With a surge of boldness, you kept your seductive gaze on his face as you licked a slow, deliberate stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting him fully.

Joe's knees buckled slightly, now reaching to grip the counter with both hands to keep steady. "Yeah, suck this cock, beautiful," he hissed, his voice a desperate plea.

At the sound of his command, you didn't relent. With a wicked smile, you took him back into your mouth, your other hand now stroking the velvety skin of his balls. The sensation was too much for him, and he let out a strangled groan, his entire body seizing. You felt the warmth of his seed fill your mouth, and you swallowed, your brown eyes round as they stared up into his.

You pulled back, your chin glistening with spit, your expression smug. Joe looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with passion. "You're crazy," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "But I fucking love it."

He helped you stand to your feet, your eyes still locked. The kitchen light cast shadows over his bald head, giving him a mysterious allure that had your heart racing. He leaned in and kissed you, his tongue tracing your teeth and tangled with yours, sharing the taste of himself. It was a kiss filled with passion and a hint of appreciation, one that left your knees weak.

You broke the kiss with a giggle, wiping at your mouth. "You know, I think the bleached look really suits you, Slim," you said, your voice filled with a teasing lilt.

Joe's eyes lit up, his smirk growing as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Yeah? Maybe I should keep it then."

You playfully slapped his chest. "You better not, I didn’t say all that," you said, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you. "But for now, I can deal with it."

The two of you pulled apart, and Joe took a step back, looking down at you with a grin. "Deal with it, huh?" he challenged. "We'll see about that." His words were met with a confused look from you, but before you could ask him what he meant, he took a swing of his protein shake, set it down, scooped you up, and threw you over his shoulder.

"Joe!" you squealed, laughter bubbling up from your chest as he carried you out of the kitchen. You smacked his ass playfully, but the truth was, you were thrilled. The excitement of the unexpected was like a drug, and you were eager for more.

[httpsserene]

Heyy, i was wondering if you could do an Toto wolff x reader. I was thinking kitchen sex?? Like Toto getting turned on because he found out that reader was trying to make him his beloved pumpernickel bread for breakfast. I’ve been seeing tiktoks of Toto and his love for pumpernickel bread, and was just wondering if you could write abt it, though it’s TOTALLY ok if you don’t. Sorry if this was a little messy, this is my first time rqsting something. ♥️

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐰/𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you make toto his favorite bread. he’s going to thank you for this surprise properly. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. implied age gap. kitchen sex. rambling about bread. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. morning sex. reader and toto are married. beta-read. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.2k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: toto wolff x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖���𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: can't take my eyes off of you (i love you baby) • lauryn hill

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: can you tell i did way to much research on the types of pumpernickel bread? no, well, i don’t care 🙂 i WAS NOT familiar with toto wolff and pumpernickel bread so a quick youtube search opened my eyes to it and uh what can i say, this was born. ALSO: i feel like i’ve self-diagnosed myself; i am ashamed to admit that my kink might be somebody making me their wife…because why can’t i go one fic without making the reader be referenced to as a wife (m sorry i crave love). i honestly feel like it could be better, but y’know i hope i did your request justice (sorry it took me so long, ktober beat my ass). anon! i hope you see this, and i hope all the toto wolff lovers enjoy !!!

the yellow dish gloves on your hands protect your brown skin from most of the heat of the scalding tap water. the sound of your hums airily reverberate within the high ceilings of your open-plan kitchen as you clean the expensive dishes you’ve dirtied. you’ve taken off your wedding ring and placed it on top of your phone in the middle of the island to avoid any possibility of it falling down the drain or getting damaged. 

you woke up a little after dawn, quickly shutting off your alarm to avoid waking up your husband; it’s the off season for him, you won’t wake him up at insane hours when he’s not needed to work. sneaking out of bed was a battle of its own—there were several close calls as you struggled to slip out of the tight hold of the austrian man. it took seven minutes for you to escape his warm embrace, but you made it through by thinking of the surprise you were going to cook up for Toto—or bake up for him. it’s no secret to anybody that the mercedes team principal loves pumpernickel bread, and that he’s very particular about how he likes it. of course, there��s no way you would be able to make the traditional german pumpernickel bread before he woke up—it takes fourteen hours to cook and it needs to rest for an entire day to allow it to form properly into its crunchy, cookie-like consistency. so, you decided to make the simplified recipe that only takes roughly an hour and a half to bake and prepare, while the original takes its time cooking. your husband will have to be happy with the more loaf-like treat until his preferred bread is ready. you’ve never been more thankful to have two ovens. 

everything went well. both breads are prepped and baking away at their respective temperatures, and you’re carefully attempting to clean up the mess you’ve made in the process. you may not have been quiet enough based on the footsteps you hear heading your way. Toto pauses in the doorway and you smile, not needing to turn around to see the baffled expression on his face. you turn the faucet off and grab the cloth resting on the oven handle to dry your hands, “good morning, bär. slept well?” you teased gently with a small smile in Toto’s direction. you take an appraising glance of his form; he’s only wearing this pair of pajama pants covered in the mercedes logo (George gifted him those when the team did secret santa last year; Toto said he’d never wear them), leaving his toned torso exposed for your viewing pleasure, sleep lines from his pillow are still faint along his left cheek, and his hair is ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it. your husband nods half-heartedly, and blinks in confusion as he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

you're wearing one of his white button-up shirts—half of the buttons are fastened, the sleeves are rolled up and cuffed right above your elbow. you aren’t wearing a bra based on the way he can see how your nipples are pebbled through the shirt, and he assumes you’re only wearing underwear based on your bare legs. your feet are warmed by a pair of black, fuzzy house slippers, the bottom of the shirt rests along the middle of your thighs, and the collar is shifted to the side exposing your collarbone. your hair is free, allowed to rest however it wants to on this winter morning. he starts, making to finally enter the space of the kitchen and give you a proper morning greeting, but notices a smudge of flour along your jawline. and then he sees the baking utensils gathered in the sink, and a rich aroma starts to permeate the air. it smells slightly like coffee and slightly like dark chocolate—it’s sweet. then, it dawned on Toto, you’re baking pumpernickel bread. for him. his heart flutters; you usually sleep as late into the morning as possible, but today, you woke up at an insane hour just to make him his favorite bread from scratch. you’ve always teased him for how difficult he acts about his breakfast treat yet you sacrificed hours of sleep to please him. Toto’s mushy mindset is broken, as you cock your head at him, wondering why he hasn’t responded to you, and the collar of his your shirt shifts and falls to expose the top of your chest. mmm, yes, he should thank you properly.

you don’t even have time to register toto crossing the space between you, before your lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss. a shocked squeal is muffled against toto’s lips, as his large hands hold your waist steady, and your own hand flies up to hold his head. your other hand rises to tap at his chest frantically, as you begin to run out of air, and toto pulls away with an amused chuckle. dazedly, your hand on his chest pulls back to touch your lips, like you needed further verification that he just kissed you. 

Toto smirks, “good morning, schatz.”

you nod unsteadily, “yes—g-good morning.”

your husband laughs louder at your stutter, and tugs you into his chest for a proper hug, rubbing at the nape of your neck with a heavy hand. the two of you stand tangled in the middle of the kitchen, uncaring of how many seconds fly by, and your eyes flutter shut at the relaxing motion of Toto’s massaging hands. 

“i’m going to fuck you on the island, now, “ Toto informs you kindly.

you startle, pulling your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes. his gaze is serious, and you can’t help how your cheeks warm under his attention.

“well…” you murmur, “i’m not going to say no.”

from there, it’s all a rushed haze. you go from having two feet firmly planted on the tiled floor to being lifted and placed on the marble island as toto speeds through unbuttoning your collared shirt. you try to shrug it off, but Toto halts your motions firmly telling you to leave it on. you hum absently and pull him into a kiss. Toto moans into your mouth, and the sound has your hips bucking forwarding to grind against the bulge in his pants. his hands reaches for your left hip and assists you in grinding against him, and a sigh of pleasure parts your lips. the austrian eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, and he tastes a bit of sugar from whatever you snacked on while making his bread. oddly, that causes more of his blood to rush south and he breaks the kiss to lean back and tug your panties off. 

you simultaneously pull his pajama pants down, and squirm happily at the fact that he slept without boxers. Toto gently guides you to lie back on the countertop, and coos softly when you shiver from the cold surface; he’ll warm you up soon. he pulls your panties off from where they were dangling around your right ankle and drops them to the floor, kicking them to the side along with his pants. tugging you forward, your ass rests on the edge of the counter and he leans down to press kisses on your throat.

moaning highly, you crane your neck to expose its full length to his mercy. your right hand tangles in his hair to guide him exactly where you want, your left hand holds at his shoulder for support, with your nails digging into the meat of his muscles. Toto pauses, and pulls back to grab your left hand. a broken whine falls from your lips, and you buck your hips upward searching for friction, the slide of his cock along your folds feels delicious. his knees buckle at the sensation, and he forces your hips back down with his free hand, as he pulls your left hand in front of him to look at it.

“where’s your ring, liebling?” Toto asks, warm eyes focused on your bare ring finger. you laugh disbelievingly, amused and surprised at the fact that he managed to feel the absence of your wedding ring, and pull your hand out of his grasp smoothly. you reach behind you and pluck your ring from its spot on top of your phone, and slide it back on your finger. brandishing your ringed-hand in his eyeline, you impatiently try and buck your hips upward to no avail, his one-handed hold on you is unbreakable. 

“okay! fuck me—now, please,” you demand desperately.

Toto hushes you, and holds your left hand steady. he stares into your eyes as he presses a kiss on the wedding ring he bestowed you with. your cheeks burn hot, and you roll your eyes as if your heart didn’t liquify at the show of devotion. your husband guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in carefully—thankful he fucked you open last night. you whimper softly, tender and sore, but you nod frantically to encourage Toto to push further in. he groans throatily as he bottoms out, throwing his head back in pleasure, and your moan harmonizes at the feeling of fullness. the stretch burns slightly, but you’re more focused on achieving an orgasm than the space he caves out in your walls. 

you squeeze your knees around his waist, and grind up on him to encourage him to move. Toto grabs your left leg, bringing it to rest over his shoulder, while your right leg remains resting on his waist, both fuzzy slippers falling from your feet at the movement. it has him sliding slightly deeper inside you, and a spark of pleasure races up your spine. Toto begins to thrust, setting a quick pace from the get go. he fucked you open eight hours ago and the tightness of your cunt has him considering that he didn’t fuck you well enough. the bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips suggest differently. it’s ridiculous, how lost the two you get in each other’s bodies. your moans are punched out of you with every thrust, his cock dragging against your most pleasurable spot every time he sinks in you. Toto should be embarrassed at how quickly this is ending, but your sounds are too erotic for there to be any other outcome. 

he lays his hand on your navel, gently adding pressure over where he’s reaching inside of you, while his thumb circles rapidly over your clit. your back arches sharply as you screech from the unexpected flare of pleasure, raking your nails down his back in thin red lines as you cum at the added stimulation. it’s a multitude of sensations and emotions that had you hurtling over the edge quicker than you thought possible, and Toto has no choice but to follow you into the abyss, unable to hold back his orgasm at the unbearably hot and wet grasp of your cunt. your husband rocks into you through the afterglow, pausing only when you start to whimper in too much, and not feeling good. staring up at toto with a blissed-out smile and half-lidded eyes, you sigh sweetly as he slips out and leans down to kiss you again. the press of his lips is syrupy sweet and you find yourself getting lost under the feeling of him pouring his love and devotion into you—even though you don’t need the reminder—and the timer you’ve set on your phone blares jarringly causing you and toto to jump apart, startled. 

“what the fuck,” Toto deadpans as you scramble around to turn off the alarm. 

you sigh in relief once the aggravating sound is silenced, and nudge at Toto’s hip with your foot, “well—don’t just stand there! get the bread out before it burns!”

the austrian huffs exaggeratedly, like it’s such a chore, and pulls on the oven mitts to take out the pumpernickel bread adaptation after you direct him to the proper oven, not wanting him to disturb the traditional bread baking. the sight of the known headphone-smashing, hothead mercedes team principal completely naked spare for a pair of oven mitts is amusing, enough that you can’t quiet your snort, uncaring of how Toto glares at you. he places the baking tin on the cooling rack you set to the side, and hums happily at the aroma—even though it’s a far cry from the usual bread he prefers. like the oaf he is, Toto reaches to pull a piece of the fresh pumpernickel to eat, but with lightning quick speed you reach over and slap his hand away before he defiles the bread. 

“aht aht! what do you think you're doing? it needs at least forty-five minutes to cool before you can take a slice,” you scold the grown man.

