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bitterrfruit · 2 months ago

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iron tide [1]

fisherman price x reader cw: noncon undressing/bathing, dubcon touching. 11k words. 18+ mdni the crew aboard a deep-sea crabbing vessel rescue a woman adrift in the north sea. you wake up on a boat surrounded by men you don't know, with no memory of where you came from. or: john price rescues you from certain death and decides that you belong to him [masterlist]

Jonathan had long forsaken his godliness; but if he were to deify anything, it would be the Sea.

Great big blue, infinitely vast and infinitely deep. She was sweet when she was still, gentle, little ebbs like kisses against the barnacled hull — formidable when she was angry, titanic swells like mountains that crashed and shattered and sucked irreverent men down into the depths of her.

She took as much as she gave, demanded sacrifices for her gifts. Stole his father when he was a boy, swept off the deck of his ship by a rancorous wave and cast out into the expanse before she inevitably swallowed him. But what she purloined she returned in abundance — a cornucopia of life; fish, lobsters, molluscs — and enough crabs for John to make his living for the better part of his life once he retired from the Navy.

In more recent years, though, he had begun to lose faith in her, too.

The seas were violent and only getting rougher, warmer when they needed to be cold to let the crabs get meatier, colder when they needed to be warm so they could replenish their numbers.

A burgeoning resentment had rooted in his crew like a spreading cancer, minute at first but steadily swelling — every year they were paid a little less and damaged a little more, and who else was there to blame but their skipper?

Wrong spot, wrong depth, wrong time of year; he seemed to keep getting it wrong, despite decades and decades of seafare. As though the Sea was punishing him, as though he had taken too much — only a matter of time before it was his turn to give.

She made known her spite as he leaned over the paint-chipped railing of the deck-facing balcony, watching his crew haul in pot after pot from the raging ocean. Each cage more vacant than the last, the crabs smaller than he had come to expect from the once generous North Sea, soft brown shells where they should have been thick, ochre red, and thorny. Half of them too small to keep, so were begrudgingly tossed back into the deep.

The sun had set not ten minutes prior, hidden by black cloud and dense fog, the sea and sky smudged into a uniform shade of gloaming blue. The waves were tempestuous, whitecaps high and valleys low — the Iron Tide was a resilient girl, and she carved through the bulk of the swells, but even she could not avoid the plummets and climbs of an ocean this rough. He felt the mist of the cracking waves on his cheeks, the wind blistering cold and forcing him to squint.

As the Captain he had outgrown the need to get his hands dirty, he could stay in the comfort of the wheelhouse if he wished — but he still liked to venture down to the deck to pull ropes and haul pots when he could, if only to show his crew how it was properly done. He liked to ensure his callouses stayed thick and his mettle hadn’t turned soft.

“This’s a fucken’ suicide set, captain!” Roared Johnny from the deck, work-worn voice barely audible over the bellows of the waves on the hull. Lead deckhand with the attitude of a first mate.

The first mate himself, Simon, had begun ascending the rusty steel stairs with an uncharacteristic urgency, the hood of his fluorescent orange jacket around his shoulders, kept there by the wind.

“How many ‘ve we got?” John asked him, jaundiced, having to shout over the gale.

“Thirty-two,” Simon said rigidly, “from twenty pots.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John grunted, aggravated, smacking the rail with his palm. He cynically observed the next pot as it was hauled up, even emptier than the last one, and he made up his mind. “Alright, set ‘em back.”

“They’ve been soaking for twenty-four hours,” Simon disputed, but the pith of his irritation resided in the knowledge of how much labour had already been wasted. It was an inexorable fact, though — there was little point in retrieving them now, as empty as they were.

“It’s a waste of time to haul them all,” John barked. “What have we got, seventy to go? Set them back.”

Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb, exasperated. “Alright.”

He echoed the Captain’s command in a roar down the stairs, deckhands looking up to listen before they obeyed — John watched, disenchanted, as they began launching the string of pots over the side of the deck one by one, throwing loops of yellow nylon rope and the bright red marker buoys out to follow them.

It was easy for John to fall into a sour mood, and after the abysmal stew Nikolai had thrown together for their supper, his fuse was cut even shorter. Seemed the Russian mechanic’s turn to cook always landed on the harshest nights, left everyone crotchety and indolent.

He needed nicotine.

He made his way back to the helm with a crease in his brow and his jaw in knots. The bolted windows spanning the length of the bridge were near impossible to see through, the battering of sea spray distorting the view of the dark ocean that extended unendingly past the bow. He glared out into the abyss for a beat, stoically watching the black waves, wondering what next the Sea would punish him with.

A blink of red pierced through the mist.

He almost ignored it, at first, rubbing his forehead as he twisted his spinning chair behind the helm — until it was there, again; a pin-prick of bright carmine, cutting through the blue sea fog and disappearing behind a wave.

Frowning as he leaned into the radar screen, his eyes scoured over the bright blue disk and immediately caught on a tiny yellow blip. Due north, twenty degrees west. It was faint, flickering every odd moment, and he stared at it vigilantly — a spot he would normally dismiss as sea clutter, if not for the blinking light he thought he saw on the horizon.

He reeled down the window by the seat and stuck his head out into the winds, squinting through the spray — at the top of a crest shone the little red light, blinking at half-second intervals, clear as day.

The realisation rinsed him colder than seawater.

A lifeboat.

He snatched the intercom radio from its hook by the wheel and held it to his lips.

“All hands—” He barked, “Secure the deck. Got a lifeboat up ahead. Prepare for rescue.”

Simon’s crackling voice quickly came back through the radio, from the call point on the deck. “D’you say a lifeboat?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Roger.”

John could hear the yelling on deck from the wheelhouse, all that fervour frothing up at the prospect of an emergency; a new challenge. He immediately spun the wheel to adjust the rudder, steering the boat in the direction of the blip on the radar. Gently pushed the throttle to catch up and felt the roaring engine quake through the boat, the sharp bow of his ship cut through the swells like a fist through a wall.

“See it,” Simon called through the intercom.

“What’ve we got?”

“Life raft.”

He tugged the throttle lever back to halt the boat on approach, aligning the vessel so that the lifeboat was portside, knuckles white on the wheel. He set the engine to hold station before marching out to the deck, bracing for the wind as he hurried across the steel balcony and down the ladder, knurled steel stairs clanging loudly with every thud of his boots.

“Any survivors onboard?” John shouted, joining his crew where they peered over the railing, as another wave cascaded over the gunwale, greenwater flooding the deck before gushing out of the scuppers.

There it was, neon orange and climbing up a steep swell. Hardly a lifeboat — an inflatable raft, little red light blinking atop a rounded corner. From the deck he could tell it was ancient, the bright skin of the raft peeling and blistering, exposing the ballooning black rubber within that kept it afloat. Modern regulations demanded modern lifeboats — fully enclosed boats with their own motors, search and rescue transponders equipped. He struggled to imagine the kind of vessel the raft had even come from; certainly not a cruise ship, or any legally operating fishing or passenger boat.

“Only one,” Alex answered, yelling over the roar of the ocean.

Nik let out a grunt, dismissing it all with a sweep of his hand. “That woman is dead.”

John squinted at the raft, and quickly determined that Nikolai wasn’t unreasonable for thinking so.

The woman aboard the raft lay face down in the orange bed, bare-footed, nothing on but a saturated ivory dress that clung to her skin like glue. Sodden hair webbed across her back, tresses floating in the inch of water that filled the basin of the boat.

Even if she were a corpse already, though, he wasn’t going to let the Sea digest her unchallenged.

“Alright,” he declared, chewing on his plan before he uttered it. “I’ll strap on the lifeline, jump in and grab her, then you lot can reel me back in.”

The disputes were quick to gush from his crew, all cursing and shaking heads.

“Get fucked,” Alex scoffed, appaled, “skipper jumping overboard? What world are you living in?”

“You gonna do it, then, Keller?” John retorted, lips in a line.

“I can,” Soap yelled, already shucking off his heavy jacket. Daredevil that he was.

John gritted his teeth. Wasn’t sold on the risk of losing his lead deckhand; but as he considered it, he would never be prepared to risk losing any of them.

“You sure?”

“Ah’m the best swimmer,” he boasted through a grin, now down to his thermals, shoulders raised in the cold and rubbing his hands together.

“Good man,” John nodded approvingly, and the crew quickly went to work strapping him in — hooked the harness over his shoulders and secured it in the front, fed the end of the long blue rope into the winch so he could be retrieved after the catch.

Came the thudding of boots on the deck, running towards the commotion; “Fuck’s going on? Why’s the engine idle?”

Kyle, the ship’s engineer, finally emerging from the engine room with a smudge of gear oil on his cheek. Must have had his earbuds in when the Captain issued the all hands directive.

John let out a huff, not prepared to give a long justification to the designated safety officer, conscientious as he was.

“Oh shit—” Gaz chirped, discovering on his own the gravity of the situation, as he glanced over the railing and spotted the raft. “Is she alive?”

“We’re about t’find out,” Soap said keenly, bouncing on the balls of his feet to warm himself up.

“You’re jumping in?” Gaz balked, “That’s — you’re fuckin’ mental.”

John let out a sharp huff. He didn’t disagree, but he thought it counterproductive to express any reluctance. “Got a better idea, lad?”

Gaz sighed anxiously as he clutched the guardrail, head hanging from his shoulders. He knew as well as John that this was the only option — it was that, or leave the woman adrift in the ocean to die, if she weren’t already.

John held fast to his pragmatism, but his morals were unyielding. Nobody gets left behind.

Men took turns giving Johnny good luck pats on the back as he climbed over the railing. He hung off the other side like a monkey with his fist around the bar, looking down into the furious ocean and taking an anticipatory breath.

The crew watched raptly and let loose a strident cheer as he launched off, diving into the waves with knife-pointed arms and sinking out of sight. Nik remained steadfast by the hydraulic winch, ready to set it off at any indication of either success or failure.

Soap reemerged from the water with a visible gasp ten-odd metres out, breaking through the white foam and powering ahead in a freestyle stroke. He reached the raft quickly, and climbed aboard like a wet dog, hauling himself up over the ballooning sides and almost pulling it under the water with him. He kneeled beside the woman once he was in, pulling her by the shoulder to assess her — he gave no indication to the crew as to her status before he hoisted her up and held her tight to his chest, arms hooked under hers so that she wore him like a backpack.

He pushed himself back into the water with an eager holler; “Got ‘er!”

Nik immediately pulled the lever on the winch and it zipped loudly as it began spinning, winding up the rope and hauling Johnny through the swelling sea. The crane arm of the davit extended far enough beyond the gunwale that he didn’t slam into the hull on his ascent, and he clung to the limp woman for dear life — John and his deckhands leaned as far over the railing as they could without toppling overboard, hooking the rope that suspended the swimmer and heaving he and his cargo onboard.

Soap coughed out a splatter of seawater as he gingerly lay the woman on her back, before rolling over and wiping down his face, dripping wet.

“Found yerself a mermaid, cap,” he sputtered, sniffing and shivering violently as he pushed himself to stand.

“Nicely fuckin’ done, Soap,” Alex lauded, smacking him on the back and earning a screech from the Scotsman.

“‘S too cold,” he bit, grabbing at his genitals through his sodden thermals. “Ma fucken’ balls are gone.”

“Go in and get dry,” the Captain barked, as he hurriedly crouched beside the woman, sweeping locks of drenched hair from where it stuck to her face.

“Jesus,” Gaz muttered concernedly.

Her skin was bitterly cold, but soft on her cheeks; some indication that resuscitation might have been possible, that her skin wasn’t as stiff and waxy as corpse skin would have been. Eyes were lightly shut, her thick lashes clumped together by seawater. He used a gentle thumb to lift up an eyelid, and her pupils were nice and black — blown out, but not clouded over. Laces of capillaries meshed through her white scleras. Blood still bright red.

“How’s she looking?” Alex asked, crouching beside John, pessimism in his throat.

“She’s frigid,” John said grimly.

“Could be hypothermic,” Gaz said from behind him, worry leaden in every word. “That water is barely higher than zero.”

“Mh,” John grunted in agreement, hastily pressing the palps of his fingers under her jaw into a spongy jugular, held there for a few seconds — no pulse. “We’ll worry about warmin’ her up once we get her breathing.”

He leaned back and interlaced his fingers, laying his hands knuckles down between her breasts. Pushed his weight into her sternum with a hard shove and her ribs sunk underneath him, bouncing back up when he released the pressure. Repeat. Over, and over, grunting with each desperate compression.

The heaving bodies of five men caging her kept the bulk of the angry waves from dousing her, the spray crashed over John’s back and dripped from him, beads landing on her body. Solemn silence hung heavy between them, as though fearful that expressing any hope would condemn her to certain death. Simon clutched John’s shoulder, grip encouraging.

He counted his compressions until he reached thirty, before he urgently keeled forward and pressed his mouth to her cold lips, pinching her nose and lifting her chin — pumped air from his lungs into hers with a forceful breath, then another, then another. Her chest rose as it filled up with his air, sunk again as he let it seep out from behind her teeth.

Returned to compressions. Push. Push. Push. He pressed so hard into her sternum that her ribs threatened to snap under the weight of him, but they were rubbery enough to withstand it.

Continued the next round until he reached twenty-one — when water began to rise up her throat, sloshing about in her open mouth and trickling out of its corners. He urgently halted his compressions to flip her onto her side and tip out the brine, hammering into the midline of her back with an open palm.

“C’mon, love,” John growled, teeth gritting. “Cough it up for me.”

As though she had heard him, a gurgle eked from her throat, torso retching as an eruption of water gushed out of her mouth and sprayed over the deck. A few weak coughs followed the first, and she shuddered — the men roared in shock and celebration as John returned her to her back.

Her eyes fluttered open for less than a second, shrinking pupils fixed on John for a heartbeat — wet, glittering under the beaming of the deck lights, carving straight through him and taking root in the marrow of his skull. Vacant and yet swollen, the glow of life anew, as though glaring right into the heavens — and with a little sigh, they feathered shut again.

He held a hand to her cheek, gave her head a soft shake; prepared to continue the chest compressions, but as he curled forward and held his ear to her lips, he felt her breathing, shaky and weak against the cartilage shell.

“She breathin’?” Simon asked bluntly, laden with apprehension.

“Yeah,” John huffed, relief potent as liquor flooded hot into his chest and made his temples throb.

“Good shit, cap’n,” Alex commended, releasing a puff of pent air, just as relieved as the lot of them.

John nodded dismissively, hands on his knees, before he pushed himself to stand. He stood over the girl and hoisted her up with his hands under her arms, before delicately draping her over his shoulder.

“Gaz, help me with her, will you?” He grunted, before marching toward the stairs up to the superstructure. “You three — fun’s over. Get back to setting the pots. I’ll send Soap back out once he’s in his dries.”

“Aye aye,” Alex said facetiously, shaking out his hands as he and the others returned to the stack they had just tied down.

“What’s the plan?” Kyle asked stiffly, in quick pursuit as John steamed up the stairs.

“Gotta get her warm,” John said.

“Yeah—” he agreed with a hesitant tone, “what d’you want me for?”

John’s eyes rolled into his skull. “You did a couple years of health science, didn’t you?”

“One year,” Kyle corrected.

John could have said that he wanted Gaz specifically because he was the ship’s assigned safety officer, or because he was the only man aboard with a university degree. But, in truth, he wanted him simply for the fact he was the least likely of all of his crewmen to make stripping the girl into something needlessly lascivious.

He carted her to the head in steady stride, passing Johnny through the narrow corridor as he dried himself off with a towel around his neck.

“She’s alive?” He asked hopefully.

“Uh-huh,” John rumbled.

Soap triple-smacked the veneer panel of the wall with a flat hand in excitement, all but bouncing off the ceiling with it. “Halle-fucken’-lujah! Need help warmin’ her up?”

“No. Get your skins on and head back out to deck, Johnny, y’got more pots to drop.”

Johnny groaned like a teenager, but he went off as he was told.

The head was small — enough room for a toilet, a shower, and a three-inch wide sink, not quite the floorspace to lay her down gracefully. John tore back the curtain and propped her up against the wall of the shower, nestling her into the corner so her head leaned against the perpendicular wall.

No sense in wasting time. He clinically peeled the sodden fabric of her white dress up her thighs, lifting her limp leg to tug the skirt out from under her.

“Christ—” Gaz grumbled, disquieted, he turned away.

“Will y’hold her arms up for me?” John monotonously requested, uninterested in the boy’s reservations.

Gaz sighed as he obeyed the order, taking her cold hands by the wrists and holding them above her head. John hiked up her dress without reservation, revealing the saturated bra and underwear she wore underneath, as he lifted it her arms up above her head.

“This’s fucked up,” Gaz mumbled.

“What is.”

“Taking her clothes off,” he said, reluctance poignant.

“You’d rather we let her freeze to death, eh?” John bit, not even dignifying the engineer’s aversion by turning to look at him.

He tugged her flaccid body towards him, and her head fell against his shoulder — he reached under her arm into the space between her back and the shower wall, unclasping her bra with a single hand.

“No,” Kyle acquiesced. “Do we really need to take off her underwear, though?”

“She’s not gonna get warm in wet knickers, is she,” John grumbled, frustration blossoming, releasing it in a sharp sigh. “Y’need to grow up, Garrick. Go and grab my jersey and a towel from the laundry, then.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah,” he agreed, marching out of the head like he might trip over in his haste.

John bit down on nothing as he pulled the straps of the girl’s bra down her arms, adding it to the pile atop her drenched dress. Didn’t help that she was a lovely thing — pudding-soft curves, pretty little face — might lend an explanation to the young engineer’s discomfort, couldn’t reconcile the attraction he felt to a near-dead woman while she was incognisant of her nudity.

John did not care, he had no qualms.

A pragmatist, through and through. He felt no shame for admiring her as he leaned her back against the laminate wall, nipples grey-purple and hard as pebbles by virtue of her palpable hypothermia. Soft lips were slack, not as blue as they had been when she was fished out of the ocean, now that her blood was pumping again.

He wasted no time ogling her, though, he was no reprobate. His only priority was getting her warm and awake. And that happened to involve hooking his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, saturated in seawater and cleaving fast to her skin.