Toto pouts (astounding, honestly), and then he brightens considerably, a sleazy smirk spreading across his lips, “ah? we have time for a second round then, maybe three…” you laugh hysterically, ignoring the way your stomach flips pleasingly at the suggestion, and slide off the counter, buttoning up your collared shirt, and you bend down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing lying on the floor, “there’s no way you manage to get hard twice in forty-five minutes, old man–” Toto balks at your words–he’s really not old, or at least not that old, “���however, it’s enough time to finish washing the dishes you distracted me from doing.”

taglist: @saintslewi@cherry2stems@lorarri@inloveallthetime@mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

[hxnbi]

⸻ ⨳﹒❝ BABYSITTING DUTIES ❞

requested by @enassbraid: "can i request hiragi and reader being stressed out about the reckless bofurin students together, being like the stressed out damage control parents of the friend group"

note: im ngl, this unintentionally turned into a crackfic while i was writing the chaos that are these boys. the idea of a picnic was from when umemiya mentioned in ep 3 about having a bbq over the summer, so why not have that go full circle! also, hiragi is the unofficial mother of bofurin, someone change my mind

"You've got to be kidding me…"

Hiragi muttered from under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in very visible agitation. "You called us in here for this?!"

Everyone stood, slack-jawed at the sight before you all—a sprawling picnic spread out on the grass, complete with blankets, baskets of food, and even a few kites ready to be flown.

Suo laughed heartily. "I was wondering, too. Considering how y/n-san is also here with us."

Nirie nodded along. "Y-Yeah, since they're not even part of the gang."

"Awww, Nirei, are you saying you don't want me around?" you teased, making the poor boy's facial expression drop wide.

"N-NO, NO, OF COURSE NOT! I-I WOULD NEVER THINK THAT!" blasting both your and Sakura's eardrums.

"Tsk, tone it down a bit, will you?" Sakura grumbled. "We're not deaf. Yet."

Nirie looked thoroughly embarrassed, his cheeks flushed as he muttered an apology.

Umemiya pouted, crossing an arm over the other. "But they're Hiragi's lover! It's a must to bring them to an event like this! Don’t you all agree??”

Hiragi sighed, rubbing his temples. "Tsk, this guy is already a lost cause godamnit. There's no stopping when he sets his mind on something."

"Ahah…" you sheepishly chuckled at Hiragi's reaction. 

"But Hiragi-san! Wouldn't you say that being in Furin also means that you're 'one of us'?" Suo chimed in with his signature grin that could make anyone itch to punch Suo's pretty face and that horrid, infuriating grin of his.

"Ahem… Speaking of which, can someone tell me what he is doing up there?" Kiryu asked, pointing to the tree where Umemiya was now attempting to hang a banner that read "Happy Picnic Day!”

None of you were particularly impressed.

Umemiya looked down, waving cheerfully. "Just adding some festive touches to lighten the mood! It's not a picnic without decorations, right, Hiragi?"

Said Hiragi gave a scalding look, "More or less..." making you snicker.

Meanwhile, Umemiya was in the background, doing God knows what—now perched in a tree while still attempting to tie streamers to the branches, humming a cheerful tune, completely oblivious to the dead looks from below. 

Something told you that this was going to be a long, long day. And beyond the so-called circus surprise that was revealed before you all, the idea seemed innocent enough until the reality of managing the Bofurin students set in.

"No wonder Umemiya had asked me to help wrangle the circus together," you mused to yourself.

Everyone turned to look at you with sweat-dropped faces. 'What did you just say…?'

Umemiya was practically beaming with pride as the picnic setup was finally complete, "Now, let's enjoy this beautiful day together shall we?!"

"....."

"Oh, come on! Don't just give those solemn looks. Go and have fun!"

An order from the commander that not even Hiragi could ignore. And so, "fun" was in order. And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, a warm glow spread over the picnic area. Hiragi and you somehow found a rare moment of quiet away from the chaos that is the Furin gang. You both sat side by side on a small but peaceful hill overlooking the Furin members, weary expressions mirrored on your faces.

"I swear, every time I think they can't surprise me anymore, they prove me wrong," Hiragi muttered with exasperation, running a hand through his hair. You honestly believed that he was going to pop another pill in his mouth for all the graying stress that happened just today alone.

You laughed softly, nudging him with your shoulder. "You know better than to expect anything less from them. I should have seen it coming. 

"Ugh… But I thought maybe, just maybe, they'd behave for once." And taking just a singular peek back at the group, Hiragi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sight. "Sugishita, can you please help us set up the tent properly? We need to make sure it's secure."

Sugishita looked over, mid-stare fest with Sakura, and gave a noncommittal grunt. Not exactly convincing everyone that he would comply.

"Yeah, we don't want it chomping on Matsumoto's head like what happened last time," you mused. 

"Sugishita, Umemiya really wants it done right now," Hiragi added, trying one last time. And instantly, like clockwork, the boy perked up, releasing Sakura and marching over to the flattened tent, and immediately getting to work. 

You and Hiragi exchanged an amused glance. When in doubt, "pulling the Umemiya card always works," you whispered with a quiet snicker.

Hiragi scoffed. "Every damn time."

As everyone split off into their cliques, soon too would chaos unfold in a rather predictable fashion in your and Hiragi's eyes. And as if on cue, Sakura clicked his tongue and split off from the rest, leaving Nirei to scurry alongside, followed by Suo. Minutes later, you would hear their voices rising in volume with each passing second, the first years bickering over the best way to arrange the picnic blanket.

"S-Sakura-san, it should go here! The sun is better this way!" Nirei insisted, trying to tug at one corner of the blanket.

"Are you fucking blind? The shade is perfect over there!" Sakura countered, pulling in the opposite direction, making Nirei nearly trip.

"Hmmm, well, I think you're both wrong," Suo chimed in with a rather unnecessary comment about his wrong. "Don't you think it would be better if we put it in the middle?" Only to receive a deadpanned look from the two. 

You exchanged a knowing glance with Hiragi. 'And so it begins.'

You glanced over your shoulder at the group, watching Suo and Nirei squabble over the picnic blanket while Sugishita and Sakura inevitably clashed once again, their bickering escalating into a full-blown wrestling match—which, admittedly, was not a surprise to anyone there. It was quite entertaining to watch for a lot of them. No longer was it the serene "picnic," as Umemiya had initially envisioned, but rapidly devolving into a spectacle of their usual antics.

Tsugeura, ever the fitness enthusiast bordering on obsession, had, much to everyone's bewilderment, brought his training gear and proceeded to do push-ups and squats between bites of food, much to everyone's amusement. That is, until he started spitting his so-called advice about his "virtue" and what it meant to be truly fit. Safe to say, everyone made an effort to stay the hell away from him as far as possible.

Kiryu, meanwhile, was glued to his cell phone, tapping away, utterly oblivious to the mayhem around him. Not like he particularly cared. And nor did Kaji, who had both his feet propped up on the picnic basket of all things while listening to music to his heart's content. All the while, Kusumi and Entomoto attempted for Kaji to, for once, pull his head out of his ass and to actually be actively engaging with everyone from Furin when they were together. An attempt was made—an attempt that did not end in success.

To the surprise of everyone, yet no one, Sugishita was at the grill, utterly determined to cook the perfect batch of meats for this lord and saviour, Umemiya Hajime. He prodded the sizzling cuts with intense concentration and budging eyes—as if they were going to pop out of their eye sockets at any moment—though the occasional flare-up of flames and his singed eyebrows suggested it wasn't going entirely to plan. 

"Uh, Sugishita, you might want to turn the heat down a bit…" Hiragi advised with a cautious cough, watching the grill spit sparks like a miniature firework display that was on the verge of blowing up.

Sugishita let out a short grunt, just as a particularly aggressive flame shot up, singeing the edge of his shirt, making Hiragi sigh, exchanging a knowing glance with you. 

"And here I thought this would be a relaxing day…"

You could tell that Hiragi was embarrassed to have you see this side of him, but you didn't mind it. "There's no such thing as relaxing with them, really," you laughed. 

Then, a loud crash interrupted the peace, followed by Suo's laughter, Sakura's indignant shouting, and Nirei's desperate pleas.

"S-Sakura-san! Y-You can't start fighting Sugishita-san right here!"

"WHO THE FUCK CARES?! HE JUST THREW A SAUSAGE AT ME FOR NO REASON!!"

"At least it was fresh off the grill, Sakura-kun," Suo smiled.

"YOU—"

"....There they go again."

Safe to say, it was a long day for you both.

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated ♡

[tuxedonet]

ঌ HAVING A BIMBO GIRLFRIEND ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ starring. hotd male cast.

" significant moments in the life of house of the dragon ⠀⠀⠀ actors with their significant other peculiar style. "

✱ MATT SMITH ──── the taming one .

he revered you fervently , really. his thorax swelled with the swash of a scalding wave , swamping in a purr of contentment as he delineated the zig―zag of your frisky teeny skirt and the swing of your denuded hips. he straightened his back and the coast of his pink mouth steepened into a sly smirk , with the pride that only a father could carry ― that your daddy should carry. don't fret , for that was what he was there for , breathing in the succulent rivulet that crammed the itty―bitty bottle of mon paris by yves saint laurent at the juncture of your clavicle.

the enthralling clatter of your pinkish platform heels gouge through the hallway of his home , prompting him of your presence long before you appeared in his office where he was striving to conclude a mailing for his agent. his black mount glasses hung loosely down the bridge of his nose , and his brow furrowed tenderly as he peered up. he got tanked on the contrast of raw denim and mulberry of your attire , your pompous lips gleaming in dior lip gloss coiled the artificially flavored sphere of a lollipop , letting it flee in a wet lashing. the peak of your fussy tongue sweeps the thin , sweetish coating of your mouth , before stamping them thunderously against his flat , satiny cheek with magnified affection.

you fall heedlessly into his lap , and his upper limb wraps around the deep arch of your waist , his thick fingers kneading the velvety flesh of your belly. his chin slump on the hill of your shoulder , pecking at your mandible. your arm tauten forward , prying deer―eyed at the sleek keyboard of his computer , twinkling in inquisitiveness.

" tsk .ᐟ don't touch that , little girl. " he hisses gruffly , with the pitch pattern of a anew awakened man , but it was solely the outcome of the cigarettes he smoked and the pure rum glasses he drank at night .

you sulk , whining. " i want to show you something , amorcito. "

he slant his head , humming unbiddenly. his leg hops in snappy , brief leaps , cooing the wrinkling frown amidst your brows.

" is it perhaps a new collection of dresses ? hmm , pretty thing ? " he inquired with the gallantry that diminished his ill―judged accusation. he perceives your perky nods , twisting your neck to ogle at him desirously. " i recall buying you some dresses last week. dare you tell me the day , beautiful? " he tattle.

your index finger fiddles with the marble polished shore of his desk , your face of porcelain misshape into a pensive countenance. " it was saturday. " you dissolve. " but i've used them all already. " you blurt woefully , and he jolt a hum once again in settlement.

" you still haven't  used  the purple one. " the ridges of your mouth droop quivering , and your arms cut cross in a relinquish tantrum.

" it doesn't look pretty on me. " you chatter in a garble timbre. matt smother a chortle behind your shoulder blade , rubbing several frail kisses instead.

he scratches the tarp of your naked stomach in succor. " to me you look  divine  in anything. " he offers mawkishly . " why don't you go and wear it  for me , heh? i promise to buy you more dresses once you wear it , darling. " he silkily commend on the curvature of your earlobe , and said in that manner makes the conception mouth―watering to your palette.

you ascend from his thigh , primed to comply. your fingers shoves the edges of your skirt below the end of the fleshy globes of your bottom.

" tsk .ᐟ give me a kiss before you leave. "

✱ EWAN MITCHELL ──── the weak in the knees one . 

poor boy , he just can't help but stare. your clothes were intrepid , appealing to the eye — bewitching to him. you strutted in pleated skirts that swayed with your cat―walk and heels that elongate your legs , mid―thigh length stockings smooth to the tact of the pads of his avid fingers and glossy lipsticks that accentuated the benign fat of your lips , scented your languid neck with expensive perfumes and decorated your wrists with multiple diamond bracelets. low waisted pants on monday mornings and freakum dresses on friday nights. each wardrobe yanked him to you , yearning to feel the ricochet material underneath his sweaty palms , to taste the artificial flavor in your mouth.

he would meticulously behold the arduous process , sitting on the toilet seat in the bathroom of the hotel room both of you were staying in. you would take great exertion to match an outfit that went associated with his on every date , an effort he took amorously to heart.

his head glided in the direction of your nimble hand , picking up hair brushes and makeup tools. he would hum thoughtlessly once you displayed the utility of each item , and enshrine them in his brain. he would timorously ask about the purpose of certain things , and even persuade you in a sunken stammer to applicate them on his sharp face. with a squeal of excitement , you always encountered yourself dusting his hoisted cheekbones with base and adding coconut lip―balm to his naturally pouty mouth.

" you look beautiful , mi amor. " you adulate your handiwork , grooming his golden brown mane backwards with a leopard patterned pocket comb.

the coast of his lips stretch into a rascal―looking grin. however , the wrinkles at the crook of his orbs attested otherwise.

he aims to the sides of his pointed nose. " does it make my eyes stand out? " he questioned , gazing plumbly at you.

you nod complacently , giving his fleecy strands the finishing touches. you cradle his sleek cheeks between your creamy palms in a distinctive strawberry―scented exfoliating scrub.

" they're poppin'  " you emphasize , and he repeats the word in a vague attempt to mimic the accent.

✱ TOM GLYNN—CARNEY ──── the bragging one .

              the both of you were a chaotic duo , a volatile combination to the public eye. tom possessed no shame whatsoever; he liked what he liked. it was his motto in life , and so far it had rooted him no severe dilemma. therefore , he didn't feel he had to elucidate to anyone why or how he had ended up with a person like you. still , he was interrogated incautiously from time to time; on radio shows , in small interviews at the premieres of his latest project or in gossip from his work friends. he tended to modestly shrug his shoulders and retort concisely , settling with a pearly smile.

nevertheless , such things become grueling over time; the more recognized he develop into , a larger amount of people desired to inquire into his atypical election of a partner. so , nit―picking and witty , he started to take you everywhere. he would show you out on red carpets and in house of the dragon press tour interviews with the edges of his mouth brushing the hint of his ears and his arm sheathed around the dip of your waist .

his thumb kneaded the suave skin under his fingertip , impeling you against his rib cage. with cheeks rosy in a peachy blush and in bashfulness as you stood fore the giant camera , you smiled angelically at the interviewer who vigorously asked him trivially about the development of his character in the second season of the famed  tv show. he managed to entail you divertingly , always delighted to brag about you. 

" aegon could never in his life get someone like her. just look how  pretty  she is in her little dress.ᐟ " he rambled in a sing―songy pitch , steeping rearward for the objective of having them catch your presence veiled below his shoulder. your hand squeezed his bicep beneath the velvety bottle―green jacket , gnawing the gloss painted supple flesh of your lower lip.

you gracefully thwack his left pectoral. " tommy , para. " you babbled above the woman's enliven gaze and words of corroboration spoken with a titanic grin.

he whir smugly , planting a resounding peck on the cotton of your flushed cheek. " they have to know i’m with the most  beautiful girl  they've ever seen. "

✱ HARRY COLLETT ──── the encouraging one .

he is very appeased , following you like a puppy behind its owner. his honeyed orbs gleamed as he took in the sparkles and jewels on your leather corset , or the pearls distributed around the edges of your flare pants. he was enraptured by your existence at all times , he couldn't get enough; not now , not never. you had him by your wide hip , snuggly tied between your bb belt.

he tends to seek your assistance when it comes to attires , sending you pictures of the outfits he will wear for max promotions interviews. he would beg at a certain point in the day for you to do the same if he didn't get a chance to see you for the time being.

he would make sure he was there , watching you at the feet of the queen―sized bed in your room , choosing and mixing outfits , a pout on your glossy pink mouth and your index finger tilted on your chin in a discerning semblance. his aid in those moments was of little use , as he claimed that everything looked good on you. he would keep quiet , then , as he didn't want you to kick him out of the bedroom.

some spontaneous dates were , even , based on shopping. most of the bags were your purchases. none had been your voluntary selection , though. harry would see anything he thinks would match with a skirt or blouse in your closet or clothes newly acquired deep in the chanel handbag sealing his forearm , and scour your regard before putting it in the bushel , buying it for you. when you grumbled at the overpriced accessories and make―up he grasped just because you had stopped to look at them in the aisle of the store , he was hasty to rebuff your perseverance of you paying for them with your money , or return them.

a small gasp erupts from his roseate , pouty mouth , fingers clutching the hanger that held the white jacket with synthetic polar bear fur detailing. " love , look. this would look good on you with your cheetah lace dress. " he comments impetuously , his bunny frontal teeth shining adoringly over the shoulder of the garment.

" it's too expensive , bebé. " you examine the miniature off―white card on the side of the fluffy fabric.

he snorts skeptically  , prudently tossing the gear into the plastic basket amidst his digits. his hand meanders against your palm , and he budge you forward.

" don't worry , it's on me. " he proclaims. " now come on , i think i saw some nice necklaces in that corner over there. "

I WANT REVENGE © TUXEDONET ╱ 2024.

[alottanothing]

This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.

Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)

And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)

The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.

It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.

When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.

In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.

Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.

“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”

Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.

“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.

The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?

“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.

“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.

With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.

And that act of kindness was your mistake.

His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.

When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.

You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.

When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.

Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.

Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.

A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.

You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.

With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.

Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.

“You need a ride, miss?”

Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.

“Y/N?” The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”

Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.

“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.

Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Did he hurt ya?”

You shake your head, “no.”

The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.

“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”

“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 

Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.

“D’ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”

Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”

He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.

With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.

Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.

Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.

Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.

A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.

Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”

Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.

His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.

While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.

“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”

As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.

His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.

“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”

Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.

“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.

“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”

The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.

No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.

“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.

Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.

“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”

The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.

“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 

If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.

To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.

“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”

“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.

With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.

You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.

No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.

“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 

The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 

“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 

He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.

The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 

When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 

There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.

“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.

“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.

“For what I done.”

You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”

He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.

“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.

His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.

The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.

“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.

“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”

His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.

Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.

Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.

“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.

“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.

You nod, “In shining armor.”

He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. 

He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.

“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.

“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”

His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.

For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.

You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.

In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.

The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.

Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.

For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.

His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.

Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 

“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 

You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”

“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 

Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 

“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”

You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.

“Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”

Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.

“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 

Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 

“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 

As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.

You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.

He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”

Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.

Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.

“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.

Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.

Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.

“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”

You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.

He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.

“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.

A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 

“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.

Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.

Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.

Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.

“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.

When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.

“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”

[lilacxquartz]

part 5 of 19 of kinktober: mushrooms

sovereign spaw x reader

plot: sovereign spaw has taken a liking to you — themes: trippy smut, hallucinations, mushroom smut, fingering, f!reader, orgasms — w.c: ~370ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

The under dark was a curious place.

Just over the horizon of rolling hills and ashen cliffs, beyond the sloping caverns, stood the myconid colony—and though you weren’t exactly sure how you ended up in such a place—there you were. It was odd in a way, how quickly entangled you became in Spaw’s reach but he seemed very much adamant on keeping you right where you were.

Every now and then, he would reel you tighter towards his body; his pulsating spongy flesh almost throbbing, wafting escaped bubbling spores from his porous form. Although the feeling was surely strange—you couldn’t help but lean into his touch—his soft digits winding around your body like settling syrup.

Even now, you couldn’t help but simply just… respond.

Spaw’s spearing fingers shot up into the contours of your hilt, impaling glistening veiny fingers deep towards your core. You sat on his lap, legs slightly pushed apart and fingers splayed around wherever they could grab—your nails clawing, scratching along his pliant surface—leaving behind glowing signatures of bleeding plasma.

Small, twisting vines climbed around the curve of your lower lips, tracing a path towards your clit. It was a slow descent but the everlasting decay of Spaw’s fungal form spread to consume you. Latching ringlets suctioned around your bud, sucking on and tweezing the blooming flesh.

The pleasure quickly rose as your head tilted back into his cushioned chest. The lofting spores clouded your senses, colouring your vision in mesmerising awe. Kaleidoscopic hues blurred all around you; thrusting you into a whole new dimension as you started to come undone.

Indeed, the under dark was a truly beautiful place; so intoxicating and hellish, yet elating all at once. Radiating, almost scalding heat built up within you, reaching a shooting threshold that then pooled through your lower stomach and legs in near numbing bliss.

You shuddered in the aftermath, all the while Spaw slowly withdrew and regained his tight hold over your form. With an almost haunting whisper, his voice vibrated as he spoke, “Sleep.”

Obeying the command, you settled off into a much needed rest but instead of being plunged into awaiting darkness—you descended into a soothing pane of somewhere mind-bending instead.

[iznsfw]

The Devil's Telephone

IVE's An Yujin x Male Reader Smut

6969 words

Categories | model!Yujin x photojournalist!you, rough sex

Barely edited. Who cares, I did great.

"Is it true? What they say about you?" 

You're nervous, fidgeting  in the king-sized bed with your arm leaning against the mattress. It feels odd to be in a rich and attractive girl's place without being naked. Not that it's something you've experienced before anyway, but it's like breaking an unspoken law everyone but you was oriented to. But you have your manners, and so does she. Supposedly.

She's still beside you, her expensive clothes hiding not her shapely form. And to think it looks beautiful without the need for oil painting all around it or nakedness. That pretty smile, that also intimidates you a little, is the cherry on top of the cake that is An Yujin.

Speaking of, there's one right now between her lips. She's toying with its strand of a twig, tracing the cherry she got from the bowl beside her bed along the pink hills of her luscious mouth.

"After everything I did," Yujin says, "what do you think?" 

"I don't really…" Struggle to find your words. "I, I don't really dwell on—"

"If I'm a slut or not?" Yujin finishes for you, smiling teasingly. 

This conversation's a mistake, now that she's using words about a subject you tried to tread on lightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I'm sorry."

"No offense taken. I get it."

Yujin lifts herself off her comfortable lounge position on her bed and instead sits on the backsides of her legs. Her hands are on your lap rather than her own. Should've been a sign for you that this is going nowhere but in a downward spiral. 

"You want to know if the rumors are true? If nepo model An Yujin's really a slut, like they all say?"

"Uh… sure?" 

Yujin gestures her chin to your crotch. "Whip out your dick. Then you'll see."

-

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not," says Gaeul. "Say that one more time and your career's over. No going back."

The small smile that's an everyday accessory to her features is gone. That tells you that what she says is what there is to her statement. What you hear is what you get. There's no underlying tone to it; she's completely serious, and besides, when has Gaeul ever lied?

Wring the looped lace of your camera over your head and place it and the device that can make or break your career on her desk. "Nope," you say. "I'm not doing it."

"You will," Gaeul says. "Nobody else will do it."

"Can't you get Jiwon to show up there?" It's worth a try, right?

"Like I said, no chance. Rei's with her on vacation. And Yunjin is out of the question."

"God fucking dammit." 

Looks like this day can actually get worse. First, you miss the taxi going to the studio, ending up being about an hour late to your meeting. And then the nervous intern almost spilled coffee all over your camera. Luckily, the scalding liquid only ended up mostly on your pressed shirt. It's like the day is toying with your feelings, trying to see how far you can get without breaking down.

Your eye twitches. The day might see your breaking point after all. 

"Gaeul," you say, "I'm a photojournalist, not a fucking Seattle professional."

"And so are a quarter of the people who go to the fashion week," she counters. Gaeul exhales through her nostrils, then leans forward on her desk, hands folded. "All you have to do is stand in for Chaewon and take the photos for each model. Don't worry about the caption."

"How'll I know what they're wearing?" 

"I can do that for you. I'm quite the fashion enthusiast, if I do say so myself."

You don't see the sense in it, like, at all. "Then why don't you go take the photos?"

"Because I don't want to, newbie," replies Gaeul simply. She swings her legs over the table and places her palms behind her neck. "You can sit here all day whining about I'm-a-photojourn-this and I-can't-do-it-that, but you're still going to go through." 

Gaeul's a rather straightforward girl, yet she can still make her blunt words sound frightening. You have to show that you can hold your own, too, and that you're not going to back up. Ever.

"And why do you think I'll give in so easily?" you challenge. 

She smiles. "Because An Yujin's going to be there, and unless you live under a fucking rock, you'd know she's the main attraction."

-

You aren't dumb. Of course you know her. It’s impossible not to know of her when the magazines all scream her name and the camera flashes crave her presence. It’s hard to navigate life without at least seeing a Yujin standee for one of the brands she sponsors or her face on soju labels. She’s become a household name that, even if you somehow wished it to be the other way, she's become an inescapable force in every Korean’s life. That’s just how it works. It’s been like that for as long as you remember.

She rose up in the industry at a young age. Being her age, you can remember the buzz she creates among your classmates, from head-over-heels, hopeless romantic boys and adoring girls (and a few girls who'd die to be able to touch her, too.) She's on their phone wallpapers, in another cutesie pose, and on the photocards in the back of clear cases. She's here, she's there, she's everything everywhere. 

You're familiar with her, but nothing about her except the usual: she's a model, she's an idol, she's a—

Ah, how should it go?

The girl beside you at the event, who's rather tall and if circumstances were different should be on the runway herself, tells you it goes like this: "She's an international free-use backstabbing slut."