He hooked an arm around her to lift her from the shower floor, used the other hand to tug her underwear over the swell of her bottom before he set her back down to reel them down her thighs.

Pretty cunt, too. Unshaven, how he liked them.

He reached up for the shower head, held it in a fist as he switched on the water. Already nice and warm, preheated by the engine-powered calorifiers. He held the stream of warm water over her chest, watching as it cascaded over her breasts and flooded between her thighs. Didn’t care if he got himself wet in so doing. Checked her pulse every odd moment with the pad of a finger on her wrist, ensured her chest continued to rise and fall.

Rubbed his free hand over her skin to scrub off all the salt; started modestly with her arms, shoulders, back — but was unhesitant in rinsing and scrubbing her armpits, down her belly, between her legs. Didn’t touch her pussy, though, even John felt that was a step too far. He simply rinsed it. Let the water run over her mons and channel down the cleft of her unaided.

He tilted her head back and ran the warm stream over her hairline, careful not to let too much water pour down her face. He combed thick fingers through the tresses, scrunching her hair into a ball to wring out the brine before rinsing it out again.

As he carded his fingers through her scalp, though, he felt a lump; just above her hairline, concealed by the locks. A squishy protrusion from the skull, with a frayed ridge through the centre of it. Only then did he see the diluted blood in the water that puddled at the bottom of the shower, originating from the ends of her saturated hair.

Add that to the list of ailments, he thought. Poor wee girl. They’d need to tend to that.

Kyle finally returned with a cautious knock on the door, a single knuckle.

“D’you fall overboard, Garrick?” John murmured — he had been gone far longer than it should have taken to find the items he requested.

“Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t figure out which fleece was yours.”

John said nothing.

“She warming up yet?” Gaz asked tightly, likely not even looking in the direction of the shower, now that she was entirely nude.

The girl’s skin was now plush and pink under the heat of the water, and felt warm to the touch under the back of John’s hand; so with a satisfied nod he shut off the water and hooked the showerhead back into its fastening.

He reached backward with a gesturing hand, and Gaz handed him the crisp towel he had brought from the laundry without a word.

“Looks like she got hit in the head,” John commented, as he draped the towel over the girl's front, rubbing her down to get her dry. Arms, shoulders, armpits, thighs, feet. He was thorough.

“Shit,” Gaz said morosely, half-hearted. Soft young man, soft in a way John was almost envious of. Sometimes he wondered if he had grown too rough around the edges, too abrasive for his own good. “What the fuck happened to ‘er?”

“Not a clue,” John said. “Nothing good.”

“That life raft was — that was non-standard,” Gaz pondered aloud.

“Thought the same thing,” John replied, as he scrunched her hair in the towel, twisting it up to wring out the water. He was careful with the top of her head — dabbing her scalp gently, leaving dark red smears in the blue fibres.

“Ferry capsized, maybe?”

“We would’ve heard about a ship capsizing nearby,” John said. “‘Specially a passenger vessel. They’d have blasted the distress call out in every direction.”

“Mh,” Gaz agreed.

“She had no shoes on,” John remarked, tone sombre. “No gear, no jacket.”

“Running away from something?” asked Gaz, picking up what John might have been suggesting.

“Maybe,” John said, before hanging the towel around her back and hauling her up from the floor with an arm around her ribs.

He hung her floppy arms over his shoulder, kept her body tight to him, the towel just long enough to conceal her buttocks from Gaz, sensitive lad. He kept her up with a forearm under her rear, bounced her to adjust. She was impossibly easy to lift; John could have carried her one-handed, if he were less concerned about avoiding brandishing her nudity around the ship.

Gaz followed him out of the head, towards the galley.

“She had no belongings with her, eh?” Gaz asked, “no wallet, nothing?”

“No.”

Kyle let out a long sigh, worry oozing from his every pore. “Don’t wanna imagine how long she was drifting for.”

John nodded, as he sat her down on the bench seat of the dining table, the thin vinyl cushion squeaking underneath her. He dumped the towel, and grabbed his jersey from Gaz — one of his heavy Patagonia fleeces, fabric thick, plush like sheepskin, dark navy with a zip collar. He pulled it over her head, fed her arms through the long sleeves and adjusted it down her torso. It was long enough that it reached her mid-thighs, hands two-thirds of the way through the sleeves — big enough to conceal everything, and cozy enough to keep her warm. He pulled her hair out from inside the collar and lay it to one side over her shoulder.

“Grab me the first aid kit,” John ordered dryly, as he leaned her against the seat, holding her head upright with a hand at the back of her skull.

He fingered through her locks of damp hair, looking closely for the contusion that he felt ballooning out of her scalp — found it, eventually, dark purple and swollen, sticky burgundy blood coagulating around the open wound and gluing bits of hair together.

“Think she fell?” Gaz asked, as he returned with the red polyester pouch after rummaging through the galley cabinets, unzipping and unfurling it.

“S’there betadine in there?” John asked, before he had acknowledged the engineer’s question. “Hard to say, it looks rough.”

Kyle handed him the little brown dropper of iodine solution, popping off the cap for him. “You don’t think someone hit her.”

John’s jaw tightened. “If they did, they hit her bloody hard.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gaz grumbled, upset, watching with his arms crossed as John tipped over the little bottle. He squeezed out several rust-brown drops, they landed squarely in the wound in her scalp, emulsifying with the tissue. “This’s all — just wrong.”

“Least she’s alive,” John murmured, through a huff, as he put down the betadine. No use in attempting to bandage it, the laceration was small enough that it would heal on its own if left unbothered.

“Wonder where her home is,” Gaz mused, tone dismal.

“We’ll ‘ave to see what the bird says when she wakes up,” John said, laying the girl down on her side, tucking up her knees.

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” John asserted as he stood, rapping an appreciative hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her, will you? I need to get back to the bridge.”

“Okay,” Gaz nodded tightly.

“And get her a blanket,” John ordered on his way to the ladder. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

“Will do, Captain.”

You tasted salt on your tongue.

It was dark, and your body was so heavy — your neurons fired off to raise an arm, and all they mustered was the twitch of a finger. Skin felt warm and viscid, lacquered in a tepid layer of tar as though fully submerged in gooey black pitch, too thick to move around in.

Your eyes perceived nothing but deep, liquid burgundy, and the sparking of white-and-red stars that encroached on the borders of your vision, writhing and swirling in the abyss of your blindness.

Still, salt on your tongue.

It was foul, overpowering, all consuming — that brackish grit in every corner of your mouth, between your teeth, crystallising in the back of your throat. It filled your nose, stung where it adhered to the delicate mucosa of your nostrils, every breath hurt to take in.

You could feel it in your lungs, too. Shards of salt embedded in your bronchioles, saline glutted alveoli, trachea plugged with viscous brine.

Your diaphragm spasmed beyond your control, body seizing as you erupted into a coughing fit — wet and phlegmy, salty fluid gurgling in your chest and hucking out of your mouth with every ragged splutter, you almost choked on it as you heaved in as much air as your lungs could imbibe.

Your eyes shot open, then, vision so blurry that you had to wrench them closed a few times before the membrane over your corneas began to dissipate.

A rubbery cushion under the side of your head, fuzzy fabric enveloping your arms and chest, something scratchy and heavy over your legs. Warm, sore — you ached everywhere, every joint stiff, every muscle burning, every organ twisting and floundering inside you.

Dizziness wracked through your head, brain swimming free within your skull, spinning around in circles and bouncing against the walls of its cavity as though you were being tipped forward and backward and forward again.

Nausea swelled up quickly, filled you up to the ears and made your stomach cramp and contort — bile rose up your throat and burned on its way up, you leaned over the surface you lay on and let it spill out from your teeth. Hardly any vomit, merely an oozing stream of chartreuse bile that dripped in strings from the corner of your mouth.

You heard a voice, a man’s voice, at first too disoriented to understand it.

“Shit — oh my god, you’re—”

A hoarse groan escaped your chest in response, not a noise you made on purpose, as you tried to roll onto your back.

“Are you okay?” He asked urgently, and suddenly you noticed a pair of knees under a table beside you, only as they shifted when the person stood. “Hey — you’re okay, you’re—”

You moaned again, squinting under the bright light above you, vision distorted by vertigo and brine. Tongue too fat to form any words yet.

“You’re okay, let me — let me get you some water.”

You heard the hurried thuds of boots away from you, and you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your palms, finally able to see properly once you opened your eyes again. Shakily pulled yourself upright with a hand on the table, muscles quivering so violently that they could barely hold you up — but fired adrenaline began to kick in, thumping out from your chest and buzzing in your fingertips as you glanced around the room, utterly alien to you.

“Where…” you croaked, soaking in your surroundings. Panelled walls of honey oak, an ugly veneered table in front of you, you sat on its bench seat. A small circular window sat above the table, bolted around its borders, and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling.

The room smelled like dish soap and body odour, fetid with the scent of an unwashed sponge and a hovering note of fish carcass. A small kitchen, as you turned your head around to check behind you — the man towered over a sink, you heard the hiss of running water.

“Where am I?” You finally asked, finding your words, but your voice was as frayed as if you had swallowed glass.

The man turned then, and you did not recognise him. Not at all. A complete stranger, with a furrow in his brow, and an awkward smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You bolted up from the seat then, tossing aside the blanket that rested on your knees, fight-or-flight reigniting your muscles and setting your heart into overdrive — your head spun with it, and your balance was completely off kilter, you had to continually readjust your feet to keep yourself upright.

“Hey — hey, easy,” he said edgily, voice soft.

“Who the fuck are you?” You barked, immediately defensive, you tried to keep your eyes pinned to him while you made note of your peripheral surroundings.

“I’m — I’m sorry, I didn’t — I’m Gaz. Kyle. I’m Kyle.”

You scowled at him, panting, hackles raised high as you shuffled away from the table. “I don’t know anyone called Kyle,” you hissed. “Or anyone called Gaz.”

“We haven’t met before,” he said, body twisting to face you as you inched around him.

He put down the glass of water he held in his hand, and that only further enkindled your terror. Now his hands were free. He could tackle you, if he wanted to. Tall man that he was, muscular under his black jersey, his big doe-eyes did nothing to soften you to him.

“We found you in the water,” he tried to explain, “we thought you were dead. But we rescued you.”

“The fuck do you mean, found me?” You spat, now approaching the kitchen, your eyes scoured around for something to grab.

He could detect your scheming, inched closer to you on quiet feet, attempting to flank you.

So you dashed — bolted towards the small cooktop, where a magnetic strip mounted on the wall held an array of kitchen knives.

“Fuck—” He cursed, through teeth, failing to grab you in time before you snatched one by the handle, and held the blade in front of you with both hands.

You jabbed it at him as you backed out of his reach, arms so shaky you almost dropped it — but you kept it tight, holding onto it with vicious devotion, as though dropping it would be your death sentence.

He held up his hands, not in surrender, but as if he were attempting to settle a wild animal. “Okay, love, take it easy.”

“Stay away from me,” you shouted, trembling, backing away cautiously.

“Captain!” The man roared worriedly toward the ceiling, and you flinched. “Look, love, I’m not going to—”

“Fuck you,” you bit, before you spun on a heel and flew towards an archway.

“Shit.” He cursed as you escaped, but he had not yet pursued you.

You scurried down the narrow corridor, bare feet aching with every step, knife extended in front of you and prepared to slash at anything that got in your way. You were wobbling all over the place, as though the ground beneath you was rocking back and forth; you toppled into the wall on your right, yelping as you tried to get yourself upright again.

You reached a great big industrial door, painted blue and with a tiny circular porthole too high for you to see through. It had a wheel in the centre of it, connected to a series of bars that spanned it from top to bottom. Not a door you had ever seen before, but you inexplicably knew to twist the wheel — left, first go, and the bars shrunk away from the top and bottom, the steel door unsealing with a clank.

Now you heard the thuds of running boots, fast, growing louder, closer — you shouldered open the heavy door and leapt over the lip at the bottom, immediately blasted with an ice-cold wind that made you shrivel up and almost retreat back inside.

The sky was stark black, and you were blinded by floodlights. You stumbled towards the railing, hanging onto it for dear life as you almost slipped over on the frigid metal grating under your feet — it felt like barbed wire on your soles, and you whimpered with every step.

Your fierce desperation to escape trumped any pain, though, you burned hot as a boiler, thundering adrenaline keeping you aflame. You spun your head around to determine where you were; a pitch-dark abyss surrounded you on all sides — no sky, no ground, no lights on the horizon, nothing. You peered over the balustrade and realised then that you were on a ship, now seeing the building-tall waves that cascaded over the floor below, bedizened in ropes and grates and metal cages and buoys, populated with a few people in neon jackets.

“Hey—” Came a bark from behind you, and you shrieked — immediately scurrying towards a steep staircase, pole-narrow, almost toppling down it as you bounced to every second step.

The floor of the deck consisted of slippery water-logged wood, and the soles of your feet struggled to find any grip as you sprinted across it. You weren’t even sure where you were running, just away, from the man who had followed you — but it became quickly clear you had no escape, and the orange-jacketed men on the deck had turned their heads to spot you.

“Oh, fuck—” One barked.

Another erupted in bewildered laughter; “She breathes, alright!”

“Oi — girl—” Called one.

“C’mere, hen!” Shouted another, Scottish. “We don’t bite!”

You sobbed as you ran, ravaged by a fear so potent it made your heart shrivel up like a raisin — you were sprayed by a crashing wave, blinded by the salt, and your feet slipped out from under you. Collided into the hard ground with a slam, a bounce, you skidded across the wood and your knife tumbled out of your grip, sliding out of reach.

Only as you flopped around on the greasy floor did you realise your nudity under the sweater you were wearing, bare thighs slick with cold sea water, ass bitten by the arctic wind. You scrambled to get yourself back up, crawling on your hands and knees towards your only weapon — until a thick arm hooked under your belly, swiftly hoisting you up from the ground with yank, and you squealed.

“Easy, now, woman—” Gritted the man, the hoarse growl of an old dog, and he held you flat to his chest. “In such a hurry to go back overboard, eh?”

You wailed, attempted to buck yourself free from him while your feet dangled off the floor, but he only secured his grip with another mammoth arm. The other men on the deck approached hastily, concern and confusion etched in their cold-ruddy faces, looking between each other as though waiting for somebody to decide what to do with you.

“Let me go,” you sobbed, paltry voice broken by hiccups, you spluttered and cried and kicked when you could muster it. “Please, please—”

“Put her down, Nik, for fuck’s sake.” Came the roar of another man, approaching from further away, an authoritative fury that your captor swiftly obeyed.

You landed on your bare feet onto the wet floor with a squelch, and a sob, but he kept a firm grip of your shoulder to prevent you from fleeing. You wouldn’t have, though — now, it was clear to you — there was nowhere to run.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Yelled the evident commander, “All of you? Christ, look, you’ve scared the shit out of her.”

You saw him, then, as he stood in front of you — towering, heaving, you felt the vibrations of his heavy feet on the deck with each step. Broad shoulders cloaked in a rugged navy jacket, the hood pooled around his neck, a pair of roomy yellow overalls strapped over the waterproof layer. A black knitted beanie sat on the top of his head, folded just above his furrowed brows. His lips were in a snarl under his dense beard while he addressed the other men, but they softened into a neutral line when he looked at you.

There was something familiar about him, not that you could place it; a face you might have seen in a dream, or crossing the street once. A face you could imagine with a glowing light beaming from behind it, as though the moon eclipsing a sun. You had no memory to tie to it, and yet, it settled you slightly.

“Y’alright, love,” he said, voice honey-warm and thick with gravel, he held a hand in your direction and gestured to follow him. “Come back in, will you? Too cold for you out here, eh?”

You sipped a shaky breath, shivering in the bitter wind, glancing at the men surrounding you from under your brow. Returning to the man that gestured for you, you gave him a feeble nod, and waddled in his direction.

“Tha’s it, c’mon,” he said gently, hovering a hand at the small of your back. He turned over his shoulder to shout at the others; “You lot have more pots to set, don’t you? Get back to fuckin’ work.”

He guided you gingerly towards the stairs, close behind you to ensure you didn’t slip over on the way up. Opened the weathertight door to let you in, but walked in front of you down the same corridor you had escaped through. You held your arms tight around yourself, left soggy footprints along the vinyl floor.

“Got yourself all wet again,” he said, an edge of irritation in his tone.

“D’you get her?” Came a call from the kitchen you had awoken in, and the man — Kyle — appeared at the end of the hallway. You froze.

“Go finish your work, Gaz, y’still got an hour on the clock.” He ordered flatly, and Kyle looked at you past him.

“Yes, Captain,” he grunted disdainfully, shouldering past the man in front of you, and squeezing around you where you pressed yourself into the wall. “Hope you’re feeling okay,” he mumbled sheepishly, before disappearing down a flight of stairs.

The captain looked back at you, flicked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “C’mon, let's get you dry.”

The kitchen was much smaller than you remembered it being not a few minutes prior — cozy, much warmer than outside but still not quite warm.

“Siddown,” he said from the kitchen, not as forceful as a command but just as compulsory. You gingerly sat yourself on the same bench you had woken up on, watching him carefully, lips sealed.

He approached you with a tall cup of water, held by the rim with the tips of his fingers. “Drink it.”

You took the cup timidly, but once it was in your grip you did not hesitate; tipped it into your mouth and skulled it down desperately, a dribble escaping the corner of your mouth. You had no idea how thirsty you were until fresh water touched your lips — fresh, not salty — you panted like a dog when the cup was empty, half-quenched.

He took it from you, filled it back up at the sink before bringing it back, and you drank the second cupful just as quickly.

“Better?” He asked, and you nodded, wiped your mouth with your hand.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

You watched as he grabbed a light blue towel from the tabletop, and for a moment you thought he might hand it to you — instead he crouched in front of you, and took your leg by the ankle.

You immediately chirped and attempted to tug your foot free on reflex, but his grip was firm; entire hand wrapped tight around your ankle, he gave you a tut.

“Settle down,” he snipped, resting the sole of your foot on his collarbone. “I’m only dryin’ you off.”

Said with such certainty that you began to doubt your instinct that it was inappropriate for him to put his hands on you — tempered by the feeling that he knew what he was doing, that he was only taking care of you.

He looked at you impatiently until your tensed muscles eased, before he nodded in satisfaction. He hooked your foot over his shoulder so that your ankle rested on his trapezius, before he bunched the towel up in a fist and ran it up the length of your leg.

You leaned on your arms behind you, heart in your throat, beating so fast that you could hear it buzzing in your ears.

He was focused, wiping the seawater and muck off your skin, up and down your thighs, down the underside of your leg.

“Took a tumble, did you?” He asked plainly, dabbing a fresh graze on your knee with the towel, making you flinch with the sting.

“Yeah,” you said meekly; you were sure it would bruise eventually, but it was largely painless for the time being.

He tutted you, but continued, wiped down your calf and dried off your foot last; he was fastidious about it, pushed the fibers of the towel between your toes, engulfed your foot in the cotton, scrubbed it along the sole of your foot and your toes curled with the tickle.

He set that leg down once he was done with it, and wordlessly demanded the other with a curl of his fingers.

Confounding yourself, you did as you were told, and offered him your other leg; he repeated the procedure, resting your foot on his shoulder and scrubbing your leg with the crunchy towel, unabashedly wiping up to the top of your thigh, between your legs, under your knees.

It didn’t escape your notice that you were naked underneath the jersey, and if he were to look a little higher his eyes would be square with your pussy. The thought made you tighten, and he gave you a disapproving glance when he felt it — but he finished with the other foot, and set your leg free again.

“Thank you,” you muttered, tight-lipped, dizzy with confusion.

“D’you want a new jersey?” He asked as he stood, swiping a hand over the sleeve shoulder, where seaspray had beaded on the outside of the fleece.

“I’m okay,” you said timidly, tucking your legs together.

He nodded, dropping the towel back on the table. “Alright, pet,” he said. “Let’s get you a cuppa, yeah?��

You were quiet, but he busied himself in the tiny kitchen anyway — followed the rumbling of a water boiler and the slosh of hot water, the opening and closing of cabinets and drawers, the tinking of a spoon in a teacup.

“Hope you take it with milk and sugar,” he said. “You’re getting it whether you like it or not.”

“That’s fine,” you croaked.

“Good girl,” he said, as he returned with a brown glass mug and set it down on the table in front of you. “Gotta get some sugar in you. You remember the last time you ate?”

You shook your head.

“Mh, well, let’s get you fed.”

“I’m not — I’m not hungry right now,” you said hesitantly, and when a divot pulled in his brows, you clarified; “don’t think I can keep much down yet.”

He nodded. “No problem, love,” he answered, with a pacifying grin. “How’s the head?”

“Where am I?” You asked pointedly, cutting to the chase, unwilling to take a sip of your tea out of lingering suspicion.

He sat down across from you, landing in the bench seat with a grunt, interlocking his fingers on the surface of the table. His glare was scrutinising, albeit gentle, as though checking rather than inspecting.

“You’re aboard the Iron Tide,” he said candidly. “We’re fishing for crabs in the North Sea.”

“Iron Tide?”

“That’s the name of the ship, love,” he answered, a little patronising. “I’m her skipper, I’m Jonathan. You met Gaz, he’s our engineer — he gave you a fright, I bet, but he’s a good lad.”

You nodded edgily, looking askance at him. “Okay… but, how did I get here?”

He smiled sombrely at that, crow’s feet pinching in the corners of his tired eyes. An oceanic blue, you noticed, little round seas reflecting the light that bounced off the table beneath him.

“Was hopin’ you could tell me that, pet,” he gibed, nodding at your mug. “Drink your tea.”

You took a sip, as you were told. Just cooled enough to sip with a slurp, blanketing your salty tongue, warm and saccharine, hot as it went down your throat. Earl grey. The taste made you feel tucked in, as though a blanket were over your legs, a pillow behind your head — but the murky memory was as fleeting as it was vague. You swallowed it with a sigh, and he looked pleased.

“So?”

“So what?” You asked, with a frown.

“How’d you end up on the high seas, hm?”

“I—” You cut yourself off, as you stared into the steaming surface of your tawny-coloured tea.

Words danced at the tip of your tongue, amorphous and flavourless, nothing you could place. Notions that, if you were to reach for them, would drift away, or turn to smoke.

You didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice shaky, glancing at him with worry knitting in your brows as though he might be able to remind you.

“You don’t remember?” He asked carefully.

A piteous heat swelled beneath your eyes, tears welling from their ducts and pooling in your eyes, your vision went blurry with it. You shook your head.

“S’alright, pet,” he said, fixing a hand to your wrist across the table. “It’ll come back to you. Do you remember anything at all? If you were on a boat, what country you’re from?”

Again you shook your head, sniffling, you wiped an errant tear with the soft sleeve of the oversized fleece you have no memory of putting on. “No.”

Concern cracked through his stoic expression, and it only made you more upset.

“Do you know your name, love?”

You vacuumed in a slow and trembling breath, eyes bouncing between your hands, as if they might hold the answer. You could think of names — Jessica, Lucy, Nina, Anna, Rebecca — but they were only that, random names floating about in the air around you, and you could not pin any of them as your own with any certainty.

“No,” you eked, followed swiftly by a sob, despite your effort to swallow it.

He exhaled, long and beleaguered, stroking the back of your hand with his colossal thumb. Hands as big as saucers, calloused and molten hot to the touch. Made your hand look like a pixie’s underneath it.

“Don’t fret, eh?” He said, failing to comfort you. “Y’got plenty of time to remember. Just finish your tea.”

“What do you mean?” You asked weakly, plenty of time comment making you uneasy. “Aren’t you going to take me to — back to land?”

He smiled, bemused, as he released your wrist with a pat and leaned back against the bench seat, hanging an arm insouciantly over the back.

“Not heading all the way back to port yet, love,” he said frankly. “We only left a couple days ago. Got a lot more crabs to catch.”

“I’m — I have to stay on this boat until you’re done fishing?” You asked, fighting back the tears that threatened another cascade.

He tilted his head. “This’s my job. If I don’t get crabs, I don’t get paid. Neither do the other lads, ‘n they won’t be letting that happen.”

You pouted, lip quivering and face scrunching, and he let out a huff.

“Look, sweetheart, what would I even do with you if I took you back now?” He asked, tone rigid. “Y’got no ID, no passport, no papers, nothing on you but that bloody frock. We don’t even know what country you belong to. You’d get snatched up by the authorities and tossed around immigration services until your head is on backwards.”

You sniffled, wiped your cheek with your sleeve. You had no argument, and even if you had the energy to muster one, you had no knowledge of how such a system worked, or where you would possibly go if they allowed you free movement. You’re sure you’d have a house somewhere, a family, someone out there must be looking for you…

The thought made you cry again, head falling from your shoulders and landing in your hands, you sobbed unremittingly into the dense fleece.

Jonathan sighed at that, evidently growing impatient, but he pushed himself to stand — he was suddenly next to you, planting himself on the bench with his thigh against yours, and he draped an arm around your shoulder.

“S’alright,” he crooned, voice as deep and rumbling as an engine, and you found yourself curling into him on instinct. Tucked up under his arm, head on his chest, a warm hand rested on the side of your head and smoothed down your hair. “We’ll sort it out.”

“I don’t even kn-know where my home is,” you blubbered into him, muffled by his jacket, still speckled with beads of sea mist. “Or if — if I’ve got a family, or a husband—”

“Y’look a little young for one o’ those,” he remarked, with a chortle.

“What if I don’t remember anything? Ever?” You cried, and he stroked the shell of your ear with his calloused thumb, fingers woven in your hair.

“None o’ that,” he grumbled, you couldn’t determine if he was rocking you or if it was simply the motions of the boat tipping over the waves. “No wallowing on my ship. Keep your chin up, and you’ll be fine.”

You whimpered, but nodded, and he petted your head like a cat.

“We got another nine or ten days at sea,” he said, comforting hand retreating from you, resting on his lap. Kept his heavy arm coiled around you, though, and you were daftly grateful for it. He patted you on the far shoulder with a stiff hand. “You’re a tough girl, yeah?”

“I dunno,” you sniffled, sitting yourself upright and reeling away from him. He released you, then, arms crossing over his chest instead.

“Well you survived God knows how long floating around in the North Sea, pet, I’d call that pretty tough.”

You attempted to compose yourself, sucking deep a breath and wiping down your face with your sleeves. Hoped that whoever’s fleece it was didn’t care about tears and snot being smeared over the cuffs.

“Is there somewhere for me to sleep?” You asked cautiously, in an attempt to come to terms with reality — nine or ten nights of sleeping on a fishing boat. It made you sick to think about.

He curled his lips as he thought for a moment. “You can sleep in my bed,” he said. “Skipper’s cabin is a lot nicer than the crew berths, I’ll tell you that.”

You blinked at him, uncertain — it was unsettlingly vague whether that meant he was offering you the bed to yourself.

“Or you can ask one of the lads to share a bunk with them, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

You shook your head hastily, and he cracked a grin. “No, thank you, skipper’s cabin sounds good, please.”

“Alrighty,” he concurred, with a nod, the deal done. “Sleepy already, eh?”

You nodded sheepishly — for the most part, you just wanted to be alone, somewhere quiet and enclosed, out of sight. But you were utterly drained, left ravaged by receding adrenaline, body battered and bruised. Curling up in a bed sounded luxurious, and heaven only knows how long it had been since you slept in one.

“Y’only been awake for twenty minutes,” he joked. “And you’ve hardly touched your tea.”

He flicked his head towards the mug, and his imperious expression made clear that he wanted you to finish it.

So, if only appease him, you clutched the mug and tipped it into your mouth, sucking down the now luke-warm tea in five hefty gulps. Licked your lips when you were done, and dumped the mug back on the table.

“Happy?”

He smiled wide, let out a haughty chuckle. “Nicely done,” he said. “Alright, then, let’s get you tucked in.”

He pushed himself to stand with a grunt, finally freeing you from behind the table, and you followed him.

“Y’sure you don’t want a bite?”

You shook your head. “Maybe in the morning, if that’s okay.”

He laughed as he made his way toward an upward staircase. “Morning’s fine, but I’m not having you starve yourself.”

“I won’t.”

As you climbed to the top of the stairs you reached the bridge — a large control station with many screens, all showing different radars and panels and numbers. The wheel was there, too, a spinning chair with a sweater thrown over the back of it tucked in front of it. Sea spray made pattering rain-like noises on the thick windows, but very little light came in from them. The air was thick with cigar smoke and terpenic air freshener, the everpresent ghost of saltwater lingering in between.

“Just through here,” he instructed, and you followed him around to the other side, through a door, and down a shorter staircase.

There you were met with a bedroom; it was intimate, stuffed full of bags and boxes and papers. A fold-out desk jutted out from an warm-wood wall, covered in maps weighed down by protractors and a drawing compass. Coats hung over hooks, boots lined up by the door.

A cot bolted to the wall, perhaps a king single, unmade — a thick duvet with a red-and-navy plaid blanket tossed overtop, heavy wool that you could ascertain would be itchy without needing to touch it. A single pillow in a navy pillowcase, cream-coloured fitted sheet likely toned off-white due to age or overuse.

It was rich with musk in there, the single porthole window not able to be opened, and the heady scent made you dizzy. You imagined it was only a marginally diluted version of the same scent you’d get pressing your nose into his armpit. It was only tempered by traces of toothpaste and cigarettes, and the potent smell of Imperial Leather bar soap. Daft that you remembered that, and little else.

“Not a five-star hotel, eh?” He gibed, nudging you with his elbow. You didn’t have a response, at first, and he chided you; “Don’t be a sourpuss. No room for being fussy here, love.”

“No — this is perfect, thank you, I’ll sleep anywhere.”

He smiled and crossed his arms, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Alright, well, you get yourself comfortable then,” he said. “Loo’s just through there, if you need it. Use my toothbrush if you like, just give it a wash after, eh?”

You almost grimaced at the thought of sharing his toothbrush, but the lingering bile and salt in your mouth had you looking forward to the taste of toothpaste.

“Need anything else, pet?” He asked, still gruff. “Paracetamol? I can get you something else to sleep in—”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you insisted, perhaps too plainly eager to get him out of the room.

“Alright, love,” he said. “G’night, then. I’ll just be up there, still got some steering to do.”

“Okay.”

With a firm nod, he turned around and headed out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a pent breath once you were alone, potent exhaustion suddenly crashing into you like a train. You stumbled into the tiny ensuite — a small toilet and a sink, the shower head jutting out from the wall above the commode — rinsed his frayed toothbrush under the tap and globbed on some colgate.

Brushing your teeth made you feel marginally human again, and you spent a good five minutes scrubbing out every crevice of your mouth. You washed it afterwards, like he said, and stuck it to the wall with the suction cup on the back of it.

There was no mirror, and you found yourself glad of it. You couldn’t yet confront the fact that you did not remember what you looked like, an existential dread that simmered in your belly, but too tired to churn up.

Only then, as you glanced at his bar of soap (it was Imperial Leather, as you had guessed), did you realise how clean you felt — you wondered if he had washed you, and now you were certain that he had changed you. The thought made you shiver, and you tried not to think about it.

His bed was squeaky underneath you, and the mattress so soft that you sunk deep into it; the weight of him permanently embedded in the springs, you settled into the divot like a cat, curled up towards the wall. It was bitterly cold in the cabin, much like the rest of the ship, so you tugged the blankets up your cheek, rubbing your icy feet together to warm them up.

The sheets reeked of him, of man and musk, the pillow smelt of scalp and salt. It was unusually comforting. Such a human smell, and as you tucked yourself under his layers of blankets it swirled around in the front of your head and made you dozy.

Sleep called to you, dark and ebbing, and you slipped willingly beneath the surface.

You were roused, only slightly, at the sound of a door handle.

Not alert enough to open your eyes, you still floated deep in slumber, soft and warm. Your consciousness ascended close enough to the shallows to acknowledge the opening of a door, the footsteps across a hollow floor, but the sounds conveyed no meaning to you.

Sleep pulled you downward but you floated languidly back up at each noise; the fizz of running water, the scrubbing of brushing teeth, the spit of toothpaste.

A zip being undone, velcro being ripped open, boot laces being untied. The clunk of a shutting door, a cough, a grunt, and you finally broke the surface.

Now entirely awake, you remained completely still — not out of fear, you didn’t think — perhaps in the hope that he would leave you alone to keep sleeping, absolutely not ready to get up yet. He made no effort to be quiet, as he dumped his boots by the door, rummaged around in his belongings for a moment, coughed again.

You kept your nose close to the wall, eyes barely open. He flicked off a light switch and the room was abruptly drowned in darkness.

The blanket was lifted from you, then, and you flinched — with the cold air nipping at your skin, you realised your long jersey had been hiked up in your sleep, and your bare bottom half was starkly exposed.

You froze, curled up, tongue in your teeth; until a sudden weight plummeted into the mattress, bouncing you up before sinking deep behind you, causing you to slide into the dip.

With a grunt and a huff the blanket was pulled back up over you, scratchy wool brushing your cheeks. A titanic arm hooked over your stomach, and you squeaked — he paid no mind, yanking you backwards until your back was flush with his chest, ass nestled into his lower belly, his thighs tucked up behind yours.

You held your breath, skittish, not yet daring to move; he let out a deep sigh into the back of your head, warm breath seeping through your hair and into your skull.

His entire body was a furnace, burning hot, and you felt yourself melting into him whether you liked it or not. A mammoth hot water bottle, wrapped around and behind you, keeping you soothingly warm.

His hand ventured nowhere untoward, arm only hanging listlessly over the divot of your waist, forearm tucked into your chest. He felt clothed against you, sweatpants and a thermal on.

There was something wrong about it — something off, a survival instinct that buzzed around you, humming like a mosquito, a ringing in your ear, annoying and persistent.

But his pyretic warmth made you lightheaded, so comfortable tucked into him that it felt like you were already dreaming.

With a heavy blink, and a deflating breath, you sunk deep into him and let slumber swallow you whole once again.