Well, you didn't expect Kazuha to say that so easily (she told you her name earlier just so you had something to call her during the mandatory small talk),  but you know what she's talking about. However, you have no right to say Yujin's a slut when you're dressed… well, dressed like this. Your whole outfit is an embarrassing array of rainbow colors. Even your tie's pulled into passiveness by the colorful dress code. If this is what those high fashion enthusiasts call "fashion," you're glad you're not a part of them. You'll be glad to keep shopping at your local thrift store. 

Hence, "I wouldn't put it that way," you say.

Kazuha smirks. "How would you say it?" she asks. 

Why is she so interested in what you think about her? You suspect Kazuha's one of those girls who's rather jealous of the stick-figure models strutting the runway but would deny it with all her soul. Maybe that's it. She's jealous that she sits there in the audience while perfection after perfection makes themselves known to the public. 

"She's…" You snap a pic of another eighty-pound model walking down the runway. "Uh, promiscuous. That's all."

Kazuha grins. She purses her lips and writes down on her notepad, probably intending to use your statement as a headline pun. "Maybe we should switch jobs," she says. "You can be the devil's advocate journalist, and I can be the white knight photographer." 

Exhale loudly. For fuck's sake, you want to tell her, I'm only here to do the job I didn't want in the first place. Why has she chosen you to play with to fulfill her boredom? Whatever game she's set, you're not joining. 

"Look, what is it about Yujin that you hate?" you ask. 

"She fucked Jang Wonyoung, those MCs she used to partner up with, that actress from the period drama who was on Produce, too… everybody."

"Okay." You look at her pointedly. "Source?" 

Kazuha gestures a rude index to the runway. "Look at her. Look at her and tell me she isn't a slut. I dare you."

You look up from the lens of your camera for once, and as much as you'd like to come to Yujin’s defense, seeing as there’s no evidence to all those allegations and being a public figure with all the criticism must be the deepest ring of hell, you see what Kazuha means. 

You hate to say it, and you’d love to pass no judgment, but the prodding journalist is right. Yujin isn't skin and bones like the other models, nor does she wear light makeup. However, her confident gaze that not once settles on the floor immediately makes you think, wow, now that is a model. She only looks forward, stepping onto the smooth floor in heels that make her much taller than she already is. Her eyes are lined with this sharp, blaring dark that makes her brown contacts stand out and makes her look like a black cat. So much for Jiwon’s nickname.

But that isn’t all. It’s far from done, because it’s not Yujin’s arrogant smile that drips of sultriness that confirms Kazuha's allegations for you, nor is it her makeup. It’s what she’s wearing. Her chest nearly spills out of the oddly-cut neckline of her blouse, and it’s see-through, meaning that even if her busty figure is in some way contained by the clothing, you can still see everything. For example, her tummy lined with her abs and a small tattoo (barely noticeable, but enough to cause a few tabloids to freak out); her wide hips, and of course; the bare flesh of her breasts. The fabric tape does nothing to hide them when her brown nipples beg to be seen through the fabric. Each bounce coerced by her confident strut is out there for all to see, and so are the jiggles of her full thighs. 

Which part of everything do you have to immortalize in a photograph? You don’t know. You just keep taking pictures. There’s plenty enough to create a video of her walk without actually having to record one. 

Seeing your dropped jaw, Kazuha grins satisfactorily. “Told you,” she says.

You aren’t done looking, though. As the press and audience scream her name, (they all know her name—she’s bagged so many brand deals, shot more than enough magazine covers, and performed songs you couldn’t count on two hands just so that any type of audience can recognize her), Yujin steps up to the end of the catwalk. She smiles at all the attention, setting a hand on her waist before blowing several kisses to the audience. 

And, of course, she finishes off her umpteenth walk with another scandal:

Shredding her blouse into pieces. Yujin rips it clean from the seams, letting the lost dangle of fabric finally reveal the whole of her chest. Her skimpy shorts are the only thing remaining complete on herself. 

The viewers gasp, and you do, too. But you're hypocrites, the lot of you, for you remain interested in scanning every bit of her enviable body. Secretly, you all know that some part of you were looking there even before her blouse ripped.

You haven’t seen a model do that before, but then again, she’s not just a model. She’s plenty of things: a singer, an idol, an ambassador—

A slut. A full-on, shameless, lives-up-to-her-name slut.

-

“So.”

“So,” you say, resentfully. Your camera’s in your bag, and Gaeul is on the phone with you. You’re proceeding out of the vicinity like everybody else. It's eight p.m.; someone’s bound to be hungry at this hour, and that someone is you.

You can hear the giggle in her voice as she asks you, “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” you say, flabbergasted. Zip up your satchel bag and walk through the rain. “Gaeul, the girl just ripped her shirt off in front of everyone! This isn’t what I signed up for!”

What should you get tonight? Minute Burger? Maybe McDonald’s or some sushi? You’d take anything—you’re pretty hungry after the long show. If this is how hunger hits after shows, you’re glad you don’t have to go through the whole fashion week. By Saturday, you’d be as dead as everyone was after the stunt Yujin pulled.

“I thought you knew about her, newbie,” replies Gaeul. She’s clearly poking fun at your reaction. What’s also clear is the obvious fact that she picked you out for this job just to see how you’d handle it. Would you go crazy? Treat Yujin as a Victorian man who’d just seen a lady’s ankles would? Oh, she’d love to find out.

“I didn’t know she was…"

"Yeah?"

"B-bold.”

“Oh, please be normal about it. You’re a photojournalist. You handled the dead guy who was stabbed alright, but a woman showing her tits is where you cross the line?”

“It’s not that,” you say tiredly. Your stomach is really growling now. “I guess… I think…”

"Hey."

Your phone drops to the wet cement road. Like a haunting phantom, Yujin appears out of nowhere. It's like she suddenly materialized from the fog of the storm.

You don't know where to look. Yujin's still dressed, (somewhat), in her ruined blouse. The thing is even more transparent as the rain beats down on it. Still, she looks perfect. She is perfect. You know that without having to be a fan of her. 

The light from a camera hidden in a beaten bush makes you flinch. If the crouched man in black taking photos of Yujin isn't there, you'd have accepted your fate to get struck by lightning. Yujin raises her eyebrows questioningly, and you're forced to compose yourself once more.

"Uh, hi," you stammer. Bend down to pick your sodden phone up. Darn it, it's dead. How will you contact Gaeul now?

"You're one of the photographers, right?" asks Yujin. Unlike you, she doesn't care that your phone has met its end, or mind that her boobs are out in the open. 

You mutter something of agreement, but you're still tinkering with your phone. The battery's probably broken, which's a pity when your late mother gifted it to you on the last birthday you had together.

"Damn, must be nice to snap photos of a half-naked chick, huh? You liked seeing me up there?" 

That makes you stop fiddling with your destroyed gadget. "I," you say, cornered into confession but still trying to gather a burst of energy to escape, "I'm not—"

"An Yujin," she says, as if the whole world doesn't scream her name. As if she were just another girl out there who's a little too friendly. She doesn't offer her hand; she grasps yours and shakes it firmly. 

You have no other choice but to be acquainted with her there and then. You tell her your name, albeit nervously, as you slip your phone into your pocket. What is she planning? Why is she out here with you? 

Yujin grins. "Nice to meet you. Want to come to a party at my house? Starts when we get there."

Now you understand what she's planning. What else would you expect from her?

First things first, though: where should you look? Her chest is a dangerous option. To look or not to look? That is the question—you choose the second option. Note the dim stars in the foggy sky. Look down at the road blotted with raindrops. Remark inwardly about the state of your shoes and how they're too expensive to be dragged through a weather like this.

Second, should you go? Gaeul would be looking for you. She'd want the pics immediately so she could put them in the magazine and on your company blog site. But you haven't had fun in years, and for a girl with the wealth and status of Yujin, it might be a new beginning.

Work, however, comes first.

"I'm sorry," you tell her. You really are. Yujin seems like a fun girl outside of her wildness. "I don't think I—"

"Great! Come on, I'll drive you!" 

That's how you end up in a limousine for the first time in your life and learn that An Yujin doesn't take no for an answer. 

The seats are dark and soft, and there's two long aisles of it for thirty pax max to occupy. However, despite the spaciousness, Yujin still chooses to sit snugly beside you. Should you feel flattered? Intimidated? You struggle to choose for this question.

You wonder where you're headed. The infamous Jang Hills where celebrities like singer Son Seungwan and model and humanitarian Jang Wonyoung, who owns the place, reside? The rain is too strong for you to be able to see where the vehicle's headed, but you suspect that's the destination. There's no other. 

"So," says Yujin. She's still sitting comfortably beside you. Her smile dimples her cheeks, and it just doesn't match the boldness of her ripped blouse. When she wears that smile, she looks like a girl who's too cheerful and innocent to be… the way she is. "Would I have to pay you to see my photos?"

"For god's sake, Miss An, put on some clothes before you scare the guy," chuckles the driver, shaking his head. He's a tall, dark man with the typical shades and a rosary on his rearview mirror. You wonder if he prays for Yujin sometimes. 

"But that's no fun," she says, the pout on her face growing wider when her driver tosses her a black fur coat (that still reminds you of her when you note how the chest part is gone) and sleeveless innerwear. Seems like he keeps clothes in his car for situations like these. "Clothes are so big and boring, you know. Totally outdated.

"Anyway, about the photos…?" 

"Oh, you don't have to pay," you tell her. But you know that money isn't a problem with Yujin—she can buy you and your whole life if she chose to. 

"Gimme then." She makes grabby hands, and your camera eventually ends up in them. Her eyes sparkle with narcissistic adoration. "Oh damn, I look hot. Delete this, though. Bad angle."

"I– okay." 

"My tits look amazing, don't you think? Come on, say my tits look fantastic."

"Ms. An," says the driver firmly, albeit his tone holds some of the amusement in it still. "Put on some clothes."

Yujin rolls her eyes, but she does. And you watch as she strips, painfully slow. She pulls the soaked blouse above her wet body, showing her bare, beautiful arms and pits. Even her soft midriff is perfect. And, try as you may (must),  you can't stop looking. Several snaps and pinches would be too weak to pull you back into reality, because there's the goddess that she is to look at. You figure out now why your former classmates were and still are obsessed with her. She may be a wild little thing, but she's got an amazing body, an amazing fashion sense. Everything about her, even her boldness, is enviable. Desirable. Unreachable.

The clothes mold to her beautiful shape. The damp, slightly messy hair only adds to her beauty. You can feel yourself getting warm. 

"We're here," says Yujin cheerfully, oblivious to the way your eyes are raking down her perfect body. "Here's your camera. Wouldn't want it to break like your phone. Pity."

Getting up to open the car door isn't part of a wealthy girl's everyday life. Yujin isn’t an exception—she has her driver to do that plus assist her out of the limo, and when he does, you're welcomed into a whole new world.

The rain has halted. Signs of its earlier presence, however, can be seen on the drops on the maze of bushes. There's statues of Eros, gray and mighty with his strong arms and arrows, perched on pedestals to the entrance of the mansion. Through the gate, you catch sight of a large pool, where heiresses and friends of Yujin laugh and swim. It's no land for lowlives. You are the exception, somehow. 

"This… this is your house?" 

"Yep!” She nods positively. “Daddy gave it to me after he died from a heart attack."

"My condolences," you say. As the guards open the gate to Yujin's mansion, you admire the place. It looks like a temple for cupids. Perhaps it’s Yujin they’re worshiping.  "Did he have heart conditions before that?"

"No." She shakes her head then waves happily to one of her friends at the pool. "He just saw me wearing a bra over my crop top, and he dropped dead."

You snort. Yujin looks at you weirdly. That's how you realize she isn't kidding. 

"You're serious?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but forgets it. It's a long story that doesn't need more sequels. 

-

Just the second drink of the night and you’ve met more celebrities than an average person would see personally in their whole life. As the dazzling disco ball shimmers rainbow colors all over the place, you catch sight of more than plenty of pretty and handsome faces. Over there is Jang Wonyoung, one of the models who walked earlier, and Miyawaki Sakura, a famous CEO of more beauty lines than you can count on ten fingers. Whether their beauties are handcrafted or God-given, they all have something in common: they’re all A-listers—they’re relevant, popular, used to this wild lifestyle. Camera flashes have trained them not to flinch at the gliding lights. This is an everyday routine in their book.

However, you’re used to being behind the camera, not in front of it. You’re overstimulated by the sea of laughing, moving bodies and the loud music. While Yujin happily screams and downs several shots, you stand idly beside her, dizzy and tired. 

“I don’t think I can handle more.”

“Past your bedtime?” asks Yujin, grinning. She waves at Wonyoung and points at you, mouthing something to her, to which the model winks in response. You wonder what kind of exchange the two models had that granted an unusually smug look on Wonyoung’s face. You’re certain it’s about you, but you don’t know what it’s about. You’re not even sure if you want to discover it.

“It’s not that,” you say embarrassedly. “I’m… I’m not a party person. I get lightheaded easily.”

“Wanna take a break? Go to my room?”

Now that’s a red flag. It doesn't even try to hide its true color; it waves proudly in front of you. You’re the bull who went straight for it. 

Yujin’s bedroom is the size of your living room, with a large bed to match. Curtained pillars stand on each end while posters hang off the walls. You suppose that the people on them are the ones Yujin looks up to: IU, known as Lee Jieun whenever she ventures out of singing and into acting; Marilyn Monroe (no explanation needed), and a few other nameless models and actresses. A lot are old posters of seventies’ pornographic films. Lights frame the mirror on the dresser table. 

“You’re a privileged girl, miss An,” you say. It’s the only way you can respectfully say that she’s kind of a spoiled brat. But maybe that’s your jealousy talking.

“I know, right?” replies Yujin, twirling around. “And please, call me Yujin. You can sit on the bed if you want to.”

Your mind toys with the idea of the posters on her wall debating if you’re the hundredth person to have come over or the thousandth. Nevertheless, you want to stay neutral; it’s none of your business anyway. So you take a seat on the edge of the softest mattress you’ve ever felt while Yujin does so, too. She kicks her boots off on the carpeted floor. 

“Hey,” says Yujin, “want to play a game before you doze off?”

Just how many red flags does this girl have? “Er, sure.” You shrug. Maybe it’s just a game, nothing more, like she said. 

“Since we barely know each other, let’s take turns asking each other questions. Dibs on the first question.

“I haven’t seen you in shows before. How did you end up there?”

A safe start. “One of my coworkers was sick,” you explain. “I had to fill in for her. My turn.”

“Hit me.”

“Did you take modeling classes?”

Yujin laughs as if it was the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “God, no,” she says. “Classes and workshops are scams. All I had to do was ask my daddy to ask for a spot for me.”

“Must be nice.”

“Right? Did you take classes for photography?”

“I took one of the scams, yeah,” you say, earning a giggle from Yujin. “I’m a journalist first. It’s all I know.”

Meaningful silence fills the air. You remain hooked on your sentence, realizing how true it is. Photojournalism is the only thing you’re good at. It’s sheltered you and brought you so many opportunities at the same time. You don’t know how to find other hobbies to make your forte when you’re stuck in its bubble, and its bubble only. Without your camera, you’re nothing. Without people like Yujin to take photos of, you’re nothing, too. 

You suppose you should break the heavy silence. But you’re unsure if your question should be asked; it might trigger a violent response from her, although she’s been nothing but laid-back with you. And you don’t particularly want a rich girl to ruin your career. You’ve gone so far that the only direction to look at is forward.

But you must learn to take risks.

"Is it true? What they say about you?" 

You're nervous, fidgeting  in the king-sized bed with your arm leaning against the mattress. It feels odd to be in a rich and attractive girl's place without being naked. Not that it's something you've experienced before anyway, but it's like breaking an unspoken law everyone but you was oriented to. But you have your manners, and so does she. Supposedly.

She's still beside you, her expensive clothes hiding not her shapely form. And to think it looks beautiful without the need for oil painting all around it or nakedness. That pretty smile, that also intimidates you a little, is the cherry on top of the cake that is An Yujin.

Speaking of, there's one right now between her lips. She's toying with its strand of a twig, tracing the cherry she got from the bowl beside her bed along the pink hills of her luscious mouth.

"After everything I did," Yujin says, "what do you think?" 

"I don't really…" Struggle to find your words. "I, I don't really dwell on—"

"If I'm a slut or not?" Yujin finishes for you, smiling teasingly. 

This conversation's a mistake, now that she's using words about a subject you tried to tread on lightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I'm sorry."

"No offense taken. I get it."

Yujin lifts herself off her comfortable lounge position on her bed and instead sits on the backsides of her legs. Her hands are on your lap rather than her own. Should've been a sign for you that this is going nowhere but in a downward spiral. 

"You want to know if the rumors are true? If nepo model An Yujin's really a slut, like they all say?"

"Uh… sure?" 

Yujin gestures her chin to your crotch. "Whip out your dick. Then you'll see."

You’re flustered. Did Yujin—this tall, alluring model that’s got her whole life ahead of her yet nothing to lose, this irritatingly attractive Yujin—really say that to you? Or was it something lost in the swarms of shouts and music from outside of the room? Maybe you’ve misheard. Maybe you’ll keep playing safe tonight. 

But those are just mere maybes with no connection at all to what’s about to happen.

“Can’t do it yourself, pretty boy? Let me help you.”

Yujin lifts your satchel bag from your shoulders. You find yourself raising your arms to help her. It’s like the what and tension in the air have infected you and made you into this heated, lustful character far from the real you, because if this were truly your own self, you’d say you had a career. You’d say this shouldn’t be happening. You’d leave the room instead of helping her unbuckle your belt. You’d do anything but this.

Perhaps she’s changed you.

Yujin slips a tongue along the path of her luscious lips at the sight of your bare thighs and cock. “Our friend here,” she says, “needs a little help from me, no?”

“Yujin…” you moan, and it’s humiliating, especially when barely anything sexual has happened yet. At least, anything sexually physical. 

Luckily for you, she curls her fist around your dick and gives justification to your breathy sounds. Maybe the rumors about how she likes to get around are true; Yujin knows how to work her way with a cock. Her warm fingers jerk your flesh at just the right timing, letting the hardness build up before doing that too with the pace. She’s looking at you with this wild desire in her eyes that grows bigger when your erection does, too. Oh, and that smile—if looks could kill, An Yujin would already be arrested for your murder.

“Now that’s not so bad, is it?” she remarks. She spits on your cock. Her wet saliva coats your length with just enough to let her smooth palm slide along itself pleasurably. “You like this? Just wait until you feel my pussy. Or maybe my lips would do first? The higher ones, I mean.” 

Yujin’s lips descend onto your shaft, welcoming it into an impossibly soft and wet heaven. Yujin’s little tongue flicks at your base gently, even daring to lick at a little part of your balls before working their way up. It deliciously slides upwards at your veins.

“Fuck, Yujin. Your mouth—fuck, it feels so good.”

“Mmm.” Yujin engages in an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss with your tip. “I know. I’d fuck me, too, if I could, but I have you to do that.”

“Right,” you say breathily, because she is. If she’s sucking your cock this well and her cheek’s painfully stimulating as your cockhead brushes it, how much better would her pussy be? You’re definitely fucking her, even if your experience in this is zero. Yes, that’s also right: you’re a virgin. Zero experience, no bitches.

But, if it means anything, it’s the other way around. It’s Yujin making you her bitch. She may be serving you with the lips and kisses of a good girl, but her eyes tell you that there’s more to it than you think. You’re hers, see, for this night, and that’s all you ever will be. You’re no photojournalist anymore—you’re Yujin’s one night stand, and that’s the only achievement people will ever remember to your name.

“These’re so fucking full,” murmurs Yujin as she admires your heavy balls. Sucking on them lightly before smiling up at you, she adds, “Make sure to blow all of it in my face, ‘kay? Promise me.”

“Think you can handle it, Yujin?” you ask, and it’s another embarrassing moment you’ll relive forever, for your cockiness will never get on the level she has. Your voice shakes too hard and your cock drips too much—it’s clear who owns who at this point.

“I’m a big girl.” Unfazed, she smiles. “I can handle myself.”

“Y-you sure?”

“Oh, don’t play hard to get it, baby,” Yujin coos. She pleases you with one hand and glides her fingers on your thigh with the other. It’s deadly. She’s deadly. “Let your guard down. It’s just me.”

“And you’ve said that to how many people?” you shoot back.

“More than you’re worth,” she quips. She winks at you. “Now cum for me.”

Ouch, but it doesn’t matter when her lips provide a great suction to cool the burn. It’s making your cock feel the heat instead, forming the tightness in your stomach more. Her hands massaging your thighs causes your sensitivity to reach an all-time high. Yujin’s covered your shaft in such an amountful that just one lick sends your toes curling. She licks, she sucks, she laps at your weak spots and delights in the upward push of your hips, but her hands keep your legs down. Can’t have her meal escaping. She wants all of your cum, and when Yujin wants (no, needs) something, she gets it. It’s how she’s navigated life, having everything her heart could ever want brought to her by whim. But if she has to work for your cum, then so be it. Either-which-way, she’s not giving up until she gets it.

She kisses your cock deeply, almost making your lips jealous. She sucks on each sensitive side and your dripping tip. What takes the cake, though, is how she downs the whole thing so suddenly, slipping itself inside her tight throat and letting you fuck it. Gasps can’t be contained by your pursed lips, and their cycle of repetition continues because of her. Because of Yujin, Yujin and her stupidly desirable mouth.

“Fuck,” you whine. When she hears that, she pulls away. Like rain, drops of semen make slick landings on her face. You keep expelling several shots of the thing she so desperately wants, and you realize that, even with your own pleasure being fulfilled, you’re still serving Yujin. You’re still giving her what she wants: your cum on her face. The fact that she’s playing with you remains stoic.

“Ah, this is the best.” Yujin licks her cumstained lips. “I could have swallowed it all like I did with these cherries here, but I can’t let it spoil the main course.”

“W-which is?” you inquire, still panting. Can you handle more? 

You find out through Yujin taking off her black vest. Then, she slips out of her jean skirt. It hugs her lower figure so nicely that it nearly makes you mourn their departure, but you find a better thing to gawk at, and it’s Yujin’s ass and thighs. She may have dressed earlier, but the panties were off. She cares not for modesty, even outside of the modeling industry.  It’s just not who she is. 

For that, you’re glad. If Yujin were modest, you wouldn’t have had the chance to see her fat ass and shaven pussy up close. You wouldn’t get to see her sway her hips side to side, letting you see from behind how her ass ripples and bounces, or let you peer at her dripping thighs. 

"You're weaker than all the others," Yujin notes. "I like it."

Should you be offended? Probably, but you aren't, because there's her approval. There's her saying that she likes how easily you break. There's her on the bed with her pussy spread by her fingers, revealing her tiny hole and needy clit.

There's a lot to look at is what you're saying, and a lot to take in consideration. For example—

"Ohhhh, fuck," moans Yujin. She rubs her core and gets a feel of how wet she is. "I'm so wet, see? I'm so, fuck, wet from blowing you."

Yujin leans against one of the pillars of her bed. What makes the sight of her masturbating hotter is that she's still covered in the face with cum that soon drips down her neck and onto her collarbone. She looks like she's been used incessantly, to the point where no amount of cock or finger can help her reach a good enough high. Although you're still sensitive, you begin to jack yourself off to her.

"Shit. Ohhh." Her head tosses backwards and she shuts her eyes. "This feels so good. Make me feel even better. Use your mouth."

It's all about what she wants, but you find out that you also want to put your mouth on her. Stop jerking off to kneel on the floor and place your hands on her thick thighs. You have no idea how to do this except from porn, but she moans loudly when you flick your tongue upwards, so you must be doing well.

Yujin's so wet that she dribbles on her expensive sheets. The feminine scent of her drives you crazy. Due to that, you pick up the pace of eating Yujin out. She's delicious. Better than any expensive meal you got going out. 

"Oh, fuck," mewls Yujin. She grinds her clit down on the flat of your tongue. "That's it. Eat me out like that."

Next, guide your tongue to her slit, catching the juices she has. Push it inside, make her thighs suddenly clamp around your head. Painful, but worth it, because as useful as her makeshift earmuffs are, you can still make out her heavy moans.

“G-good, god, so good. Don’t you stop, don’t you fucking stop.” 

“I won’t.”

The force of your mouth holds nothing back as it holds Yujin’s nub captive. She pulses in your mouth, and you can sense that she’s close because she’s screaming. She's squirming, she's writhing, she's—

“Stop.”

“But I, I thought you said—” You were having such a good time, too. Why did she have to ruin it?

Yujin giggles. “I wanted to cum on your cock,” she confesses. Sweat rolls down the sides of her face. “Let me?”

She’s subtly assertive like that, asking you first before making you do it anyway. She’s so used to getting her way, so used to letting people bend reality into the form she wants. And you’re becoming one of those people, as you lie down on the bed and let her mount you. You don’t suppose anyone would refuse either—her splayed lips rubbing your tip seems like a good thing to have in exchange for being under her ownership.