#cunty little beanie is here #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod smut #bella-writes

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ni4lovesu · 4 months ago

Text

s/o scenarios to script ⊹ ｡ﾟ･

— sharing a playlist and sharing headphones while listening to it

— finding ways to subtly touch each other’s hands without others noticing

— them teasing you just to see your reactions

— them gg along with any date you want because they just want to be with you

— getting matching keychains and your s/o taking it with them everywhere

— a cold breeze hitting you and you starting to shiver so they give you their jacket

— them sneaking up from behind you to wrap their arms around your waist, pull you close and bury their face into the crook of your neck

— them leaning in and you thinking they want to kiss you so you close your eyes just to feel them brush your hair out of your face and whisper something romantic in your ear

— fixing their hair and them looking down at you with a soft smile playing on their lips, eyes silently adoring you

— them having a habit of asking for more kisses and pulling you closer after parting because they need more of you

— them helping you tie your hair while you’re eating

— waking up next to them and trying to get up but they gently grab your hand and pull you back down to hug you half asleep

— waking up next to them. the sun is peeking through the window, birds are chirping outside and both of you just stay in bed and cuddle and shower each other with kisses

— cooking breakfast and them sleepily coming into the kitchen to hug you from behind

— keeping the relationship a secret from your friends and having a movie night where both of you secretly hold hands under the blankets while furiously blushing

— both of you being out and it suddenly begins to rain so you both run for shelter and by the time you finally get to a small shelter, you’re both soaked so you both just laugh as you gently wipe the water from their face

— driving up to a view spot and slow dancing under the stars as love songs play on the car’s radio

— snowball fights where you run up to them, kiss them, before hitting them in the back with a snowball and running away giggling

— the classic you having something in your lips and them kissing it off

— them picking you up and spinning you around

— coat hugs where they put the hood of your coat up and give you a really warm hug

— them putting their scarf around your neck while it’s snowing and it smells like them

— leaving a kiss mark on their cheek and them refusing to wipe it off

— making christmas cookies together which turns into a food fight — you guys get flour everywhere, your faces are smudged with batter and the fight is finally ended when they hug you from behind, burying their face in you neck and picking you up slightly

— them tucking your hair behind your ear and looking at you with pure adoration

— holding hands and them doing the thumb rub thing

— dancing in the rain

— carving your initials into a tree

— underwater kisses

— building a blanket fort tgt and spending the whole night in there cuddling and talking

— brushing your teeth together and locking eyes in the mirror

— complaining about something but they can’t stop staring at your lips and kiss you mid rant

— sneaking out to get slushies at the convenience store at 3am with them and both of you coming back with a purple tongue

— holding each other’s hands in a crowded place so you don’t lose each other

— going to a party and everyone’s going crazy with the party poppers so you both are left picking confetti out of each other’s hairs

— holding hands, walking along the calm, lapping shore as the sun is setting, showcasing the most magnificent views of pink, yellow, and orange hues

— them sweating from doing something strenuous and you giving them a kiss as u gently pat away their sweat with a towel

— them helping you put on a necklace (and kissing your neck afterwards)

— new years kiss under the fireworks

— always finding a way to match your outfits even the tiniest bit

— them kissing your knuckles

— getting super excited after winning a game and hugging and kissing them on the cheek

— them playing with your hair and using it as a brush to tickle your cheeks

— talking about your futures together and both of you getting that fuzzy feeling

— them carrying you bridal style and both of you just gazing into each other’s eyes

— watching a movie and them getting bored so they start nuzzling into your neck and leaving a trail of small kisses on your cheek and neck

— every single one of their lock screens on their phone being you

— laughing so hard over something so stupid it becomes an inside joke between the two of you

— seeing each other after being separated for a while and running into each others arms and there’s a long hug that just goes on that’s so relieving for the both of you

— your s/o being in charge of taking pictures of the whole friendgroup during a trip and when everyone checks back on the pictures all they see are pictures of you. safe to say they were never put on photography duty again

— both of you being included in each other’s family events and milestones

— midnight walks together through the snow in winter where everything is coated in a beautiful layer of fresh white snow and everything is so tranquil and magical

— them pulling your beanie over your eyes before placing a small peck on your lips and playfully smiling at you

— them burying their face in your shoulder and pulling you into a soft and tight hug, making both of you fall onto the bed together. they then pull their face back such that your faces are inches away, eyes locked. their eyes flutter to your lips before tenderly kissing them and whispering “i want to drown in you. all of you”

— waking up next to them and admiring their sleeping face under the morning sunlight

— your hands being cold so you place your hands up their shirt on their stomach

— standing on your tippy toes to reach their lips

— them wrapping their arms around your waist to pull you deeper into a kiss

— them playing with your hair while you lay on their chest, their fingers gently raking through the soft strands of your hair, all while you talk softly about anything and everything

— waking up to them cuddling you

— hanging around at a basketball court together and them going “if i make this ill kiss you. if i don’t i’ll kiss you anyway”

— making snow angels under the stars together

— gg to a photo booth tgt and taking the cutest pics

— absolutely everyone commenting on how much love fills their eyes when they look at you

— watching the sunset and giving each other small kisses in between

— tracing their features as they gaze at you with pure love and adoration

— walking together as cherry blossoms begin to fall all around you

— exploring the forest together and them putting out their hand for you to gently take it and guide you along the trees

— spaghetti kisses (like in lady and the tramp)

— you smoothing out their messy hair

— having this thing going on between the both of you where you give each other love letters in the most creative ways and each time it gets crazier and crazier

— baking cookies and them randomly deciding to visit your house and they come up from behind you to wrap their arms around your waist and kiss you on the cheek. so you spin around and smudge a little batter on their nose and they just laugh

— palm kisses

— them coming up from behind you and resting their head on top of yours

— them holding your hair while you eat something on a windy day

— when you were younger you made a list of romantic things you wanted to experience and your s/o ends up finding that list and attempts to complete it

— going to a sports game and both of you show up on the kiss cam

— you driving and your s/o is in the car next to you at a red light so they signal you to roll down the window. when you do, they start blasting “kiss me” (or any other love song of your choice) on their radio and singing their heart out to you

— them smiling into your kiss

— doing their makeup and they can’t keep their eyes off you

— them drawing your initials on their notebook

— going sledding tgt and them falling over in the snow so you wipe off snow from their hair and face while laughing uncontrollably and they’re also laughing as their eyes are glued to your face

— kissing them and accidentally getting lipstick on their lips so you try to wipe it off and they just smile, grab your hand, and lean in for another kiss

— going to the beach at night and staring up at the moon while having deep talks

— kisses on the tip of the nose

— sharing an umbrella with them and they tilt it towards you

— pressing your foreheads against each other’s and scrunching your noses

— tracing shapes on their back as they doze off

— your shoelace being untied so they bend down to tie it

— making matching bracelets out of our eye colours

— writing your names on a padlock, locking it on a bridge and throwing away the key

— pulling them in for a kiss by the tie

— subtle touches

— them deboning your chicken for you (or taking the shells off the prawn etc.)

— burning all their favourite songs onto a cd and painting it to give them as a gift

— them putting their hand in the back pocket of your jeans

— getting mad at them and them doing the absolute most to make it up to you

— you saying something they think is so adorable they smile and look away

— them being all smiley every time you’re brought up

— falling asleep on their shoulder in the car and them trying to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible

— kissing under the mistletoe

— them lying on your lap during a board game with your friendgroup

— putting on a face mask for them and they cannot keep their eyes off you

— clinging onto them because you don’t want them to leave and they are loving every second of it

— collarbone kisses

— sharing milkshakes together and both of you going going to take a sip at the same time and locking eyes

— stealing something from them and them chasing you around trying to catch you. when they finally do, they wrap their arms around your waist, making you squeal and giggle. as you turn around, they kiss you and gently take back their belonging from your hand

— it’s snowing outside and you both cuddle up in front of the fire place with hot chocolate and watch the grinch

— them not being able to sleep and throwing things at your window to wake you up just to go sit with them under the stars

— board walks while holding hands

— going to a haunted house with your fg and the both of you give each other a quick kiss when you guys get to a really dark room

— making snowmen together and you’re both having so much fun bundled up in your winter coats

— them having you take the first bite of their food and blowing on it because it’s hot

— kissing their dimples

— soft launching your relationship

— helping them tie their tie

— them giving you one of their rings

— you not wanting to get in the pool so they pick you up and jump into the water with you

— sneaking out with them at night to go by the beach and swim

— watching the fireworks with them and they admire how breathtaking you look under the colourful glow of the lights

— them showing up at your door one night randomly bc they js “wanted to see you”

— you two getting ice cream and you asking them if they wanted to try some of yours and they say yes and ask if you want some of theirs and you also say yes so they kiss you

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cybersunnie · 4 months ago

Text

the look of love | collection

01 RAFE CAMERON meets the new art teacher.

includes fem!teacher!reader / uncle!rafe / reader goes by "miss sugar" / fluff / grumpy x sunshine / family dynamics / safe to read! / wc 1.5k

Sarah already had her own family. Two rascals, Jackson and Josie. Meanwhile, Rafe didn’t. He had no kids. Nada. Zero. And he planned to keep it that way for a while.

As much as he loved his niece and nephew, they depleted his desire to have any. They were both rowdy and talkative and an awful lot like their parents.

It scared him.

He didn’t need more John B’s and Sarah’s walking the earth. Those little devils.

And yet, he was on his way to pick them up from school.

He never had to before. It was typically JJ, Kie, or anyone who wasn’t him. But apparently, the Pogues were more swamped than usual and had a ‘customer issue’ at their little Surf Shop. Whatever that meant.

Safe to say, Rafe wasn’t too thrilled about it. He was a busy man—the CEO of Cameron Development, to be exact. Children didn’t fit in his schedule. At least, that was what he told himself on the lonelier, quieter days. But family was family, as his dad always said. So, when his sister had called him, pleading, he reluctantly agreed.

When he pulled into the pick-up zone, driving along the curb, he spotted his niece and nephew. They were hard to miss, not only because they were the only kids in front of the school, but because of the woman accompanying them. You.

With the sweetest smile Rafe had ever seen, you stood between them, hands clasped behind your back, your eyes darting between the two children as they talked over each other.

Rafe stopped in front of them and rolled the windows down. The youngest of the two, Josie, was the first to notice.

An exaggeratedly loud gasp left her lips, her eyes wide. “Uncle Rafe!”

That set off a chain reaction.

Jackson looked up, his brows furrowed. “Uncle Rafe?”

Rafe didn’t know if he should feel offended.

Then, your gaze shifted away from the kids, meeting his eyes through the passenger window. Time slowed. He saw your smile soften, and you waved at him. His heart lurched out of his chest, the feeling foreign and borderline uncomfortable.

What the fuck?

But he didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling as his niece and nephew rushed towards his car.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle,” Josie chanted, panting like she ran a mile. “You’re pickin’ us up?”

Jackson stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You never pick us up.”

Damn, what was this kid’s problem?

“Yes, Josie. And, well, they’re busy at the Surf Shop,” Rafe sighed, unlocking the car doors to let them in. “So, you guys got me for today.”

Through the rearview mirror, he watched the children clamber into the vehicle, feet kicking and hands flying as they argued about trivial matters—I always sit on the left side! So? I got in first. You’re being a butthead! I’m telling mommy you called me a butthead!—and so on. He chuckled, his lips curving into a grin.

Suddenly, you spoke, “They’re special, huh?”

Your voice was warm and inviting. He didn’t know a person could sound so lovely.

When Rafe looked at you, he forgot how to speak. Every word he knew? Gone. And you barely did anything. You were just standing before the passenger door, staring back at him. He couldn’t help but notice the smudge of orange paint on the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah, definitely,” he ultimately said, nodding.

You extended your right hand out to him through the open window. He saw more dried paint on your fingertips. “I’m Miss Sugar, the new art teacher here.”

Ah, that explained it.

“Rafe.” He shook your hand, his eyes locked on your face. Your hand felt soft but far from fragile. “Rafe Cameron.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you beamed.

Did you ever stop smiling? Your cheeks should be hurting at this rate.

He nodded, letting go of your hand before he looked like a creep. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh, Uncle Rafe,” Josie called, rummaging through her backpack, “me and Jackson made a paper chain thingy with Miss Sugar! Look, this one’s you!”

He turned his head, eyes squinting at the paper doll chain she held up. Josie explained they made it during the after-school program, where she and Jackson spent a few extra hours each day. There were nine cut-out paper dolls, with what he assumed to be Josie at the start and him at the end. It was rough around the edges, but what did Rafe expect from a five-year-old? And the longer he stared at it, Rafe figured he was a last-minute addition, his hand glued to Sarah’s doll, the paper there wrinkled.

From the corner of his eye, he saw you tilt your head into his car, looking at the kids. You seemed proud. It made him wonder what it felt like to have someone be proud of him.

“That’s really nice.” Rafe looked at his niece, who grinned brightly at his praise. He then stared at the frowny face drawn on his doll. “Why’s everyone smiling except for me?”

“Because you’re always grumpy,” Jackson replied bluntly.

Little Josie slapped a hand over her mouth and erupted in giggles. Of course, his nephew was the one behind it.

Seriously, did this kid have a vendetta against him?

“Okay, you—” Rafe caught sight of your amused expression, and he bit back his words, “—I’m not always grumpy.”

You tried to cover up your laugh with a cough. “Yeah, he doesn’t look grumpy right now,” you defended, though it was far from convincing. Then you shot him a wink, and the gears in his mind stuttered and fell apart. Were you flirting with him? Or was it more of an ‘I got your back’ sort of wink?

Fuck, why did he even care? He needed to pull himself together.

“Anyways, I have to get back now,” you sighed, and the kids protested almost immediately. He saw a frown tug on your features, and you moved to the backseat window, cooing a mix of ‘I know’ and ‘I wish I could stay longer’ that eased their complaints. Eventually, you moved to the passenger window again, telling him a sweet, “Get home safe.”

Rafe felt himself having to fight back a smile. “Thanks.”

You pursed your lips, your fingers tapping the window seal. “Don’t be a stranger, Rafe Cameron,” you said, stepping back from his car.

Jackson and Josie shouted their goodbyes to you before he could respond, but your words rang in his ears. Don’t be a stranger. He watched you wave to him and the kids before turning on your heel, your long skirt dancing around your legs as you made your way to the school’s entrance. Once you disappeared behind the door, he eased off the brake and pulled out of the pick-up zone.

As Rafe drove the kids home, the wind whipped through the open windows, the music on the stereo hummed softly, and his niece and nephew whispered to each other in the backseat. What about? He didn’t know, nor did he want to know. But he suspected they were up to no good.

Josie cleared her throat with an over-the-top ahem, ahem! “Uncle Rafe?”

“What?”

She didn’t waste another second. “What you think of Miss Sugar?”

Rafe stared hard at the road. He had many thoughts about you: beautiful, messy, stunning, smiled too much, gorgeous.

“Uh, she seems nice,” he answered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“Just wondering!” Josie chirped.

Silence fell between them.

He thought that would be it, and then he heard more whispering. Dread flooded his body. Rafe tweaked the stereo volume higher. They hadn’t caught that you piqued his interest, right? No, that would be ridiculous. They were kids. They would be none the wiser.

At least, he thought so until his niece asked, “Do you think she’s pretty?”

No wonder the Pogues called her Nosy Josie. It all made sense now. And, of course, he thought you were pretty. Who wouldn’t?

Rafe sucked in a breath, scratching his brow. “I’m not answerin’ that.”

Jackson grumbled, “I told you, Josie.”

“You didn’t!”

And a new argument ensued. But for once, Rafe was content listening to their high-pitched shouts because that meant the attention was off him. He didn’t want to be pestered about you any further. If Josie had kept pushing, he feared he would be sent down a rabbit hole, you consuming his thoughts.

But maybe he had already fallen down the rabbit hole. He was just too busy denying it.

Soon, Rafe arrived at their home, and the kids hopped out of his car and ran to their parents. Sarah thanked him for picking them up as John B took them inside—Josie sat on his hip, with Jackson walking beside him. He brushed it off, even offering to pick them up from school more often. His sister looked surprised and a little skeptical, but she didn’t question his change of heart.

While Rafe Cameron didn’t have time for children, he could make time for you.

sunnie speaks! i realized miss sugar is barely in this WHOOPS!!! but i hope you guys found his dynamic w jackson and josie fun, haha! i sure had a fun time writing it :D let's chat about rafe cameron / teacher!reader

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x teacher!reader #rafe x teacher!reader #（ 🍎 : teacher!reader ）#file — recent works #✶ — rafe cameron #（ sunnie writes obx! ）

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beforetimes · 2 months ago

Note

Foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of role reversal Binghe and Yuan, don't mind me

Also don't mind me just spitballing here, you can take this as a prompt or not! But can you imagine Binghe's reaction to seeing Shen Yuan years in the future, probably still at Jinlan city? Not only is he taking in how different Shen Yuan looks, either in regards to how the abyss changed him or just how he's grown, but Binghe doesn't have prior knowledge that Shen Yuan would live through the abyss.

Can you imagine the shock? The misunderstanding as Binghe doesn't react to anything because he's still processing that his beloved disciple is THERE, he's ALIVE. He was though to be dead for years, but somehow he survived the abyss.

heyyyy anon so glad that i’ve managed to inspire the same obsession in you that’s spawned in me seemingly overnight. anddd i didn’t even consider the possibility of this scene when i came up with this scenario but let me try my hand at what it’d look like… also i know i wrote his name all as shen yuan in this but i only noticed after i finished and i don't want to rewrite. smile. enjoy!!

[og au post here!]

…

Jinlan city carries with it a chilled breeze, curled up quietly against Luo Binghe’s skin under the edges of his robe, where flesh meets air. Face impassive, mouth a straight line and eyes heavy with poison-bourne-exhaustion only a few hours into the trip, everything spells out the path to his inevitable turning in for the night soon. The sun’s joined in his lulling to slumber, touching the horizon as the sky turns orange from blue.

Luo Binghe drifts, a reed swaying in the wind by the riverside as he investigates the town, slipping away from Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang to survey the ghost town in his lonesome.

Everything is par for the course, almost mundane enough that Luo Binghe feels a muted frustration grab at the epicentre of his chest, wrapped around the raw meat of his heart. Always muted, desaturated and less than every sensation could be, as though Shen Yuan took with him a shred of Luo Binghe. If he were an artist, then Shen Yuan wasn’t just his muse but every hue of colour, enshrined in Luo Binghe’s memory in smudges of peach, white, green, and rosy pinks.

Of course, Luo Binghe hasn’t felt like much of anything in a long time. Every day feels like going through familiar, pre-determined motions, drifitng in and out of classes with a commitment inspired in him that never possessed him before the Immortal Alliance Conference. Even this mission, a slight deviation from the norm, feels easy enough to slot into a quiet part of his mind, where everything mundane gathers dust. Months, almost years worth of memories tucked away in a damp corner.

This should be more of the same. Luo Binghe is anticipating nothing else.

Then—a figure bumps into him, bringing him to a stumbling halt.

He’s practiced; the figure picks up speed when his gaze passes over them, so Luo Binghe pursues, numbness clenching at the hollow of his chest like a bird nipping fingers. Short bursts of static aimed at his hummingbird heart as he ducks into shadowy alleyways, a maze bringing him eventually to the second story of a seemingly-abandoned home.

Hand resting on his sword, Luo Binghe creeps up the stairs. Opening to a room, his gaze skips over the furniture in his first sweep before he stills at the sight of the balcony. Silhouette traced against the setting sun, the figure lowers their hood as Luo Binghe unsheaths his spiritual weapon. Its hardly silent, and the figure’s face snaps over to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes.

Lightning strikes, a shock to the heart.

Shen Yuan exhales a moment later, and it hurts almost twice as bad.

“Shizun…” He says, words so quiet he’s almost mouthing them to himself. Cultivation pulled from the equation, Luo Binghe doesn’t think he would have heard them. Here, however, they twist a blade into his palpating, trembling chest. “It’s really you here?”

He opens his mouth but words loathe to creep past his throat and spill over his teeth. Luo Binghe can only stare, drinking in details he never dared imagine, his disciple last remembered bloodied and sobbing at the ridge of a gorge touched by years Luo Binghe thought Shen Yuan had lost because of his Shizun’s incompetence.