“Fuck,” you curse. Maybe this is better, in hindsight. Her hole grasps for you, but she teases it by only letting her clit glide along your cock. “Miss An, ah, Yujin, you’re so—”

“Pretty? Successful? Tight?” She sinks down on your dick with a smirk that differs from your weakened look of bliss. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

They’re all perfect adjectives to describe her, but you weigh in the most on the last. Her soaked slit swallows you without time to properly take it in. She just keeps bouncing on you, a millisecond going unspared, as if she’d die if your cock weren’t ramming in her all times of the day. By her desperate moans, you think you’re right. They’re heavy, hanging onto your mind for too long that it just makes you throb harder inside. 

You reach up to grab her tits. The bra-like innerwear she dons blocks you from experiencing the whole of it, and Yujin takes that into consideration, through which she pulls it up her arms and off herself. Her bust now moves up and down freely, looped in your mind like a constant reminder of how lucky you are to have Yujin fuck you. She may get around a lot, but whoever she fucks is like her: a hell of a catch.

 You lift yourself up to suck on their brown nipples. She moans ferally. Her pushing your head deeper into her tits is how you realize you’ve wanted to do this, to suck and play and slap her chest, ever since you saw them be set free on the runway. It’s funny how two mounds of flesh can hypnotize you just like that. You’re trying to defeat the impulse actions they convince you to do, as if they were spiritual entities on your shoulder each to twist your decisions. But both are devils—even from their source, it’s clear that An Yujin is no angel.

“Yes, so good!” she screams. Her eyes are shut as she rides you with an impulse and speed that surely can’t be human. The pleasure she unleashes onto your cock as her pussy clings and gropes it must be the embodiment of the deadly sin of lust itself. It was written before in holy books, preached as a warning in churches. There’s no explanation for how angrily she impales herself with your cock. “Your cock’s too fucking big, I’m going to cum all over it!”

You spank her ass, and the plentiful skin wiggles right back into your hand. Seeing her face twist up into this pained yet blissful reaction inspires you to continue. That and your cock entering and exiting her hole, plus your kisses following the path of her neck makes Yujin go crazy. 

“Fuck me!” She’s fully unhinged when she cums. Her short yet sharp, alliterate downward thrusts of her core leaves red on your thighs. She’s kissing you with this hunger that’s been fulfilled, in a way, but with which comes gluttony. She can’t have enough. She can’t have enough of your dick. It starts to scare you how she’s like the girls your pastor warned you about in Sunday school—she’s a gluttonous nymphomaniac greedy for things that aren’t good for her. Aren’t good for you.

Having sex with An Yujin makes you debate if you should go back to your religious roots and pray again. You’ve heard about the devil hiding behind human faces, and she completely fits the criteria: charming, deceiving, gorgeous beyond human comprehension. However, her divine body also can be something holy. It’s something that’s more than worth worshiping.

Which is which: evil or good? Angel or demon? A goddess who descended to earth or something far, far more dangerous? 

Whichever, you just busted a load inside exactly that. 

-

“So.”

“Hm?”

“Come on, tell me,” you say. Yujin’s teasing banter piques your curiosity to higher levels. “Did you really fuck all those people, or is it just,” shrug, as if you couldn’t care less when you do, “you know, hearsay?”

Yujin strokes your chest thoughtfully. The aftermath of the rough sex has left her almost invalid, but after a shower, she’s good to go. You followed suit after.

“The devil’s telephone,” she whispers.

“Huh?”

“Here. You know where to call me.”

[shunshunrika]

How about showering with megumi fushiguro? It was all innocent but then your thoughts won't keep the innocence anymore and ykykykyk.......

hello hello. Foremost, you are my very first ask! Cheers! Here's a star for you: ⭐

Now coming to megumi-chan~

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

warnings: smut, groping, nudity, cursing

characters: Megumi Fushiguro (Jujutsu Kaisen)

minors do NOT interact

⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧

you were a sworn hot-shower person and you were willing to die on that hill. Maybe scalding hot water wasn't a good choice for your skin and hair but you liked it that way. Lately though, you had been switching more to lukewarm or colder water. Why? Because Megumi blockhead Fushiguro would walk into the shower with you and increase the environmental temperature anyway! "It's faster. I've to get to work early. Hope you don't mind Y/N." was Megumi's matter-of-fact response when all of this first started. Now, it wasn't unusual for you to get lost in the suds, dancing along to the song playing in your head while Megumi snakes into the glass cubicle and squeezes your soapy waist.

Focus. Shower. This isn't the place to let your thoughts run stray.

You would bite your lips and continue scrubbing yourself as Megumi pooled shampoo into his palms and rubbed them together. His busy hands weren't doing a great job of hiding his decadent looking abs and semi-hard boner though. The drops of water from the shower trickled down his body, running in the creases formed by his muscles. His lashes dripped with crystalline water, making his green eyes pop and look ethereal.

"Help me, will you?" he says innocently, lowering his hand and bending his knees a bit so that you can reach his sud covered hair. You gulp as you hesitantly run your fingers through his sleek dark locks that usually stick out like an urchin.

"A little more thoroughly, please." He says, holding onto your forearms when he feels his feet slip a little on the slippery shower tiles. The increase in your rinsing force makes him lose his balance again anyway and awkwardly enough, he lands face first into your ample chest.

"M-megumi, are you alright?" you ask, concerned.

"Ah fuck. I was specifically trying to avoid something like this." you hear him mutter, his ears turning red as he doesn't quite distance himself from your chest, his grip on your arms only getting tighter. He then proceeds to latch on to one of your nipples earning a gasp from you.

"This will do. I don't want to do anything else here, it might not be safe. Don't mind me y/n" he says guiltily, removing his right hand off you and proceeding to stroke his hard on.

Don't mind, he says. Creating the perfect set up for something exactly like this to happen and then he says 'Don't mind'. What a cunning fellow. You continue soaping his hair although probably his hair was clean by now but you need something to keep you distracted while Megumi literally chewed on your nipple, making loud suckling noises like a baby while his fist pumped his cock. He lets go of your arm and presses you against the wall of the shower, his breath and heartbeat picking up pace and he mushes his face into the softness of your breast. He wastes no time moving from your chest up to your lips and enveloping you in a kiss that makes your head spin. He sucks on your lips as his climax chases him.

"Y- y/n. Ah, Ahhh shit!" he grits his teeth as spurts out his creamy sap onto your thighs. "Goddamnit, y/n."

"Well don't damn god or me, you silly thing." you say, looking at the milky art on your thighs, being diluted by the drops of water falling from overhead.

"I'll pay you back for this, tonight, in our comfy bed." he says, kissing your cheeks, preparing to leave. "Thanks sweetheart!"

you shake your head, turning off the shower. "And that's what he says everyday."

[channieskies]

Chapter I: The Nameless Prince

Pairing: Prince Hyunjin x Reader (AFAB)

Genre: Historical|Au, Fantasy|Au, Strangers to Lovers, Royalty|Au, Angst, Smut, NSFW tags are under the cut.

Synopsis: The kingdom of Volantis is in disarray; the monarch rules with an iron fist. The times of hope, harmony, and kindness were buried with the queen who passed many years ago. The people are praying for a savior, but who will be their light at the end of this dark tunnel?

Authors Note: Please reblog or leave a like or comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites.

Word Count: 1705

Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction.

Story Index

Warnings⚠️: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites. Mentions of Death, Abuse, Child Abuse and neglect (please let me know if I missed any)

Loathing. No- maybe it was pure hatred that his father felt for him. Every little glance he took towards the child would cause his feelings to bubble up once more, like a cauldron filled with  scalding hot acid. All the hardened man could see when he gazed upon his child was the face of his wife. The woman he loved with all his heart, the one woman that made him a better person; a better king. The one woman that he held, lifeless and limp in his arms after bringing another life into the world. The light gone from her eyes, the warmth gone from her skin as the screams of the prince filled the royal birthing chambers. 

Aeri; the only woman he would ever truly love. The only light he had in his life, snuffed out with the birth of his son. He tried his best to love and care for the child whose life meant the end of his beloved. The older the boy grew, the more his face looked like his mothers. The more her reasonings and sensibilities started to come out of the boy who never got a chance to meet her, to know her. Every year marked a year away from his love, and another reason for hate to fester in the absence of it. 

Until one day, he just couldn’t stand the sight of him at all. Repugnance was all that was left. Banishing him to the far towers of the north was all that the king could do, outside of eliminating the bane of his existence with his very own hands. Leaving the child to learn to fend for himself, to grow up in the tower alone, with no one to care for him. Character. That's what his father told him to build as he slammed the carriage shut, shooing the boy and his lone servant away. Far, far away. 

Hyunjin never quite understood his father. He couldn't understand why the man treated him so cruelly. Why the other princes from different lands just seemed to be raised in complete contrast to him. A male heir was what all kings desired to have. So why was it that his father didn't seem to care for him at all, using every excuse in the book to shoo him away? He often pondered on this as he looked upon the sprawling hills outside of his northern tower. How glad he was that it was finally spring. Not that he could experience any of it. Eleven years he'd been locked away here, in this lonely tower. 

He figured the kingdom as well as the king had long forgotten that there was a prince. That there was a legitimate heir to the throne, a son born to the king and queen. Truthfully, if not for Venia, his maid- well, his only family at this point, he would have forgotten this fact as well. She would often make the months-long trip back to the King’s land to procure supplies for a few months. Bringing back more than just rations and paint supplies, but town gossip as well. The King had remarried, and welcomed five daughters in the eleven years, with one on the way, all in the absence of his only male child. 

Though his father was trying hard to produce a male heir with his new spouse, it was all for naught. Nothing seemed to work. No spell, no potion, no wish would aid in their trials. For every child they bore together, would be a girl. But the hatred he had in his heart for his son, prevented him from summoning the boy, even when sickness befell him during winter. Snow had blanketed the island of Arcta, where the Prince and his maid resided. This snowfall was unlike any other the boy had seen over his ten years moored on this island. 

Winds so strong it felt as if the tower swayed softly like one would to music. There was no life to be seen for miles, just a deserted tundra. Lifeless. Much like how he felt in the winter months. But thankfully, it was spring. He hadn't received word of how his father was doing since the late months of winter. A courier was sent to the isle to inform them of his sickness. One that braved the harsh winter and long journey to give word. 

Despite his father's loathsome attitude towards him, Hyunjin still wished him well. For the sake of the sisters he'd never had the chance to meet, he wanted their father to survive. To raise his daughters up, with love, kindness, and a protective heart. He hoped that their mother did the same. If only he could meet them, his family; maybe things would be different now. He pushed the thoughts of his father to the back of his head. Not all families were biological, he learned that some time ago. Sometimes you choose your family.

Venia was his chosen family. The woman who gave up everything to raise him, just because she didn't want him to grow up alone. To grow with resentment towards the world, his father, his people. Venia had been his mothers ladies maid since she was a teenager. Despite her status, she had become close to the queen. Their bond and friendship was so deep that upon the queen's death, Venia made the promise to always take care of the young prince, no matter what.

So when the time came that Hyunjin was shunned, she volunteered to go with the young boy. Stating that he needed care, especially at his age. His father begrudgingly let her leave with the boy, clearly hoping he'd go off to the island and perish there. She tried her best to teach her the things that the queen had taught her. Trying her best to raise the child up in the likeness of his mother, in spite of his father. The queen led with beauty, grace, and a caring and compassionate heart for her subjects.

Venia wanted nothing more than for the boy to have all of his mothers traits and none of his father's. Regardless of how hard she tried, the boy was still his father's child. A few of his father's traits would poke through from time to time; impulsiveness, impatience, the tantrums he'd throw when things would go the pace or the way he wanted them to. Though he'd learned to control the latter for the most part, he was still prone to the others. Like when he painted a mural on the dining hall wall while Venia visited the King's land. Or the time he'd cut all his hair on a whim, just because he “wanted to try something different”.

But, temperament aside, Hyunjin took to books and art to experience life outside the four walls he was contained in. He especially loved the art and tales from his home kingdom of Volantis. How the white cherry blossoms lined the outer walls of the Bailey. Making it look as if it was snowing petals in the spring. How the fragrance of cherry blossom mixed so well with the sweet scent of freshly baked bread coming from the large bakery in the center of town. The trade district was always lined with beautiful fabrics and exotic spices from distant lands. Then, just a row over live music could be heard from the different eateries that wrapped the block.

He'd experienced plenty through his readings, but that was never enough. It could never be enough, not for him. Not for the boy who'd been locked away in a tower for almost his entire life. He'd love to tour the streets of his home, trying different foods, listening to live music, since he's only heard the humming of songs from Venia. Though sweet, he was sure it was nothing like the real thing. “Where would this be, your highness?” Venia loved to hover, this time it was from curiosity.

Lately, Hyunjin had been dreaming of places he'd never been or seen. Not that it was unusual, being that he'd only been to the inside walls of the castle town and made the trip to this lone isle, that was the extent of his travel history. Everything was new to his eyes. “Feels..like… a home. Warm, inviting, safe. But, I do not have the slightest idea where it's from, though.” 

The painting was of a small castle just outside a grove of apple trees with beautifully ripe red apples, ready to be picked from its boughs. Their branches were filled with apple blossoms, he could tell their scent was just as sweet as the cherry blossoms that filled his land. At least that was how he imagined it.

The sky was painted with swirls of blue and pink, dotted with white clouds that faded into varying shapes and sizes. “Is that a princess I see?” She pointed to one of the windows of the castle, careful not to touch the still drying paint. There was a girl, dressed in all white leaning on the windowsill, the doors to which were wide open. She was drenched in sunlight, basking in it. Total calm was all over her face.

“I suppose.” He never knew just quite where his inspiration came from. He just put to canvas what his mind had in store. Truthfully, he didn't know if this was from a dream or him recounting a story he'd once read. “More than just royalty live in castles, Venia.” She giggled at his response.

“Of course I know that, your highness. But, that young lady seems like a princess to me. If she isn't, then she is of high born blood, like your mother was.” It was such a pity that he would never get a chance to meet the wonderful and beautiful woman that was his mother. A lonely feeling settled in Hyunjin's heart. 

There had always been a void there, one that seemed to ache anytime his mother was mentioned. “Maybe she is the daughter of a nobleman. One that owns the land and the orchard that resides on it.” Hyunjin simply shrugged. Whomever she was, she was probably living a better life than he was.

A.N: Please reblog or leave a like or comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.

[Rewrites, Reposts, and Translations are Prohibited]

[whistling-birds]

A Series of Events

These chapters are part of one larger story. Please enjoy! Let me know if you are interested in more. I just write these for fun, so please be nice! I appreciate feedback, and could always use an extra pair of eyes, so if you find errors that I’ve missed I’d be more than grateful to listen and make changes!

————

STORY OVERVIEW: One day you randomly wake up on a planet with a Mandalorian hunting you even though you swore you were just in your bed, on Earth, the night before. Why are you being hunted? Why are you here? Is this a bigger story or just a series of random events taking place?

CHAPTER OVERVIEW: What is reality? You were just taking a shower, right? You were just taking a shower, RIGHT?

2. Reality

The heavy steam from the shower consumed my lungs as I lathered my body in lavender soap. The sound of the water that hit the tub put me in an induced trance. It sounded like an audience after a muscial.

I attempted to decompress and let the hot water wash my day away, but I had a nagging feeling that I was forgetting something- so my mind continued to replay my day over and over until I figured out that missing link.

“I tended the gardens and called maintenance to fix the oxygen fields…what am I missing?” I asked myself aloud, but even the constant repetition of my day didn’t satisfy that nagging sensation.

I completed all of my tasks today…at least that’s what I thought.

The heat from the scalding water warmed my body up while the steam continued to clog my lungs.

“Oh shit…did I submit my logs?” An electric rush of panic ensued my chest mid wash. I shrugged- such a mundane task to worry over, but it removed the urgency of figuring out what I had forgotten.

As I rinsed myself off under the hot water I imagined all of my worries sliding down the drain. I imagined that each concern disappeared, and I felt lighter and lighter as if weights had been lifted off my shoulders.

The steam filled the tub more and more. At this point I could barely see my hand in front of my face like when you walk outside on a foggy night and barely see the road ahead.

I has e to admit, I love a hot shower. Like boiling, but I could barely breathe at this point. My vision seemed to slow down if that makes sense. My eyes started to blur and black dots started to take over my vision as if I were an old satellite with lost signal. My lungs forgot how to take a breath of fresh air. I struggled to make sense of anything.

Time seemed to slow down, and even with the water off, I had to kneel down on the tiles in order to catch my breath. I quickly lost my balance and needed to lean against the wet wall for support. The coolness of the wall was refreshing, a beacon even, but I clenched my eyes closed and that’s when everything fell down hill.

“GET UP.” A disembodied voice screamed in my ears. It was urgent, deep, and robotic.

“NOW.”

I tried following orders, but I couldn’t open my eyes. I was swallowed in the darkness of my mind after I clenched my eyes shut. Even though I couldn’t see anything I could feel the world spinning around me. Around and around I went with no end and no beginning. My body felt as if it were falling through time. There was no up and no down- just now.

I blinked again and again and again. The feeling of the cool stone slipped through my hands and I was suddenly without my sight and sense of feeling. A heavy ringing commandeered my ears. I was slipping into nothingness.

My heart pounded in my chest as I frightfully imagined being trapped in this state for the rest of my life. It was impossible to inhale a full breath, I couldn’t see, and my hearing was replaced by ringing. I was suffocating with nobody around to help me.

“GET. UP.”

It was all a blur. My movement, my vision, all of it. My hand slid up the bathroom tile as I tried to use my legs for what felt like the first time. I felt like a baby deerling taking its first steps after being pushed into life.

I think I was upright?

I swear the floor stood at a 40 degree angle with every step I attempted to take to find the edge of the shower…but it was nowhere.

As swiftly as I fell into a lethargic state I was quickly pulled out by a gloved hand. I tried blinking once more. This time I actually tried to focus on my surroundings, but instead of the shower, the cold tiles transformed into a metal spaceship. Even the hot water, which I thought came from a shower head, fell from a broken pipe above me.

I wasn’t able to form words. I think I forgot how to speak for a moment. I looked all around and found myself back on the spaceship with the metal knight and green alien.

When did I get here? I had to be dreaming…please.

“We need to move. Now.” The knight demanded. The child sat in his knapsack, on his father’s hip, hidden beneath the ripped cape.

The warriors gloved hand gripped my arm and pulled me off of the floor. He was so strong that his tug almost pulled my arm out of its socket.

I was on the floor?

When did I end up on the floor?

With the ringing in my ears I could hardly hear the rapid beeping that grew from the control panel of the ship. Red lights blinked in response through the sea of smoke that consumed the vessel. A hazy cloud of light and smog easily devoured the small cockpit, and I’m sure, the entirety of the ship.

That’s why it was so damn hard to breathe.

I couldn’t see where the man was dragging me. I could feel the steel flooring slide across my boots, but in the vastness of the smoke, there was no way out. Just endless fumes and beeping.

The tin man knew what to do because in a matter of seconds my surroundings transformed from a metal death trap to a lush forest.

The warriors steps were quick and deliberate. He was so quick I could barely keep up. His hand still gripped my arm tightly and I was basically being dragged, like a rag doll, deeper into the silent forest.

Where were the birds? I couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe I had gone deaf? The ringing still consumed my ears.

Of course, when I finally obtained my bearings, the man threw me behind a tree. The thick base of the tree smacked against my head and my brain rattled against its helmet of a skull.

“Hold the child. Do not move.” He barked as he handed me the satchel.

I held the bag to my chest. No, I squeezed the bag to my chest. I needed something to believe in and that damn bag was going to be it.

My world was still blurry, but this time, time moved MUCH faster. Whoever clicked fast forward needed to hit pause or maybe rewind so I could see where it all went wrong.

Grogu’s little chirping caught my attention. He was my anchor for the time being. I took the deepest breath I had ever taken in my life and absorbed all of the fresh air I could possibly inhale.

But that was a mistake because I basically choked on the oxygen.

Wait.

How was I able to breathe?

My chest burned with every inhale. I almost started to dry heave. My sight was still in shambles, too. All I could see were shapes of strange trees and Grogu’s pointy ears.

I was down bad and it was probably so embarrassing.

“Mando hand us the bounty and nobody gets hurt.” A loud voice demanded.

Mando? What the fuck is a Mando?

But there was no response. Just silence.

The voice continued, “If you want the kid to survive you’ll give us the bounty, Mandalorian.”

I tried to find the source of the voice. It was coming from behind me, but I could hardly move, so I listened carefully.

More silence. Too much silence, actually.

Was there a standoff? How many people were there?

I was going to die. Today was the day.

I held Grogu closer to my body. I kept the leather-like satchel glued to my chest. My chin sat above Grogu’s head to protect him. He was just a baby, after all. Alien or not; a kid is a kid.

“Orders from the Empire. You either hand us the asset or-“

The voice died off after a gunshot erupted. More shots fired one after another, but to my surprise, red bullets flew through the air.

Ahnkyri exiled all weapons due to the Great Divide. Only the Galactic Knights held weapons to protect the planet and its people.

The shots grew louder and more frantic. I was in a sea of gunfire with a child in my arms.

The kid seemed completely aloof. My vision was still blurry, but I could see the green baby in my arms. He was chewing on my necklace.

I hardly noticed that my leg tapped to a rhythm in order to distract the kid or calm my nerves.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

For good measure I wrapped my arms around Grogu and tried to hide him from the world. He was safe with me and I wasn’t going to let anyone touch him. His little body sat between my bent legs and chest. I tried to create a hiding spot with my body.

I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day because within seconds a strong force tugged on the back of my head. I was being dragged out from behind the tree by my hair.

I still had the kid in my arms, and now he was in danger because of me. I tried to remain balled up so the kid wouldn’t be in danger, but my head hurt so badly.

“Ow!” I groaned. I felt my body being dragged against the hard forest floor. The skin on my back broke open with small cuts.

Wait. Why did the knight trust me with his kid?

“Found the bounty.” The voice chuckled, “looks like we get a consolation prize, too.”

What was with everyone wearing armor? This guy was wearing all white in contrast to the warriors silver. To be honest, Grogu’s father had better armor, but that was beside the point.

“Let go!” I shouted.

Fuck.

“Now, Mandalorian…you let us go or they both die. The child and the asset…and I’m sure you know how valuable the asset is alive.”

I don’t think I’ve ever gulped harder. The cold metal of the gun was shoved in the back of my head and I froze like a rock. Grogu was still encapsulated in my arms out of sight. I never had a gun pointed to me, and let me tell you, it wasn’t enjoyable.

The Mandalorian didn’t speak. He stood across from us and watched the scene take place. He seemed prepared, though.

It was weird, but I trusted him for some reason. Maybe it was because of Grogu, but I’d much rather be stuck with that tin can than the bottle of white out that gripped my hair.

“You’re not going anywhere. You and I both know the bounty needs to be alive.” The knight stated.

Quickly, without hesitation, he pulled the gun from his holster and shot the man beside me. The blast from the gun automatically made my body jump from fear. The grip on my head released as the dead body fell lifeless beside me.

I made sure not to look.

Actually, I didn’t move. My body was shaking out of fear. I couldn’t tell you for how long, but I couldn’t control it. I remained curled up with the kid. He was staying safe no matter what.

Familiar footsteps approached. Although I knew they belonged to the warrior, I remained frozen in place. His boots were heavy and precise as they trekked through the dry leaves and dirt on the forest floor.

“Where’s Grogu.” The modulated voice demanded.

I lifted my head to expose the little gremlin in my lap. He looked like a burrowed roo in the knapsack.

“Patu.” Grogu blurted out.

The child started to babble as he reached for his father. His stubby green hand gripped my necklace and shoved it back into his mouth.

I noticed the knight tilt his head once more. He was analyzing me…always analyzing me.

I continued to look up at the space warrior. The light from the sun illuminated his armor from behind. Light bounced off of him in all directions. He was literally glowing. He resembled an ancient painting from the relics.

The man leaned down without speaking. The usual silence absorbed the space between us. I expected to hear the sound of birds chirping or some sort of wildlife, but nothing filled the space.

It was just the warrior, the child, and me.

“Karga said you’d be difficult. I’ve been hunting you for five weeks. How did you dodge the tracking fob?”

The man was speaking, but I couldn’t hear him because I got caught up by the five weeks.

Five weeks?

My attention focused once more when I heard him say, “I was told you’d be more of a challenge but you’re pathetic.”

Okay…rude.

I attempted to speak, I at least tried to say something, but when I opened my mouth, Grogu started to babble once more.

“I was supposed to be collecting my credits from Karga right about now. Now we’re delayed with a busted ship.” His modulated voice was more serious than before. Deeper, too,

I examined the man as he spoke and tried to make sense of his words, but I was just as confused as he was.

“…I’ve only been here for a day…” I said with pure shock in my voice. My body froze as I felt energy run down my spine.

The man grew confused and angry, “excuse me?”

I tried to clear my throat before I spoke once more, “you’ve been looking for me for five weeks? Thats impossible…I’ve only been here a day.”

At that point we stared each other down. My eyes were glued to the darkness of his visor as he leaned above me.

Part One: The Favor

[inbabylontheywept]

Peace, if not forgiveness.