Gone are the gentle greens and whites of Qing Jing Peak, replaced with navy blue, near black, and charcoal gray robes that layer over themselves thrice over, as though Shen Yuan tries to keep himself warm. His face lost its last vestiges of baby fat, severe green eyes dulled yet still imbued with life. Hair shiny, longer, left in a simple updo unbefitting of Qing Jing Peak’s strict standards. Luo Binghe’s mind wanders back to hazy mornings spent brushing his disciple’s hair before he’s forcefully yanked back to the present.

“I suppose Shizun suspects this lowly demon to be responsible for the plague?” Shen Yuan asks, unsurprised yet words saddled with inexplicable defeat. “With word from Qing Jing Peak’s immortal master against this one, I suppose there’s no point in dragging out the inevitable trial, though Shizun can decide if this one should dare show his face to the other Peak Lords Shizun’s brought with him.”

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe manages to croak, mind speeding to such an extent that forcing words out feels like fighting past a hot charcoal shoved down his throat.

“Or,” Shen Yuan continues, as though uninterrupted, starting to pace in a way so familiar and practiced that any imagined excuses of possession or imitation vanish themselves from Luo Binghe’s mind, “Or maybe Shizun wants to bring this stupid evil demon to the Sect Leader himself before executing him—maybe he wants to claim the glory of becoming Jinlan’s saviour, maybe—maybe Shizun wants this disciples head on a spike, or—“

Shen Yuan whips around, eyes burning into Luo Binghe’s with intensity that would unwaver him if he wasn’t already off-balance. Hazy and near-floating, feeling his heart beat outside his frail body. Despite the weight of it, there’s a vulnerable desperation that robs him of breath, too reminiscent of days Shen Yuan spent at the end of Luo Binghe’s bed on days where the world pinned him to the sheets without mercy. Violent and fervent hope seems to overtake Shen Yuan.

“Or maybe Shizun just—? WIll—this one knows that Shizun wants… But everything else has changed, I can— This one—Maybe Shizun wants me to live?”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Luo Binghe manages to say, and watches Shen Yuan’s expression freeze before shuttering, scrubbed away from a too-pale face and replaced with a jade-like twist to his lips so cold it feels as though it cuts at Luo Binghe’s skin.

He reaches out and Shen Yuan flinches.

You’re supposed to be dead, Luo Binghe thinks, standing days away from home yet able to feel the press of grass and stone under his knees as he stares at a solitary grave in Qing Jing Peak’s bamboo forest.

You’re supposed to be dead, he thinks, watching Shen Yuan turn from disciple to stranger, any hope in his former student's shoulders deflating until Shen Yuan’s taking up very little space, completely unaware he’s done it at all.

You’re supposed to be dead, Luo Binghe thinks, remembering every single conversation with Liu Qingge where they both quietly tell themselves there’s no body, there’s always a chance. They both knew they were lying to each other. I mourned you. I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you.

In the same room, Shen Yuan retreats, and despite being closer than they have been in years, Luo Binghe can feel the channel of one-sided hatred between the two of them grow ever-deeper.

masterpost

#svsss #svsss au #svsss headcanon #svsss fic #scum villain #scum villain au #scum villain's self saving system #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #bingqiu #shizun luo binghe #disciple shen yuan #milez writing #milez asks!#milez's role swap au

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luvrrszn · 3 months ago

Text

behind closed doors

BROTHER'S BSF!THEO NOTT x FEM READER (18+)

summary you're his best friend's little sister—off-limits, right?

warnings smut, theo's mean, fluff, angst i guess, idk

a/n guysssssssssss new week new obsession......soz send help

masterlist

being your older brother's best friend, theo was at your house all the time.

that meant he'd see you almost every day. the most gorgeous girl he'd ever seen, floating around. so close yet so far, always out of reach.

he knew he'd never be able to have you, no, your brother would never allow that. so he did the only other thing he could think of—be mean to you.

so he tormented you every day. called you names, even waited on your bed for you to come home so he could insult you about something new. you suspected it was just his way of getting to see you every day.

he acts like you're the biggest pain in the ass, just his best friend's annoying little sister. but the second nobody's looking? his hands are on you.

—

sleeping with him is casual, no strings attached. theo sneaks out of your brother's room at night after he's fast asleep, making sure that he never ever finds out what's going on.

when your brother is finally out of town for the weekend, theo still comes over. the two of you are watching a movie on the tv in your room, lying on your bed. his arm is wrapped around your shoulder, your head leaning against his chest. his other hand traces up and down your inner thigh under the blanket.

it's one of those rare moments in the in-between.

in-between fucking and being at each others' throats.

theo's hand slips lower, toying with the waistband of your pink lace panties. he traces over your wet cunt, chuckling under his breath, "amore mio, you're dripping, just for me, huh?"

"shut u—" you're immediately silenced when theo plunges two long fingers into your pussy.

a smug smile spreads across his face, “you’re squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna break my fingers aren’t ya? if your brother knew how much you think about me, he’d probably hex you himself.”

“t-theo, stop talking about my brother and start moving your damn fingers.” you pants, writhing against the palm of his hand, aching for some friction against your clit.

“as you wish, amore mio.”

—

one night, you’re sneaking back in after a party. your hair is disheveled, makeup smudged, slightly tipsy and boots in your hand as you try to close the front door as quietly as possible.

theo is the last person you expect to see. you curse under your breath. why is he always in your damn house?

the open kitchen layout gives him the perfect view of you sneaking back in at 3am. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, grey sweatpants hanging low, black tshirt hugging his biceps. he drinks from a glass of water, a dark look on his face.

you roll your eyes as you put your boots down on the floor, preparing yourself for what’s to come.

“a bit late, isn’t it, piccola?”

you roll your eyes and brush past him, opening the fridge to grab some orange juice. gulping down the juice, you reply, "it's really none of your business, nott."

wrong answer.

before you can react, he's in front of you, blocking your path. he's so much taller, broader than you. the amused glint in his eye is gone.

"see, that's where you're wrong," he murmurs, tilting your chin up with two fingers so you meet his gaze, "it is absolutely my business, because we wouldn't want you messing around with young, dumb, horny boys would we?"

his forearms rest on either side of your head, pinning you against the refrigerator.

"oh yeah? and what are you?" you scoff.

"oh, bella, you already know the answer to that."

and you do. he's stronger, older, perhaps even more mature (when it comes to anything other than you) than whatever company you're keeping.

"i swear, you'd better not tell my brother about this." you groan, ducking under his arms as you beeline for the sink.

"there's no such thing as a free lunch, piccola."

and that's how you end up on your knees in your bedroom, short skirt hiked up as you gag around his fucking massive cock. his hands are tangled in your hair, mercilessly forcing you to take in every inch of him. tears stream down your face, spit pooling at the corner of your mouth. you look like a mess, but at that moment as theo looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, he swears he's never seen a prettier girl than you.

you look up at theo and take in the sight before you. his head is thrown back, hair messy. his jaw is clenched, and he smirks at you. you run your hands over his chest and toned abs, clawing at his biceps.

he's perfect.

—

oh, and when he catches you at a party?

it's over.

he drags you out by your wrists, forcing you into his blacked-out mercedes. he's driving well over the speed limit, desperate to get off the road before he loses his shit.

he'd seen you dancing with some guy you knew from down the street, dress too short, too tight, too low-cut.

he has one hand on the steering wheel, another running through his hair as his jaw clenches.

"didn't take you for the easy type, but i guess i shouldn't be surprised. you're not special, you know. boys will say anything to get them what they want."

his words hit like a slap. your stomach twists, and for a second, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted and heart pounding.

you want to ask what the hell he's talking about, but you already know.

he saw you dancing with that guy. saw the way his hands slid down your waist, how he leaned in close and whispered things in your ear. how you let out that sweet laugh, one that always made theo want to say "fuck it" and just kiss you in front of everyone. he saw the way you let it happen.

and he hated it.

and now he's punishing you for it.

when you remain silent, he continues, "you looked fucking ridiculous in there, you know that?"

and you feel so silly. to think that that evening, you'd picked out your favourite dress, made sure your makeup looked good, just in hopes that theo would notice you at that party.

"you're being cruel, theo. stop it." you murmur, turning to stare out of the window. you don't even notice that you've started crying.

when you finally notice, you wipe it away quickly. you hope that theo didn't notice, but of course he did. at that moment, he pulls into the driveway of your house, turning off the engine.

theodore nott has seen a lot of things—but he has never seen you cry like this. and definitely not because of him.

and it makes something in his chest clench.

"oh, for fuck’s sake—" his voice drops, no longer sharp but still frustrated. he drags a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly, like he’s angry at himself now, too.

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you, at the way you’re biting your lip, blinking rapidly, trying so hard to hold it in.

then? he moves.

his hand reaches for your thigh, fingers curling around it, grounding. not forceful, but firm.

"hey." his voice is softer now, rough but not cruel.

"don't do that. don't fucking cry over me."

you try to shift away, but theo's grip tightens. not rough—just enough to make you stay.

"i didn't mean—fuck." he sighs again, shaking his head.

his thumb brushes against your knee, almost like a reflex, and for the first time ever, he looks uncertain.

"look at me."

you don't. you can't.

so he makes you.

his fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face towards him.

he isn't angry anymore. not at you. not really. his jaw is still clenched, his brows furrowed, but now? he looks almost desperate. like he wants to fix everything he's done, but he doesn't know how.

"i didn't mean it like that, bella."

you sniff, voice shaking slightly, "then how did you mean it?"

and that's when he just sighs. a weak, defeated sigh escapes the big bully of a man.

"i just—fuck, i don’t want to see you with other guys, alright?"

"why? we're not anything. you've made it clear, multiple times."

silence follows. his grip tightens.

then, he finally speaks. rough, low, honest.

"because i want you to be mine."

for a moment, you just stare at him.

his confession hangs in the air between the two of you. you're still hurt, still pissed. but something inside you shifts.

"say it again." your voice is quieter now, still laced with frustration but weaker.

theo's jaw clenches. he’s not used to being this vulnerable. but he doesn’t look away.

"I want you to be mine."

and then he moves. his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. he hesitates for just a second, like he’s giving you a chance to stop him.

but you don't.

so he kisses you.

it's not soft. not at first. it’s heated, desperate, full of all the tension that had been boiling between you. his grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. but you don’t—you kiss him back just as fiercely, hands tugging at his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

it’s messy and overwhelming and everything you’ve both been pretending not to want.

when he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless.

"we’re so fucked," you whisper.

theo smirks, brushing his thumb across your swollen lips. “yeah. but you like it.”

and the worst part?

you do.

#📓—lexwrites #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott angst #theo nott angst #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #harry potter

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rhyrhy · 3 months ago

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more Ellie Abby hc’s PLEASE

Masc’s and Mascara

⋆. ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Warnings: none, fluff, established relationships! My two favorite M’s. Mascs and makeup. Based on this

♡ A/n : doing Ellie/abby/vi’s makeup (yum) | dividers by fairytopea

Costume party—Gf! Vi

“Ugh. Sorry—hold on, let me just…” you sighed deeply.

This would’ve been the third time you redid her eyeliner. The ink simply refused to work with you. You’d been moving around each other in the shared bathroom, getting ready when you took the lead on doing her vampire makeup for her. Duo costumes were a must. You were going as Princess Bubblegum, and Vi was stamped on being Marceline. Her Powder blue eyes watched your face twist in frustration. She could have done it herself but had always been a stickler for physical touch. She wanted it to be dark, moody, and dramatic enough to suit her.

As the makeup wipe brushed her skin again, she unfolded her arms and held her hand out. You gave her the liquid eyeliner pen.

“Here, let me.” Her reddish-pink hair swayed as she tilted her body toward the mirror on her left.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you watched her in the mirror. She closed one eye, swiping the liner effortlessly. And before you could sulk, she turned back to you with a small smile.

“See? Teamwork.” She kissed the top of your head, laying the pen down.

“Didn’t know my girlfriend was a MUA. But I still get to do the rest,” you said, pulling back. Standing between her thighs, you reached back into your makeup bag. The conversation continued as she listed off who all was coming out tonight but halted when you pulled out tweezers to clean up her eyebrows. Her head leaned back, away from your hands.

“What? These bad boys are perfect,” she said, holding a hand up. Then she pointed. “Put those down.”

“Vi,” you protested.

“No way.” She waved her hand.

“Violet, just let me—” you whined, laughing at her reluctance.

“Nope,” she finalized as she lowered your hand gently.

Makeup trend— Gf! Ellie

“Shh, stop. If you laugh, I will.” You scolded, tilting her straight on her pillow once more.

Ellie was already giggling when you showed her the trend. Though she didn’t wear any herself, having had previous girlfriends, she was aware of the basics. occasionally letting you put brown mascara on her to complement her emerald irises. Black eyeshadow on a small brush, you carefully drew out the lines on her cheeks.

“Okay, okay,” she huffed, her thumbs gently stroking the skin under the hem of your shirt, steadily holding your hips as you sat on her lap. She kept her head still for you. The light tickle of the brush strokes had her biting back more laughs. Scanning over her room, then back to your focused face—one she always found cute. But she knew what face she enjoyed even more… a smile.

You tilted your head, carefully outlining the black once more, making sure it didn’t bleed onto the faded orange on the contours of her face.

She was letting you work in peace until—

“Rawr!” she growled, wiggling her fingers into your sides as she tickled you in the spots she knew too well.

“Els! Stop it!” you yelped, jerking away as she cackled.

You narrowed your eyes at her through your laughter, pointing at the smudged makeup. “See? now I have to redo it.”

Ellie smiled and shrugged unapologetically. “Oh no, whatever will you do?”

“You’re so annoying.” You chuckled, putting your face in your hands.

“Mhm, and you love me.” She wiggled her brown brows before grabbing the brush from your hands. “Alright, now it’s my turn. Let me mess up your face.”

Curiosity — Gf! Abby

Her strong arms relaxed, draping over the back of your plush vanity chair. Leaning forward, she brought her head closer to yours, following your movements in the mirror as you worked on your makeup.

“Okay, just tell me what it is first,” she said as you held up a product, a small smile on your lips.

“Highlighter.” You pointed to your small Revlon palette of glittery tones.

“Why would anyone want to put that on their face?” She raised a brow, glancing to the lettering.

You sighed. “To look glowy, Abby. A little shine.” You did jazz hands for emphasis. She laughed at your dramatics but let you continue. It started with you just putting some clear mascara on her, telling her she’d barely notice the difference. But then, you managed to convince her to let you go a little further. She laughed the entire time, shaking her head as you carefully blended out the concealer you’d sneakily applied. One leg rested on hers as she sat in the chair with you, pressed together comfortably. You happily swiped highlighter on her brow bone.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. Of course, she didn’t pull away. leaning into your hands instead.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased back.

She gave you a look. “You’re literally putting stuff on my face right now.”

“And you’re letting me,” you shot back at her. Abby rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop you. “Now shh,” you soothed, knowing she loved when you pampered her despite her fake protests.

A content sigh, her eyes fluttering shut as you continued.

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emilys-bangs · 12 days ago

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in gold light | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, reader wears glasses, emily cleans them just because, absolutely smitten both of them, it's disgusting

Summary: You have dirty glasses, and you have a girlfriend. It's simple math; 1+1=2.

Word count: 0.7k

For the glasses wearing girlies <3 Emily would never let our glasses go dirty.

This is your reward, you think. For braving the day and surviving the long hours at work and fighting through the endless horrors.

Your bones are fusing with the bed, your body dipping further into the mattress with Sergio’s weight on your chest. He purrs up a storm, contentedly asleep in the junction of your neck, and the sound punctuates Emily’s low musings, warm and mellow as the golden lampshade at her side. She’s talking about the beach and getting baked under the sun and dipping her toes into the hot sand.

You can feel yourself sink further into your pillow. It doesn’t help that you’re cocooned in downy softness on all fronts, the lull of her voice caressing your tired bones. A heavy weight settles on your eyes; you try to blink it away.

Emily’s knee grazes your thigh under the covers. You tilt your chin up, wanting to get a better look at her, and frown when a smudge blurs out her face. The squiggles of your fingerprints are just visible on her jaw. It’s not terribly distracting, but prominent enough to bother you. You shift your head to move it away and the light from the lamp elongates to long orange streaks, spanning the length of your vision.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?” You’re frowning. Emily is too, her head tilted in confusion. “Oh—it’s just, m’glasses. They’re streaky.” That’s enough of an explanation; you’re usually too lazy to follow through with cleaning them. “Sorry, you were—”

Emily leans over you, her hair swinging down from her shoulders and forming a raven curtain around your cheeks. She reaches for your glasses; you instinctively close your eyes, nose scrunching up as she eases the frame from your face. She’s gentle as she drags the temple tips over the curves of your ears.

The bed dips as she leans away. You open your eyes, finding her blurry around the edges, her striking features going out of focus.

“I was saying,” she murmurs, lifting the corner of her shirt and using it to wipe the lense, “why not make it a getaway kind of thing? Instead of just a day trip. We haven’t gone on vacation in a while.” Her fingers rub slow, methodical circles over the plastic. A sliver of her stomach peeks out from under her shirt, hazy lines of ink half tucked into her waistband. She cleans both lenses then raises your glasses to the light, critically squinting through them.

Your chest glows with heat. Suddenly wide awake, you try to hide your smile in Sergio’s fur, all train of thought dissolving into fog.

Emily looks over at your silence, her brows arching. “Earth to Y/N,” she drawls, leaning over again and hovering above you. You hold your breath as she carefully guides your glasses onto your face, making sure the temple tips aren’t caught in any hair.

They settle on your nose; her outline sharpens. You can see her small smile clear as day, her features soft with love as she makes sure to keep her fingertips on the frame.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?” She teases. “I didn’t know these were essential to brain function.” Gently, she presses down on the bridge of the frame, pushing it snug onto your nose.

Your breath gets caught in your throat. Her eyes are inches from yours, onyx brown so deep you could drown in it.

“That was stupidly nice.” You say, your voice soft with emotion as you grab a handful of the hair at the nape of her neck. “You’re stupidly nice.” You mumble.

A brief grin, flash of teeth on lips, fire in your gut.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone,” Emily hums, leaning in, “or else I’ll have to kill you all.”

She kisses you before you respond, her tongue sweeping slow and languid over your lip, but you think you mumble something like wouldn’t dream of it. Your glasses dig into your cheeks, cool against your hot skin, and when Emily leans back you don’t even mind the fog on the lenses blocking your view.

She does, though. She pushes them to the top of your head, nudges Sergio off of your chest and takes his place, all talk of beaches and getaways long forgotten.

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#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fic

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mxnhoo · 4 months ago

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taste (y. jw)

✎ yang jungwon x reader synopsis you and Jungwon were drinking together, until you impulsively recommended to play spicy drinking games. he eventually agreed with your idea, and from there on you could discover something that he's been hiding from you and you decide to make it come true. genre drinking together, reader has supposedly bad drinking tolerance but actually lasted the entire way, drinking game, jungwon respects boundaries (as he should) but reader likes to push it, jungwon is shy when getting onto the spicy topics unlike reader who's bold, Hershey's chocolate syrup, teasing, not proofread warnings spicy drinking game/spicy question(s), VERY ALMOST smut (read at your own caution), very suggestive, food related (smudging on areas on the body to clean up), vivid description of licking, hickies word count 1.4k cly's note honestly writing suggestive/almost smut fics are lowkey out of my comfort zone but i wanted to give yall another one after seeing how much support dangerous got. if i wasn't so awkward with this topic, jungwon would've been more bold and confident LOL. don't think i wrote this as well as dangerous but hope yall enjoy this too!

As you finished taking a shot, you immediately gulped down the liquid in an attempt to reduce the effects that the alcohol has on you. You sighed as you felt the burning sensation in your throat, your face tensing up as you slowly felt the sensation disappear. Jungwon chuckled as he held up the alcohol bottle and poured you another shot. As the sensation in your throat fully died off, you quickly cleared your throat, "I'm done".

He gave you an approving hum and smile as he patted your back, knowing that you weren't such a good drinker unlike him. You sat back on your chair, letting your head hang over the edge as you stared into the ceiling. The room was dimly lit up by a warm light, the walls and ceiling looking more of a dark orange.

You could almost tell that feeling in your stomach was coming — y'know, that feeling when you drink a lot of alcohol. Your head was starting to feel light and as your heart starts to race, you suddenly feel like you want to do a lot of things.

"Hey!" you called out, and Jungwon's eyebrows raised, anticipating to what you were going to say next. "Drinking game, let's play," you suggested.

And that was exactly how you got even more wasted. You were panting as you felt your head spin, almost feeling like you were going to pass out. Jungwon laughed as he watched you in your drunken state, folding his arms and relaxing back on his chair, "Are you sure you can continue? I can bring you to bed now if you want".

"No!" you slammed your shot glass down onto the table, determined to prove that you could drink more, even if your boyfriend already knew damn well that you were already pass your limit. "I.. can do thiss," you mumbled, your speech already starting to slur from the alcohol.

"Y'know what?!" you exclaimed, standing up from your chair and slightly startling Jungwon and you looked at him with determined eyes, "Spicy. Let's play spicy".

Jungwon's eyes were slightly widened as he realised what you were asking for. You wanted to play spicy drinking games, and his mind has run wild, the number of things he wants to do being unlimited. His face slightly burns up at the idea and he shook his head.

"I'd love to, but-" "Wonnie!" "You're drunk, Y/N."

You pouted. "So what?!" He ran his fingers throug his hair, feeling slightly agitated. "I don't want to take advantage of that!"

You looked at him with half-lidded eyes, "I don't care. Do it".

He bit his lip, and if you were sober enough, you can physically see him lose control from the way his brows furrow and how he exhaled audibly. He was losing it. He wanted to respect boundaries, and you were tempting him.

He spoke, his voice deep. "Who was your best kiss? Me or yor ex?". You chuckled, your eyelids barely opened as you pointed at him without hesitation. "You, duh". You've slightly sobered up already since all you've been doing is answering his questions honestly, avoiding any shots.

He nodded his head in approval, trying his best to compose yourself until you continued talking. "I fucking love the way your lips ruin me whenever—".

Jungwon, with his reddened ears, covered your mouth which silenced you. You giggled as his mouth prevented you from talking, and you could hear him sigh. Though he agreed to play your spicy "Truth or Drink" game, he still wanted to respect the boundaries, but you were forcing him to push it, his self-control slowly slipping away.

He sighed as he slowly released your mouth, watching you as he slowly leaned back. "It's your turn," he furrowed his eyebrows upwards, feeling slightly shy as to what you might ask him. You've always found him adorable that he was always shy at these topics even when you and him have already done a lot.

You decided to shoot a question, "Do you have any fantasies I don't know about?".

He seemed to ponder for a second, his eyes looking empty and him pursing his lips, and just as soon as he picked up his shot glass and was about to gulp it down, you grabbed his wrist to prevent it from moving.

Your eyes were dark and determined. "What is it?" your tone sounding open, yet demanding. The tension in the air suddenly grew, the silence becoming more unbearable as you two stared into each other's eyes. He grew more nervous, gulping and pursing his lips as you could see him decide if he should tell you or not.

"It's okay, baby," you comforted him, encouraging him to be more open.

"Food" he quicky muttered. "What?" "I said food."

You looked at his face and you could tell his face was completely red, and you knew it wasn't from the alcohol. He bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows, feeling sheepish that he finally admitted something he'd been hiding.

"What about it?" "The thought of you smearing food on your naked body for me to clean up with my mouth is just.."

His whole face was a bright shade of red and he broke eye contact, afraid to see what kind of facial expression you're making to his confession. You lifted his chin up with your finger, "Let's do it".

There were two differences that were made. One being that you were now shifted into your room from the living room since Jungwon offered to carry you with his trustworthy strength and arms, and second being that you were completely bare. You hugged your legs as the cold air hit your body, waiting for Jungwon to return until you heard the door slowly creak open.

Jungwon appeared, holding the Hershey's syrup bottle you stored in your refrigerator, and at the the bare sight of you, his breath hitched. He gulped as he walked towards you, being conscious of the way you were w him wtching with pedatory gaze.

He gulped as he climbed onto the bed, his knees pressing onto the sheets, staring at you, having a flustered expression take over his facial features. No, this wasn't his first rodeo with you, but it was his first with his most hidden fantasy.

He slowly handed you over the syrup bottle, your fingers brushing his for a moment and without a moment of hesitation, you immediately started to squeeze out the syrup onto different parts of your body — your knees, outer thighs, stomach, collarbone, neck.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you being fully covered in syrup. His heart skipped a beat as he took a few seconds to scan your entire body up and down. He licked his lips and he slowly started to climb over you, eyeing the first spot that he wanted to clean up first — your knees.

His tip of his tongue flicked against your knee, the temperature difference between his tongue and your skin making you shiver. His muscle immediately started to clean you up, using various movements such as long strikes or short kitten licks. He quickly cleaned up the syrup on your knee and he started to progress to the other areas such as your outer thigh.

He sucked the skin along the way, leaving light hickies that were bright red. He slowly pushed you down on the bed as he hovered over you, a shadow forming over you, next cleaning up your stomach. You watched how his eyes fluttered close and how he took his own time to clean you up.

"Teasing me aren't you?" he mumbled as he was in the midst of cleaning up your stomach, taking a quick second to look at you. You smirked, knowing exactly what he'd meant. You'd purposefully avoided all the core parts as you wanted to leave it last.

"Be patient, will you?" you shot, enjoying how he whines and just continues.

He'd just finished cleaning up your collarbone and neck, and without taking a break, you immediately started to pour the syrup out to areas where he'd been anticipating to the most. His jaw had dropped at the breath-taking sight of you, almost believing that he was dreaming.

"How about, we start here?" you challenged as you poured the syrup on your lips, his eyes watching the syrup as it lands on your mouth and drips down your chin.

extra note GRHAUDEWFN I FEEL SO SHY THAT I WROTE THIS. OH MY GOD. okay. i hope you guys enjoyed this. I HOPE THIS WASNT TOO CRINGE THIS IS LOWK MY FIRST SMUT FIC. im gunna sleep this away GOODNIGHT.

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rhaeheartzsquirrelz · 5 months ago

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Sea Salt Cigarettes

Wife Sevika x Female Wife Reader (Fluff + Modern AU)

Not Proofread!! MEN DNI!!

Summary: On a honeymoon at the beach, you and your wife smoke a cigarette on the balcony of your suit.

Contains: Sexual tension, suggestive topics, and Sevika having both her arms.

A/N: Writers block is a reallll thing, but IM BACKKK!!

` 𓂃 ོ𓂃 `

Early mornings on the beach were beautiful.

The cool, summer breeze blew past you and your wife as the two of you looked out over to the sea from the balcony of your suit. The water was still and peaceful, so was the rest of the resort. You enjoyed the solitude with Sevika, for there were no crying children, no men, and not a single soul on the soft sand. The beach was bare and gorgeous.

Not to mention just how happy you were.

It had been a long night after your wedding, you knew it’d be. Getting your back blown was exactly what you’d expected, and you had to beg for her, your wife, to soften up, for that woman was going to tear your pussy open.

Staying up all night was a blast, really, and that’s what led you to lean against the railings of the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Sevika didn’t let you use your hands, she held the joint inbetween her fingers and did it for you. You didn’t mind, less work on your part, and you got to watch as the sun rose and shone it’s orange light onto the glistening, blue water.

You were a disheveled mess and were sure if anyone saw you they’d think you were a ghost. But even with your hair roughened up, mascara and lipstick smudged, tanktop thrown on without a bra, Sevika thought you looked stunning. Not to mention your stained shorts. Your wife, however, looked neat. She had on her usual wife beater, the only thing she’ll be beating is your pussy, and her casual shorts; the two fabrics covered her toned and muscular body. Her hair was out and about, flowing with the soft breeze that flew past the two of you.

She wrapped an arm around you as she held the cigarette to your mouth for you to pull the air into your lungs. Your wife only smiled before running her big fingers through your hair to even it out. “You alright?” She murmured, voice soft and gentle as she pulled closer and pressed a kiss on your head. “Yeah, why?.. Is it my makeup?” You, knowing her answer, gave her a playful smile. The smoke left you to get carried away by the wind. “Yes and no. You’re less chatty than usual..”

“True that.” You were “less chatty,” only because of the ache in your back, all that arching had came to bite, and the sore in your knees; which would give out if you tried moving too swiftly.

Your wife pressed another kiss on your head before turning her attention onto the cigarette in her hand. You follow suit and look down at the hickeys on your ankle, the two of you really went all out. There was a moment of comforting silence, the only things breaking it were the seagulls flying by and the waves crashing onto the shore.

“I thought honeymoons were for couples trying to get pregnant.” You, breaking the silence, playfully whisper out and elbow Sevika. “You’d be pregnant by now if I had a third leg.” She returned, her hand moving to pull you flush against her side. “Oh, like hell it’d be that big.” Your words were chuckled out as you leaned forward to take another inhale of the joint.

It would be big. Probably too big for you to handle.

Your wife only scoffed and turned her head to you. “It would, actually. That’s why I wasn’t given one, I’d be unstoppable.” You groan and cringe at her retort before blowing the smoke in her face for her to smile at. “Watch it, doll. I can have you right back on that bed again.”

Again, she was right, one wrong word and she’d throw you over her shoulder and fuck the audacity out of you.

“Yeah, alright..” you stare out at the sea, it was a sight you couldn’t get enough of. The sun had just come up and the sky was painted with oranges and reds. “Anyways..” your wife gave your waist a pat, “my earlier question; you okay?”

“My back hurts.” You answer, and, almost immediately, Sevika’s large hand traveled to your lower back to rub soothing motions on it. “Figured. Thought you’d break it on the bed earlier.” She teased, leaning closer to press a series of kisses on your head. “You’re gonna smother me with those,” “you don’t seem to mind.” She had you there. “I don’t. I’m just surprised you’re still this eager.”

You’d think Sevika would be satisfied with the amount of sex the two of you had, satisfied with the amount of different positions and the number of orgasms the two of you had shared, but no. The woman could go for more.

She flashed you an amusement smile all the while extinguishing the cigarette and turning to face you completely. “Eager? How could I not be?” Her tone full of fondness, she tilted her head. “I’m married to the prettiest woman alive, you expect me to be.. what? Casual?” With a huff of a chuckle, Sevika pulled you flush against her muscular chest and leaned down to close the distance between your lips and hers.

Her dark lips pecked a kiss onto yours and she pulled back, though she was still a breath away. “I.. really.. want you in that bed again..”

Like hell you’d say no to that.

“You have my permission to break my back.” You cup her face and let her kiss you towards the bed; where she’d, again, fuck you sore.

Your spine was screwed. Completely and utterly fucked, just like you were.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

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bitdemonic · 6 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

𝟓 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒. 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐓. 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃, 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐌𝐄. ⚠︎ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀�� 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄—𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓. 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒; 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𓆩ψ𓆪 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 [𝐊𝐎𝐅𝐈]

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𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈 𓆩❦︎𓆪

WHAT’S SEDUCTIVE IN GENERAL ⟶ 🎴 Magic. 8oS. 10oP↺. Faith↺. Page of Pentacles↺. the Chariot. 8oW↺ [bod].

THE TEMPTATION, OTHERWISE A TEMPTRESS TO SUITORS THAT “DARE” TO INDULGE; TO MEET A FATE THAT’S FORBID. Attributes include the ability to lure their 'prey' in with just a glance, emanating tenacious sensuality, and exhibiting divinity [energetically]. Poison with legs, seeping into the thoughts of anyone's minds. Heightened emotional intelligence assists them in hypnotizing others. Seduction is an accessory, a mask of sex they can put on [“and off”] at anytime.

♰♰♰ An innate power of transformation is what this pile has. Able to demand ("command") a room with just their presence, let alone a word, they're perceived as the Magician; resourceful, magical, and opulent. Something of them is practical, as in they're adept to the metaphysical and what it may offer. LOA, glamour (or "sex") magick, visualization and scripting are familiar concepts. Witchcraft is a part of them, as it could've been passed down or learned ["through lineage"]. Genetic gifts that assist their "urges", or more importantly their fantasies. Non-conforming, unconventional ways and ideal (as they are the same). At most, this pile's aura feels mystical, untouchable and otherworldly. This kind of force can be turned off and on; felt by everyone, seen by none. Will attract "watchers" i.e. stalkers online or in real life. ♰♰♰ "Too hot to touch”; very tempting group here, even more so when they're done up to "play the part". Sensing that red, ginger (or “orange”) hair can emphasize their burn (fire). Hot! An edgier aesthetic suits them better than most, as if their mystique abruptly magnified. Deeper colors (maroon, black, and “dark blue”), smokey eyes, and smudged glitter are enhancers. Channeling woodsier scents? A scent including this note could melt into Pile One’s pheromones; they’re sensible and protective. Confidence within them is grounded, gives off older and mature. Faces contradict the assertiveness tho, some people of Pile Two have cherubic features (e.g. button nose, fat cheeks) which offers up an illusion of innocence.

LONGTERM CONNECTIONS ARE PRONE TO COME ABOUT, DUE TO CAPTURING LOVERS IN THEIR WEB. It's more of being bound than being "in love", and that's because Pile One doesn't leave them alone until Pile One says so; a pulley system only they control. At worst, this is a manipulation tactic in the hands of a former ["serial"] cheater, unless Pile One has evolved and grown out those ways. Trapped in a trance, pulled along a thin string, kept in an unopened box; partners don't conceptualize self-value when Pile One's not there. This as a scenario would be the equivalent of man pleading on his knees and to the world for his girl, like the music videos. Someone that’ll die for querent, feeling nothing but raging love. How Ari professes while admitting she’s been an anxious mess, “completely disheveled” and still wanting to appease “you” is how Pile One’s partners are.

♰♰♰ Samantha Jones in SATC is who they remind me of. Similar to her, Pile One prioritizes self-maintenance [and self-pleasure] before anyone else. Discarding dinner date plans for a night alone instead, opting out of fling appointments to mingle with friends, etc. "I gotta put myself first," "hasta la vista," and "me time" sum them up to a tee. Hesitating between shoe selection versus before asking someone to get out of bed and leave; to them partners are disposable, replaceable. Not #1 [because that's reserved for themselves], but the very bottom of the list instead. Mindset of an Earth sign, Virgo (Moon or 1H) in particular—"mother knows best". It's attractive that someone won't accept less than what they've done for themselves [already], they impress themselves. The shiniest trophy, but nobody possesses them. ♰♰♰ Querents of this pile are equipped to handle the world (plus obstacles) with a step in the right direction. I always reference "the phoenix rising from the ashes" when there's strength of a warrior present, which applies now. Pain, challenges, disruptions—there's nothing that can keep Pile One from achieving. Seduction for them stems from a "broken" place, where they shaped a future out of dust. It's possible no one gets them, but that's due to their truth being concealed. These are people that can't be read (especially at face value), they're meant to be discovered. Learned.

WHAT’S SEDUCTIVE IN BED ⟶ 🎴 7oW. King of Wands. 8oP. 6oC↺. Knight of Cups. 4oS [bod].

BECOMING THE MINX, “JUST LIKE MAGIC” IS A NOD ANOTHER SIDE OF THE SAME COIN; TWO HALVES OF ONE PERSON. The act of illusion is apparent, and it's potent within sexual circumstance. Skills, body, "sexuality" are magic, enough to arouse fascination in others. Ariana Grande's music portrays this visage perfectly, because Ariana is the embodiment of dual personalities. Innocent and unsuspecting until she's slipping a sexual innuendo beside her harmonies; a natural tease, because this is who she already is.