The Black Knight knelt at the end of his bridge. One arm hung useless at his side, crooked and bloody. There was something ragged in his breathing that gave away another injury - cracked a rib or punctured a lung. He was broken, but the breaking had just given him more jagged edges to cut with.

Like flint. Like bone. Like volcanic glass, glittering in the sun.

He rose to his feet as Akkis approached, but he did not stop the murmuring under his breath. He held up a hand to ask for patience as he finished whatever ritual he’d started.

If Akkis was born to be a fighter, he’d have simply started then. But before the war had started, he’d been a scholar. He was cursed with curiosity. Beyond that, he also knew he was an hour ahead of the main force, and that his only objective was to take the bridge. So instead of blitzing, he paused, let the human finish, then asked a question:

“What was that?”

“A prayer,” the knight said. “That the wicked will find peace if not forgiveness.”

“You’d pray for me?” Akkis asked, strangely touched.

“No,” the knight replied. “Me.”

Then he hoisted his bastard sword up with one hand and in one vicious swing, flung an arc of blood across the bridge. The fastest droplets almost made it to Akkis before hitting the dirt.

Akkis tried to see the knight’s gaze, but his face was inscrutable under the helm. The only thing he could feel was the palpable aura of hatred. Two eyes met the mask for almost a minute before the elf turned back. He walked carefully away, fading back into the woods, strangely afraid of the man on the bridge.

He could always pretend he got lost in a thicket somewhere. Let someone else test the monster on the bridge. Glory was nice, but living was nicer.

It wasn’t until he was sure that the elf was truly gone that the black knight fell back to his knees.

The real warrior was two leagues away, leading a charge. The man on the bridge, the man in the armor was not The Black Knight - he was Errol, the miner. His ragged breathing was black lung, and the limp arm was a wound that came from a misplaced swing of a sledgehammer. The blood was his own, drawn to intimidate. He knew that eventually, he’d meet a scout that would call his bluff. That by the evening he was going to die, skewered on an elven blade. But for every minute that he could hold this bridge, for every scout he could drive away, he was buying time for another score of his neighbors to escape into the hills. He took a deep breath, and winced at the way it burned in his dust-scalded lungs.

Living had been nice, but this was better.

[xochiipillii]

sobek x child! gn! reader

Swimming Lessons.

(Sobek x Twin! GN! Reader)

The Egyptian god and new father Sobek teaches his two twin toddlers how to swim, starting with you!

It was particularly hot and sunny in Faiyum today. The midsummer sun was unrelenting, so much so that even the local crocodiles decided to dwell in the river that day, watching the proceedings with lazy eyes peering above the surface. The air was thick with the smell of dust, sand, and river mud. The Hawara pyramid loomed above the channel, though it provided no shade to retreat under.

Sweat dripped down the bronzed expanse of Sobek's back as he cast his golden eyes toward the water. His bare feet sunk into the silt of the riverbed, cool dark water lapping over his skin. The channel water was calm today, though that did little to calm his suspicions of water snakes or monitor lizards or Nile perch. Normally, these creatures would be inconsequential to such a god, able to compel fierce crocodiles with only a scalding glare and an utterance of his tongue. But, his children have yet to command such obedience from their subjects. They hadn't even fully grown into their scales yet.

At 16 months, Sobek's twins were still small and weak, little more than wobbling bundles of freckles and giggles. On their tanned shoulders and backs, emergences of reptilian scales found a similar pattern to their father's. Though they had yet to show any more signs of their godly heritage, Sobek was still proud of them.

"Alright, my little croclets," Sobek rumbled, his voice a comforting purr that echoed across the river. He tossed a stick into the water, satisfied with the lack of response from below. Stepping away from the mucky shore, he approached his twins in the reeds.

His little boy contentedly munched on an immature lotus stalk, while you were busy creating small mounds of slippery mud. Sobek, with a casual air, plucked the chewed-up stem from his son's mouth.

"Today, we're going to learn how to swim!" Sobek declared, the excitement in his voice contagious.

You and your little brother looked up with wide eyes at the sound of your father's voice. Your brother, though, was more concerned about the confiscated lotus, and his tiny lips trembled as Sobek continued. You, on the other hand, returned to your architectural endeavors, mud dripping down your small arms.

Your father continued, his booming voice and showmanship something you were deeply accustomed to. "Now, some may argue, 'Sobek! Your little ones are too young to swim!' But I beg to differ! For the offspring of The Lord of the Waterway carry the river in their veins, a birthright bestowed upon them by the oasis of Faiyum itself!"

With an air of theatricality, Sobek gestured dramatically toward the river, as if the water itself were a stage awaiting his divine command. The midsummer sun glistened on his skin, accentuating the regal aura that surrounded the god of the waterway.

Sobek continued his dramatics, his voice resonating over the hills and scattered palm trees with a force that even the birds found unsettling. Yet, you had long tuned it out, more entranced by the intricate mote you were trying to create around your mud pyramid.

"In the ages of our ancestors, we—hey, hey! Are you even listenin' to me?"

With a huff, you reluctantly tore your gaze away from your artistic endeavor, only to find your father's snout inches away from your button nose. His golden eyes bore into yours with an intensity that demanded focus. "I'm tryin' to give you both a pep talk here, and I'd appreciate the attention, aye?"

With all the cuteness and distraction your toddler self could muster, you giggled, extending a mud-covered hand to rest on your father's snout.

Sobek's stern expression softened at your endearing gesture. A chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound a blend of paternal pride and amusement. "Alright, little river architect, I suppose the charm offensive works."

He playfully nudged your hand with his snout, the mud smearing onto his scales. As he stood back up, he wiped off the mud with a short, dramatic gesture.

"Now, back to the grand announcement!" Sobek proclaimed, his voice carrying a hint of theatrical flair. "Swimming lessons commence!"

With a flourish, Sobek reached up to take off his atef crown, stepping over his toddler son to place it on a high branch where his mischievous and teething children could not get it. The crown gleamed under the harsh sun, a symbol of his godly authority temporarily set aside for the more pressing matter at hand – teaching his little ones the ways of the river.

You, engrossed in your architectural endeavor, were content to continue building sentries around your mud pyramid. However, your plans were abruptly interrupted as your father's strong hands scooped you up from under your arms. A whine escaped your lips as he lifted you, carrying you away from your mud-crafted masterpiece.

"Now, [Y/N], as the firstborn, it's your duty to show your brother the ropes," Sobek declared with pride, his steps deliberate as he moved toward the channel water. You kicked your chubby legs in a display of toddler disdain, wishing you could argue that being born three minutes earlier didn't necessarily make you the teacher.

Sobek, undeterred by your protest, maintained his firm hold as he waded into the water. Your brother, clutching another pilfered lotus stalk, observed the scene with wide eyes, curious about the impending swimming lesson.

As Sobek ventured deeper into the channel, the cool water embraced his legs, its refreshing touch a stark contrast to the blistering heat on the banks. In his secure grasp, you squirmed, your chubby legs kicking in a futile attempt at rebellion. The water's coolness sent a shiver through your tiny frame, the temperature difference momentarily discomforting.

"Now, my Nile niblet, watch closely," Sobek urged his voice a blend of encouragement and excitement. "Feel the water, let it become a part of you."

With deliberate care, he gently lowered you into the water until your legs were completely submerged. Another shiver passed through you as the cool sensation enveloped your small form. You whined softly, your small muddied fingers gripping your father's warm chest as you stared into the murky water, the mysteries below hidden from your curious gaze.

"There you go, my little river sprite," Sobek praised, his voice carrying across the water like a gentle breeze. "Now, let's see those little legs of yours do their thing."

With that, Sobek began to guide your movements, your stout legs attempting to find purchase in the gentle current. You felt the water supporting you, and with each wobbly kick, the uncertainty dwindled.

Sobek, the proud father with the closest thing he could get to a smile on his crocodile head, adjusted his grip. He held you securely against his chest, your little legs finding purchase on either side of his sturdy torso. With one hand supporting you, the other reached down and scooped up some water, letting the cool river water cascade over your head. The refreshing sensation wet your hair and face, mirroring the tender moments when he bathed you and your brother.

"Now, little Nile nymph, feel the river's touch. Let it embrace you," Sobek whispered, his voice a soothing rumble against the backdrop of gently flowing water.

With gentle movements, he began to wash off the mud caked onto your hands and arms from your earlier excursions. The water trickled down your hair and your eyelids as your father scrubbed between each tiny finger. The tickling sensation of Sobek's hands rubbing your fingertips elicited joy, and you couldn't help but giggle, kicking your feet that were still partially submerged in the water.

Sobek's eyes, gleaming with paternal pride, met yours as he finished up his gentle washing. "There you go, my little crocodile-in-trainin', clean as a whistle, you are."

He hugged you close to him, pressing your cheek against his damp chest. The weight of his snout resting on the top of your head was a comforting embrace, and you sighed contentedly.

Then, he pulled away slightly, as if remembering the task at hand. With a tender smile, he lowered you back into the water, this time up to just above your belly button. The cool river embraced you once more, and your tiny hands explored the ripples on the surface.

"Now," he murmured with a deep, rumbling voice. "Let's see if my little one knows how to float."

With a gentle nudge, Sobek encouraged you to lie back in the water. Your chubby arms stretched out, flailing momentarily, fingers splaying and creating playful ripples as you adjusted to the sensation of floating. Sobek, with a watchful eye, supported your back with a large hand.

"There you go, my river sprite," Sobek encouraged, his deep voice resonating with pride. "Feel the water beneath you, supporting you. Just like that."

You basked in the sensation of weightlessness, the gentle current rocking you back and forth. Sobek's eyes, attentive and filled with paternal warmth, watched every movement. Slowly, he let his hand off your back, leaving you floating on your own. His hands stayed beneath you, a safety net of reassurance, as you figured out how to keep afloat.

After a few moments, Sobek, with a beaming smile, scooped you up from the water. "Well done, my Nilebud!" he said with a burst of raucous laughter, nuzzling your tiny cheek with his snout. You giggled as he continued, holding you up above his face.

"You are such a natural," he cooed, his ancient accent adding a melodic touch to the words. "A true child of the Nile, just like your old man." Sobek's golden eyes, radiant with pride, met yours as he lowered you and cradled you in his strong arms.

He began wading back to the shore, where the little boy was waiting, chewing on his lotus stem. "Now, let's see how your mischievous brother fares with the art of floating," Sobek declared with playful anticipation, more than ready to continue these swimming lessons.

[teddytheartist]

Harley Keener’s Hands - Freshman year of college

“Harley can remember the sizzling summer days spent in the Wilson’s Barn, a Big oak wood property owned by a family of wrinkly old bastards on the outskirts of Rose Hill.

He remembered working leather with them to win a couple bucks for his mechanic supplies and Abby’s birthday presents over the years, sweating his brow off but weirdly cozy surrounded by the heavy scent of polish and wood

Working leather was never a passion of his, but he did somewhat enjoy it

The best days of those summers were when Marjorie, the wife of Wilson Sr., would come out to the workshop carrying a heavy platter of watermelon slices and a bursting glass jug of her famous iced black lemon tea; She would sit herself right next to him and every single summer she would say,

“Each and every one of these ungrateful little shits has forgotten who raised em’, they’ve lost all respect for their mama and her old wife traditions; “— she’d shake her head and tut, heaving an exasperated sigh and turning to him, as if she were about to share a secret she’d say,

“but I know you’re a wise kid, that’s why I keep you around”, Her eyes would twinkle with mischief as she gave him the thickest and juiciest slice of the cut up fruit.

No body in Rose Hill looked at Harley quite like Mrs. Wilson did, at least not after the rumours of him not being even remotely interested in girls started winding up, everyone went about it differently, some looked at him with disgust, that at least he’d expected, some with pity, as if they lamented the hand life had dealt him but weren’t about to step in for him any time soon, Mrs Marjorie looked at him; that was it, she looked, with trust and kindness, at the boy standing in front of her, nobody would look at him quite like that in some time.

they would spend the rest of those scalding days working on all kinds of woven leather bracelets, she would teach him how to weave different kinds, some spiny and thin, some thick and Ropey, and at the end of the day he would end up with a few pretty pieces to gift to his mother and sister.

When Granny Marjorie passed right before he left for college in the summer of his senior year, Jake Wilson, the youngest of her boys, had approached him on the day of the service, and with red rimmed eyes and a raspy but firm voice had presented him with a beautiful double strapped leather bracelet, along with a little note that said “For the wise kid.” In shaky slanted handwriting,

After he’d shaken off his shock and rubbed off the droplets that fell from his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, he had taken the bracelet and note with a deep inhale and shaky hands.

Right after that, Jake had asked him with a humorous but wet voice, to teach him and his older brother how to make the damn things since he was so wise;

He spent his last days in Rose Hill, Tennessee doing just that.”