♰♰♰ In terms of sex, this pile is more prone to leading the encounter; the HBIC. How the momentum's pace is on your timing, how nothing ends or begins until Pile One's call. The demand of their instruction is seductive, it keeps "everyone" in line. Control may lessen, although it'll never fully leave. Granted, a limited amount of time to "disobey" is earned; to switch roles and have Pile One as a sub, get a taste of their authority. Seconds of pride that count towards a rush, a high that they'll only get with her, up until time's over and it's Pile One's turn once more. ♰♰♰ Not so much BDSM, but punishment is seductive; being spanked, "bit" (otherwise marked), and reprimanded. It's plausible that mama's boys or daddy's girls are prone to being on the other end—"under their hand"—because discipline isn't common. Getting told no, following directions and staying "put" keep their attitude together, something they're not used to. Pile One has bitches [or "pets"] lol. Degradation, using a condescending tone, edging and orgasm denial is a favorite.

PILE ONE’S PHYSIQUE, OR “CURVATURE” IS A HIGHLIGHT FOR THEIR PARTNERS. Their shape can resemble a peach, plump at the top and luscious at the bottom (otherwise supple breast and a soft ass). "Freakum" dresses can be a closet staple, especially when it's for a special night out—whenever they're ready to get (or "have") their way. Dipping in dark, brooding colors will heighten the allure, turn up the effect. Norma Jean's tactic to become Marilyn Monroe comes to mind, how she was able to shift: "I don’t know how to explain what she did because it was so very subtle, but she turned something on within herself that was almost like magic." "They were recognizing that this was Marilyn Monroe...even though a second ago nobody noticed her.”

♰♰♰ Clothing is a specialty and particularly when it's "coming off " (or "coming down"). Stripping out of them, dropping each piece to expose another stretch of skin; strip teases or showing off the birthday suit. This pile's lingerie should consist of lacy, sheer material such as wearing fishnets or leg garters (any form of tights tbh). The price of what they wear is attractive. It brings about this air of expensiveness, as in their aura is wealthy—abundant, self-assured and reliable. It traces back into the bedroom for sure, people can feel their income rise in just one night. Querents have the universal cheat code of being gifted ("being spoiled") in romantic connections (e.g. shopping trips and cash deposits). It's a favor for one, exchanging "secret" treasures. ♰♰♰ Pretty distinct, but tone of voice is being [heavily] highlighted; “vocal cords” are on the smoother side? Soothing almost, channeling that they’ve spoken people to sleep. Reminiscent of rum, in both taste and “singe” (wincing at the burn). Rugged (another Joel Miller reference, some querents are Southern); can hold weighted conversations with a voice full of conviction. Lol at the number of people that pine after this pile from their charm alone. “Just like magic, I’m attractive” and getting everything you want cus’ you attract it is about Pile One’s social interactions. Grounding a room with just a few sentences then flirting with everyone standing in it, golden gift for duality. Networking is quintessential considering it's one of this pile's skills; cue the stack of business cards they'd have gotten from exchanging contact information (huge).

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐒.

♡⃕ A kink for teeth and biting, both them and their partners. Into biting, getting bit on the lip and skin ["until it's tender"]. Sun, Mars, or Pluto could be in mutable signs [Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces] or houses [3H, 7H, 9H, 12H]. Scorpio/8H placements included.

♡⃕ Radiant". Beaming from the inside out, immersing the world in a glorious shine. Querents are on the friendlier side or possess the traits of "everyone's best friend". Big ole gummy smiles; a toothy grin. Friend of the world, can communicate with babies (children) and animals. Bunnies as a favorite animal [or "nickname"].

♡⃕ Find joy in mischief or getting a rise out of people; the jester of their friends or family (especially cousins). Pulling stunts to scare others, harmless pranks, and cracking jokes to lighten the mood at all times. Father could have the prankster gene hence why it's recognized. Def some home celebrities, family oriented querents for sure. Thanksgiving or New Years as a favorite holiday, too.

♡⃕ "Taut" RBF's, lips could form into a thin line on many occasions. Furrowing brows whenever they're driving home a point, prone to getting into "spats" or disputes (i.e. argumentative). Could hate banter, but revel in conflict; adrenaline rushes during confrontation(s). Intelligence is golden during debate conversations if tense. Bilingual/trilingual; native language from places of birth. Anais from Gumball in terms of frustration or attitude. Could have Virgo or Aries in personal (or outer) planets.

♡⃕ Really fiery, like it's all in this reading. "Quick", not doing things before or *after* thinking (i.e. regretting impulsive decisions). Cussing; swearing a lot or while chewing someone out. "Off the rails." Although full throttle, anxiety ("anxiousness") or bad nerves get in their way often. Bass boosted, loud volume, headbanging music as it compliments their vigor. 'TYG' from Megan thee Stallion & Spiritbox.

♡⃕ "Cupid bow lips". Bottom lip being plumper than the top; "fuller". Beauty mole(s) on the face or chin, above the mouth too. Using white lip liner or concealer for a signature makeup look ("added touch"). Distinct characteristics pertaining the face; statement piece [earrings, eye makeup, hair accessories].

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈 𓆩❦︎𓆪

WHAT’S SEDUCTIVE IN GENERAL ⟶ 🎴 Reflection. King of Cups. Knight of Wands↺. Happiness. Queen of Cups. 9oP↺. 4oS [bod].

THE LOVER GIRL IS A HOPELESS ROMANTIC, A PERSON THAT’S ENCOMPASSED TO THE BELIEF OF HAVING [THEIR] TRUE LOVE. "Hopelessly devoted to you," comes to mind, a song that expresses the inner monologue this pile has ["everyday"]. Relationships can become a lifeline, a means of preservation in time of need; love is taken quite seriously, even more so if it's reciprocated. It's attractive to feel appreciated, yearned and cared for by Pile Two's energy; willing to share however many pieces of their heart if it’s necessary.

♰♰♰ Bubbly personality keeps this pile from being detected, the wide smiles and "softly glazed" eyes adds onto innocence. People can sense there's something more, carnal energy that's held from unleashing. I feel that there's Cancerian-Libran placements because the perception of them reminds me of pink bows and sugarplums. Cute, but only because their deviance is hidden ["in plain sight"]. "Naughty Girl" by Beyonce. There's more to them than meets the eye, as it's tempting others to come taste or try (lots of probing one's sexual identity can occur). ♰♰♰ Alchemy is a curated, learned skill and it's Pile Two's way to the Universe. Tumultuous rebirths are recurring, made to "force" them into shape; changing course throughout their journey is attractive. Learning and applying hard lessons in order to receive whatever they wish for. An enigma is how they're perceived, someone that's checked out when they're not immersed in another world. Going through—or "experiencing"—transformations will affect their overall appearance. Erasing an identity from the past, embracing change for a clean slate, shedding skin with hair and clothing. Their presence leaves people's blood rushing.

HIGHLY EMOTIONALLY INTELLIGENT, THEY CAN FIND THEMSELVES LONGING FOR HEIGHTENED SENSE OF AFFECTION IN OTHERS. An emptiness can rest inside them, but it's just because they're familiar with vulnerability; an "open book" if it pertains their feelings, being the only person who gets them. Honesty is a fault, because it allows the truth to be set "free". Human embodiment of the Justice card, their Judgement can sever or repair the lives ("energies") of those around. 222 and 333 are angel numbers that indicate progression in life or to urge use of discernment. "Put themselves first."

♰♰♰ Euphoric essence around their beauty, how it's a gift for their highest form. It's special—a beautiful blessing in physical features. Plush lips, "rosy" undertone(s), pleasant figure and "fleshy" areas (hips, thighs, love handles). Someone that's mesmerizing, the embodiment of Aphrodite's pearl; the birth of beauty. Shapeshifting is likely, as they've earned it with the help from above ("the ethers"). Staying true to what's on the inside and having it bloom on the outside. Dreams in human form. Being noticed [and "adorned"] for their innocence, in personality or facial features. Big, sparkly, animated eyes and "sooty" lashes; resembling Betty Boop; the fattest chipmunk cheeks (can insinuate someone's ass) and so on. ♰♰♰ Intention on Pile Two's end shows up in an authoritative sense, when they insert themselves it's because they're tired of the bullshit. Eerily similar to that of a "headmaster", otherwise strictness is a part of their love language. Coddling will only get someone so far, lol this pile's upfront; blunt, but respectful [simultaneously]. This pile won't allow people to run and duck from their problems, only "showing" the option to face them. Those same people are awakened to their fears, abilities, and unnatural desires; they've been found, truly seen. Making people sit up straight and pay attention; "IDGAF if I was late" ie. no one but Pile Two can check them like this. That spunkiness is a treasure alone, but especially cherished for stemming from "unaltered" independence. Praise and worshipping kinks could be prevalent during encounters.

WHAT’S SEDUCTIVE IN BED ⟶ 🎴 3oS. Ace of Cups↺. 6oS. King of Pentacles. Death. 7oC [bod].

DISARMING PEOPLE WITH CHARM—ALOOFNESS—REMAINS KEY, A COMPONENT THAT OFFERS THE BEST SURPRISE. Playing coy, twiddling thumbs or tucking hair ("biting it" too), it's a game that this pile wins easily. Nobody expects this from Pile Two, not in the slightest because they're too kind. Gentle and 'maternal', nimble like a baby mouse. On the surface, that is. I'm envisioning the slow drip of a faucet, or the articulation of a cat's paw steps—steady [and deliberate]. This energy reminds me of honey while it drizzles, erotic and warm. This pile's *so* sensual, and it drives a lottttttttt of people insane ("up the walls"). Feline, otherwise 'tactful', energies are present; acquiring or possessing skills in seduction. Mastery in peep shows, teases, and dances for sure. Mastery in peep shows, teases, and dances for sure. "We can't just keep talking about it, I want you to come inside it...I want to get wild" insinuates romantic partners don't want to wait, that they're in the mood anytime they see querent.

♰♰♰ Provocative is the best word for this group, they're able to control a room with little to no motion (unless it's on top <3). Can move mountains, crush stone, with nothing but a toe point; very powerful people. Pheromones alone are even enough, it's the sheer nature of it all, this pile's addictive. They may find that their sexual encounters will include overstimulation or force (i.e. domination) because lovers aren't capable of holding it in. Losing coherency, spiraling in Pile Two's "abyss" ("going the extra mile"). Essentially, lovers that'll believe in the red string theory after just one time together. It shocks anyone that's graced a chance to get in bed, the sexual influence is mind warping. ♰♰♰ Orgasms come super easily ("almost naturally") when given from them. Their technique(s) to have someone cumming are "sensational", soul touching and tear producing (I smell Scorpio and 12H placements lol). Definitely bestowed with the "magic touch"; skills that beckon one's climax forth. The Enchantress. People reach different heights with them, a "new peak"—reborn for existence ["again"]. People have revelations and awakenings in bed with Pile Two, in which can come about in a matter of minutes or after one orgasm (in other words, tread this force of a skill lightly). Obsessive behavior is prone to arise, 99.8% that it will, because people won't get enough. Querents knowledge on ecstasy is beyond teaching, so much that I sense it's spiritual; an "antidote" for those who aren't "well" (i.e. in heat and addicted).

BEING COINED AS 'THE BEST' SOMEONE'S EVER HAD IS TIED DIRECTLY TO BEING WORTH THE CHASE. Not that this group's only good or made for sex, more so being an expert in that department adds to their prestige. It's giving public reputation, one that's good or possibly envied; 10H prominence. King of Pentacles is the emblem of high social standing, respect and utmost value; the spread itself clarifies the admiration of Pile Two from different POVs. May mirror the 'WAG effect', but with them as the celebrity and their partner the wife. Double confirmation for emulating a cat, this is their ownership and haughtiness lmao. Wouldn't be surprised if it was obvious that querents wears ["and buys"] the pants in romantic connections, I even sense being worshipped by choice—love's in a glass case for the public to see. May mirror the "WAG effect", but Pile Two isn't the wife (they're the "breadwinner").

♰♰♰ Physique is coming in similar to Pile One (check it out if called), more pronunciation on the upper half tho. The breasts (chest) are "opulent", so possibly on the fuller cup side or give off an illusion (i.e. being big). "Full moon" is what I'm channeling which gives off that their breasts hold the emphasis on moon; Cancer placements (Sun, Moon, Mars), weightier feel, stretch marks or birthmarks across (or around) them. "Pushup bra", meaning that area is noticeable. Anatomy aside, breasts equate to maternal characteristics. Being domestic, caring for those around them, owning an apartment and a dog—signs that potential partners associate to good parenting. "With child". Breeding and having babies/getting this pile pregnant are major fantasies because they carry the imagery of how a "mother" should be. ♰♰♰ The softest people are in this pile and not just referring to vibes; skin, hair, lips, and legs are reminiscent of warm butter (which can point to glowing). I see the definition of radiance within their regime. Wearing whipped scents and perfumes of dreams, they kiss every room with succulence. A mango of a person, each part of them quenching people's thirst. Softness also indicates being a safe haven, or "stress relief", [a peace of mind] for close connections in their lives. Lol I'm even imagining a stress ball ("magenta"), like querent is a few people's security blanket. Giving out the best hugs and sweetest smile. Nothing overtly sexual, seduction is their aura. Comforting, dependable [with reason], and trustworthy; characteristics that whisper "this is a good person".

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐒.

♡⃕ Humorous people, like will make an entire room fold under pressure and BOL. "Practical jokester" and "professional yapper". Dragging people along; "jittery" or full of enthusiasm. Big kid as an adult, could even giggle a "ton". Dimples, smile lines, “eye crinkles” are present. Sun could be in cardinal houses [1H, 4H, 7H, 10H].

♡⃕ Oral, both giving and receiving, is a favorite. Mouths are "heated", almost like steamy hot tub water. Head that's slow and deliberate; "toe curling", "sheet gripping". Keeping a lover in place, holding their legs apart or keeping them pinned [for max pleasure]. Learning new techniques, tricks and "treats" for a five star experience. Pluto could be in cardinal houses [1H, 4H, 7H, 10H].

♡⃕ Feeling the same as “bubblegum” pink, having an aura that’s saturated in sugariness. Pinkalicious (brat); getting their way in love and not having to do much in return. Pink skin after getting spanked, undertones that show "flush". "Sweetest Pie" by Megan thee Stallion & Dua Lipa (similar vibes). Skill in baking or treats ("top notch"), confectionary sugar. Using their goods as [or "for"] a temporary love spell.

♡⃕ Goodhearted with a 'girl/boy next door' quality, would be a TV show's comfort character [otherwise most popular]. Happiness evokes the distinction of the ✨ emoji; "higher frequencies." Eloquence of Disney princesses or princes; "ain't no sunshine when she's gone." Transmuting pain, turning it into better days [or "Good Days" by SZA]. Positive influence, specifically on elders. Singing can be therapeutic and a skill.

♡⃕ Masturbation and alternative self-pleasure tactics can be chronic. Satisfying their needs, practicing affirmative moaning (e.g. moaning out loud and looking in a mirror). Instills confidence with sexuality—revealing clothing, "fiercely" looking makeup (winged liner, "blood" red lips), sexual discipline [on their time]. Can't be tied down, like ever. Has options for different days of the week ("separate occasions"); a playa. Could be Martian (Mars dom).

♡⃕ Maternal instincts and having a knack for domesticity, "family oriented". Dreams of birthing [or raising] children; adopting pets (i.e. owning multiple). Children "flock" to them, feel seen and understood from an adult POV ("trustful"). Dependable to friends. Proficient in babysitting or caretaking the youth; babies and toddlers "favorite person."

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𓆩❦︎𓆪

WHAT’S SEDUCTIVE IN GENERAL ⟶ 🎴 Sadness. the Hermit. Page of Swords. Creativity↺. 7oS↺. Strength. 2oW. 8oS [bod].

BRIGHT DIAMONDS FEEL REVELANT IN COMPARISON TO PILE THREE'S RARITY. On the surface it seems they're forlorn and stoic or repressed and grim. Misunderstood and judged until an opportunity to see all of them arrives; "guarded" but authentic ("100%"). Querents may emulate the solemness in renaissance oil paintings. Given the chance to drop their guard, they'll ease into vulnerability. Not entirely, just enough to witness them relax. It's public knowledge that they're forced to be on [the] edge, and that it's near impossible to get off alone. This pulls people in, as if they're rushing to get closer; want to be querents knight in shining armor. "If I'm worthy enough?" People dream to sought out after this pile's approval, and coming to the realization is sexy.

♰♰♰ Querents of this pile are made of stone. Their energy is immovable, it's not made to crack ["shatter, or break"]. Willow trees make up their intelligence, these are teachers of power (strength and discipline). I see them as "silent, but deadly", as silence ("Hermit mode") is the shield. Saying nothing and knowing it all. Intelligence comes to mind, alluding to mental influence on others. Potential partners could find themselves having an urge to do better; heighten their knowledge, sharpen their skills, complete a craft. Lmao however, Pile Three wouldn't have even told them to go do it, those partners would've done it all by themselves for Pile Three ("just because"). Power is definitely a thriving source here. ♰♰♰ Determinative and empowered, querents are forthcoming regarding goals, ambitions, and accomplishments; success seems to "follow" them, but that's due to it being a source of comfort. Channeling the drive to "succeed" is found in creative or musical pursuits [if not about career]. It's not unheard of that this pile fights to the end of Earth to conquer a triumph (spirit of a warrior). This is perceived seductively as it displays to the world how perseverant they will be; "nothing that can be taken away" because it's what they know how to easily obtain.

THE LYNX WITH A SOLUTION IS HOW THIS PILE IS REPRESENTED TO OTHERS, PLUS ROMANTIC PARTNERS. Unpredictable, braggadocious, reactive, and relentless; characteristics in common as they're shaped from a similar mold. Intuition is a prevalent factor as well, because like a lynx, Pile Three can interpret anyone's energy (i.e. "read the room") and quickly adjust. Watchful gaze and all. Analyzing sceneries has led them into assessment, coined the role of lieutenant. It's prominent for sure, I'm hearing "dictator" as in this is how querents come off. It's "unsettling", but in the way that rolls tingles up your spine. Commanding and directing is attached to them as a personality trait, it's born from their urge to take initiative. Doing things, learning things, attempting things at the drop of a dime and asserting their authority by getting it finished.

♰♰♰ Querents are able to play hot and cold (like the song), inevitably putting people in a box labeled "undetermined"; people don't know where they stand, might not even know how to, just because Pile Three never tells. Like a magician pulling a trick and walking offstage even with the audience unbeknownst to how it worked. "Let me in" is what people scream internally, while jumping through hoops and hell to prove that they're worth the risk. Maximum effort to impress querents, or at the very least get them to "reconsider" dropping their defense. "Lower their expectations", so partners can dream of a real chance. Safe to say that querents are more likely to give "tests" with no thought about reviewing them. ♰♰♰ It's highly plausible that assertion on Pile Three's end is a coverup over their ["raging"] insecurities. Internal, external, mental or physical doubts hide under their reign ("rule"), it's easier for querents to take charge in all areas because they can't control their mind. Before spiraling, before "shutdown" (mass destruction); breathing techniques ("practice") helps level them out when in the midst of breakdowns. Personal lives can be on the brink of crumbling to querents, this is a result of 'unhealthy' home environment(s) as they grew older—interpersonal relationships were likely affected most. Codependency is a result from this unhealed wound ("wounds"), as it feels like something physical will heal the void rather than actual treatment (e.g. therapy). Addiction to sex, substance, work, or gambling is rather prevalent, so seductiveness comes in the form of sinful vices. ♰♰♰ Pile Three was the only group to receive an extra card, which happens to be about making decisions and stepping outside comfort zones [2 of Wands]. I found this interesting considering this pile has trouble taking [and making] leaps of faith, they live by the rule of a schedule (anything outside of that doesn't see light of day fr); someone [according to the number two] could change that. Show them a whole new world outside of expectations, routine, and boredom lmao. What gets querents to open up and breathe for once, that this someone gives them space to register, download, and process; they feel like being alone with the lights off, something Pile Three wouldn't mind sharing with them in real life; "let them in".

WHAT'S SEDUCTIVE IN BED ⟶ 🎴4oC. the Hanged Woman. 10oP. the Devil. 8oW. Death↺ [bod].

CHAMELEONS MARK QUERENTS ALTERNATE IDENTITY ("SPLIT PERSONALITY"), A SIDE OF THEMSELVES THAT ISN'T COMPOSED AND HIDDEN. It feels like the confines of a private party; hair messy, lips smudged, phone lost but the music keeps jumping. They're spinning round and round, pulling whoever's nearby into their circle. This shows in moments of comfort; setting a mood outside of their walls and head. Enjoying themselves to the max and inviting others to unwind also. It is sexy to loosen up and let your hair down, it's a "birthright" to bask in the moment. An outlook on free will that serene is destined for greatness, others can see it. In the bedroom, Pile Three turns the encounter into hotel service; five star rating from all the guests.

♰♰♰ Dominatrix/Dominant is the intensity I'm feeling, querent has the presence of a god. Everything's gone cold, lights are low and silence is near. "Secretary", E. Edward Gray vibes times ten (I even picture them cracking back an extra long whip). Definitely, definitely, definitelyyyy making people become their little sluts—overworking their existence with their own pleasure (woah :P). Indicates incessant teasing ("edging"), praise or punishment, and submission (mentally, physically). "Silence?" coming in could represent the use of rules, or it can be the calm after their partner's orgasm. Shutting down and regenerating all from Pile Three's conditions [e.g. sensory deprivation and multiple rounds]. It’s sexual Fear Factor, and many would love to play. ♰♰♰ Vanilla lovers are common and likely easily influenced; Pile Three gains the upper hand over others, but it's used to explore their fantasies. "How many licks to turn you out?" hence the overall dynamic of bedroom activity. Degradation when inflicted could dance on the harsher end (e.g. face smacking), but this also says meanness is a raging turn on (both querent and partner).

IT'S PLAUSIBLE THAT PEOPLE ARE SEDUCED DURING SEX, BECAUSE THROUGHOUT THE ENCOUNTER THEY'RE LOSING THEMSELVES JUST TO BE FOUND. Pile Three inhibits the role of a teacher, borderline disciplinarian, but all in the language of tough "love". Essentially, the dominance from them helps their partners with self discovery; helps them develop a newfound confidence in their identity. "Secretary" is coming in again, which isn't surprising since this pile resonates with the movie's theme. The main character, Lee, is a representation of querents spouse throughout their transformation; "on the path to redemption" with their own bodies. Butterflies floating from their cocoons to venture somewhere that's not home—these partners are butterflies once Pile Three travels along their bliss and ecstasy [as in life changing sex ;)].

♰♰♰ Oh, this the pile into wrapping their bedroom partners in rope or fluffy black cuffs; into withholding sweet relief when they have to cum. I'm hearing "soft", which alludes to a gentler side emerging whenever it's time to tie someone up [or implement use of bondage]. Fondness develops once Pile Three leans into this dynamic of rewards for submission; partners light up at the dualism because it reminds them that they're "loved" (i.e. cared for). ♰♰♰ Pile One had significant messages revolving around querents voice, and it's the same for Pile Three. Going off the downloads about demand and control, what's specifically seductive is hearing them speak; giving "instructions", whispering little nothings, essentially melting people's eardrums with word salad. Lol, it reminds me of how certain celebrities are urged to read audiobooks. It's erotic, but it's even better when it's meant for one person ("partner") to hear. I'm also channeling the use of querents voice, in the sense that they're vocalists in bed: "do it like that", "stay there", "i'm so close", "you feel that", etc. They're in [no way] afraid to praise or chide how their experience feels, dissatisfaction isn't an answer.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐒.

♡⃕ Victimization, "prone to experiencing projection." People pushing ideas onto their persona, not accepting querents for who they actually are. Black sheep ["of friends"]. Edgelord (traits). Pluto in 1H, 2H, or 3H. Sun could be in a water sign [Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces] and in 6H.

♡⃕ High profile, appearance is that of a model. "Diamond face"; head shape is acute, sharpened and definitive (e.g. strong jawline). Cheekbones accentuated with contour and highlighter "blush". Straight or "queen" shaped brows. Scorpio in Moon, Venus, or Mars.

♡⃕ Talking and letting it "all out" during sexual encounters. Directing people how they want—need* to be pleased. Definitely talks someone through it; softly whispering the filthiest shit ever lol. Stern and direct. Influence is in their "reasonings", natural convos imitate public speeches ("PSAs"). Presence that'd do wonders in a governmental field (the Pentagon, CIA, secret service). Mercury in 8H, 12H, conjunct IC (4H).

♡⃕ Rolling Stone' by the Weeknd reflects their inner thoughts ("monologue"). Missing people [or a person] that doesn't exist; lonely by ["a"] fault. Stoners, "being stoned" from troubles, using escapism as defense. Caged bird, but an escape isn't near (false). Father Time [Saturn] gifts them wisdom with maturity; development is their "greatest" friend. Meditative yoga, journaling, or music ground them tremendously.

♡⃕ 333; individuals that're lucky, "blessed by Jupiter." Purple aura, royal like mindset. Abundance in material possessions, large amounts that fall through when least expected. "Lumpsums" and it's a new car. Good karma surrounding finances, regime, and knowledge [seemingly 6H]. Could know friends who know "friends" [business opportunities, success]. "Hustlers."

♡⃕ Major Aquarian traits; innovative, intelligent, "indescribable." Could "LOL" a lot, they're likely to be cackling. Incorporates "spectacles" in everyday fashion (sunglasses, reading glasses, fun patterned glasses). Accessories that stand out like their music; multi-genre playlists that's all their taste. Into fruit smoothies or Greek yogurt. "Unconventional" (lifestyle).

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕 𓆩❦︎𓆪

WHAT'S SEDUCTIVE IN GENERAL⟶ 🎴 Creativity. 4oP. 5oP. Rest. 2oW↺. Ace of Pentacles↺. 6oP [bod].

THE CONNECTION TO THIS PILE WAS INSTANTANEOUS, MEANING QUERENTS ARE "TRANQUIL" IN SPIRIT, FLUID IN ENERGY. Pile Four's essence reminds me of coconut trees in Hawaii, leaves fluttering from the warmest of breezes; "tropical island" but in the form of their inner self. Child of the seas. Water nymph in her prime, having a beautiful voice is within this comparison; lessons will develop the clarity of their singing, "choir like" vocals. Aromatherapies could soothe disruptions querents face, scent itself is a huge part of their presence period. "Musk", "gourmand"; smelling delectable, but with an added hint of spice (e.g. cinnamon base). I'm downloading wafts of vanilla, caramel, cotton candy, and chocolate. A guilty pleasure, otherwise delightful to those that can't get a taste ["even tho they want to so bad"].

♰♰♰ Eyes are the most seductive feature of this pile, like the amount of pressure ("pleasure") people get after locking eyes is immense as hell. Naturally intense, resembling that of a tiger's—narrowed and penetrating. "Big ego". Sexiness can be found within their pupils, a tenacious gleam once it's turned on. Transformations are recurring here and partly because Pile Four chooses who they want to "be", slipping on a mask as if they're dressing for the part. "Which era am I stepping into today?" I'm channeling the planet Pluto, so there could dominant or prominent influence in the chart; querents have much passion hidden behind those irises and it hooks people. ♰♰♰ Charitable, generous beings reside within; attention is focused on Pile Four's desires to donate or give back. Not only partners, but people will generally find that level of empathy to be attractive. Humble and rich, whether that's in material assets or spiritual abundance, querents aren't hesitant to share. Pentacles are associated to wealth, so income is especially prominent; "big bank", accumulating revenue through their purposefulness. Humanitarianism is beloved from Pile Four because it's seen as genuine ("from the heart"). Forewarning to repress any sign of bragging, boasting, or full out greed since these are funds tied to karma; Saturn is the driving force because it's all hard earned and deserved, but he won't allow them to forget where they came from. Good behavior equals no testing trials or lessons, we want to keep it that way lol.

ENDEARMENT FROM THE COLLECTIVE WILL BE APPARENT; PEOPLE FIND IT QUITE DIFFICULT TO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH PILE FOUR. I believe it's their truth and honesty, because they're undoubtedly the peacemaker for a *lot* of people's situations ("shortcomings"). "You've got a friend in me", meaning querents don't bash, they just expect better. Respect blooms once bathed in that light, it's "justified" (i.e. deserved). Honoring an opinion or perspective from this pile, because it's "essential for growth". Sun conjunct [or "trine"] Mercury or MC only emphasizes this air of importance. Utilizing communication and publicly speaking will be a part of this pile's rite of passage lol, definitely meant to be heard out loud (e.g. fighting for rights as a career). Also, raising awareness for a specific subject ("sensitive", controversial) will be a focal point regarding their presence in society—trailblazers.

♰♰♰ Personally, I'd be wary of the people this pile's around because some people are attracted to their sadness. With ill intention this is obviously weird, but harmless attraction would just be someone wanting to "save" Pile Four. Since they're one with inner power, it seems that nothing can shake their stability until it does. It's arousing when querents are in need because they usually never are; never asking for help, won't accept it neither [at least to anyone around that knows firsthand]. It's giving "the damsel's *finally* in distress", like people would leap in front of traffic if it meant they'd get to Pile Four first. Ngl, the other end of this spectrum is very loud—witch hunt vibes, as in "enemies" are literally praying to see querents suffer. Could be prominent later in life, but regardless I felt called to insert a message. Oddly, it's higher ups (bosses, managers) harboring this level of resentment; threatened by Pile Four's strength and potential [to succeed]. Be extremely cautious when at work (or in a workspace), I sense sabotage and framing ("accidents") when we know the real. ♰♰♰ While listening to music, I found myself coming across two separate versions of the same song; one was better than the other, which led me to believe that Pile Four experiences (or "will experience") copycatting and comparison from others. Specifically, partners or suitors who're in committed relationships and fail to keep querents out their fantasies. "Do it better" is being channeled, which also reminds me of being validated for something special ["that no one else has"]. Not to promote infidelity or being someone's sidepiece, but the favoritism isn't really being hidden lmao. This pile must be invested in spirituality or at the very least into the law of "what goes around comes around", because they're not tempted by any bait. They remember who karma is and how she operates, I don't picture them dipping into people's relationships for harmful doing at all. Using someone to their advantage, yes, but allowing themselves to come second place when someone's already first, hard pass.

WHAT'S SEDUCTIVE IN BED ⟶ 🎴Knight of Wands. 8oC. the Emperor. 6oP. King of Swords. the Fool [bod].

DISCOVERING THAT THERE'S ANOTHER SIDE TO SOMEONE SECLUDED IS SUCH A HOT LITTLE SECRET, AND PILE FIVE'S IN ON IT ("DEVIANCY"). Seduction is their strip tease, a dance where each turn and grind is another piece of clothing on the floor. It's as if the quiet island essence drowned beneath heavy passion and eroticism. "Drenched." For some, private encounters ["at night"] could be a habitual pastime, a "hobby". Stress reliever it is, and partners will find joy in being the outlet. Enamor is found at the base of sexual encounters, as in partners find themselves "sinking" into querents love [let alone fall].

♰♰♰ The card spread is a telltale significator of being a freak, definitely needing someone who can "match it" all the same. Like the signs are signing, from the Fool (openness in sexual ideas) at the bottom of the deck to the eroticism that surrounds (encloses) me. I feel that loyalty and trust are the keys to Pile Five's sexual shop. Think those 18+ Instagram posts that're like, "I look innocent, but for that one person I'm the opposite." Querents are a personification of that energy, they're hard to read [sexually] unless someone's intentions say differently. Roleplaying could be a kink that's enjoyable, especially in a maid's outfit or "teacher student" attire; the effects of role reversal instill stability and confidence in their romantic relationships. ♰♰♰ King of Swords came through and despite not having an actual place in the spread, the card came with a download about Pile Four's ability to "take it". Be it longer length of a dick/dildo, nonstop orgasms, or multiple rounds—they're handling everything like a pro ;). "Extremely commendable." People's mouths are going to drop and hang open just from witnessing the durability in person, "making it disappear" isn't common. I'll even insert anal, just because it fits the bill in this context (taboo doesn't exist).

SCENTS HAVE WAFTED TO THE SEXUAL SIDE, PUTTING EMPHASIS ON THE "SMELL" OF DESIRE. Smelling lovely, carrying an ambience of rose petals and candlelight. I've compared another pile to being an aphrodisiac and it also applies to querents; pheromones cloud and permeate the senses of partners, keeps them strung ["on what they're going to have"]. It's telling how drawn in they are, I see them hanging around Pile Four like flies to fresh fruit. Nobody likes to let go, in turn encouraging themselves to stay; "know I gotta leave, but I want to stay." Hearts growing fonder no matter the distance. Selena Quintanilla's presence and aura to the collective, and how that light is missed everyday—Pile Four.

♰♰♰ Naturalness is liberation to querents, their body hair isn't shunned or shamed. "Carefree". Bushes are attractive to not only them, but their lovers as well. It's the normalcy of two people bonding in bed, I think it's a ["stress"] relief to turn off being perfect just to be human. Feels bohemian in the sense of living by the choice; inspiring body positivity. Innocent, but it's attractive enough that partners want to "go down" more frequently ;P. It just adds more uumph to an encounter. ♰♰♰ There's a specific person that came in, someone who devotes ("dotes") their happiness on Pile Four's satisfaction (*for some*). Regardless, I'm channeling messages about foot massages and bathtubs ["together"]; "extreme" TLC after passionate sessions; chocolates fed to them, etc. Romcom acts of service, sweet nothings and dates as long as they're treating querents (i.e. together). Whoever this energy belongs to, they're practically marriage material [and a munch].

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐒.

♡⃕ Tons of fame indicators, querents could find themselves in the public eye once this lifetime. Skepticism around their authenticity, and if they're "cut out" for the scrutiny (otherwise backlash). Nitpicking about appearance being "too hot" and "sexy". Wild and famous. Sun (“conjunct Mercury”) or Lilith could be in 10H. Could have personal planets or placements in Capricorn or Libra [i.e. Saturn ruled].

♡⃕ "Eye catching" type of beauty. Attractivity resembles that of a model, influencer, or "guru"; gorgeous ass people. Androgynous features (well balanced between masc and fem energies). Exhibits the cut and value ("grace") of pink white diamonds. Could be Venusian [Rising, Moon, and Venus in Libra].

♡⃕ Virgin, practicing celibacy, or abstinence; haven't had penetrative sex "yet". Staying to themselves, rejecting new partners (flings), respect around the body. "Not letting anyone touch." Body isn't a joking matter, taken very seriously. Potential health scares [or "hospital visits"]. Prone to sending, posting, or saving nude pics.

♡⃕ Expensive jewels in their favorite pieces of jewelry; never seen without it [necklace, bracelet, “pendant”]. Red rubies or emeralds could have significance (e.g. birth stone, parent’s name etc.). People see them as “luxurious”. Debbie Jellinksy in ‘Addams Family Values’. Spoiled babies, but not without reason. Bargainers [“and deals”]. Jealous themes regarding fashion, beauty, and influence (themselves included).

♡⃕ Going into hiding, "Hermit mode" for a soul cleanse (refresher). Transformative as hell. Disappearing for months at a time just to reappear a "new" person; even more beautiful, "collected", and better than before. Unrecognizable (in a good way). "Money Longer" by Lil Uzi Vert. Pluto dominant, their ability to shed skin and birth anew is apparent ("respected"). Noticed in *every* room they've ever stepped in ("blessing and a curse").

♡⃕ Free the oppressed (“Palestine” and more); boycotting message, either to start or continue. Stop drinking coffee from Starbucks, it’s being frowned upon [“spiritual guidance”], people's lives are at stake. They’re important—they matter.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕 𓆩❦︎𓆪

WHAT'S SEDUCTIVE IN GENERAL ⟶ 🎴 Abundance↺. Knight of Wands↺. the Magician. Rejection↺. Ace of Swords. the Star. Knight of Cups↺ [bod].

PILE FIVE'S PRESENCE IS ILLUMINATED BY THEIR OUTER PROMINENCE, THEIR "STAR" SHINE (HENCE THE STAR CARD). I've noticed that all five piles have this certain glow to their energies, their personalities can revive a dark room. In this instance, Pile Five's personality is what's alluringly magnetic, it's "seduction" at its truest form. Envision if a person wanted to build their lover, they'd pick characteristics from querents admirabilities. "Sensuous" and amicable, somehow much more than expected (alongside individual uniqueness). Adept with an artistic approach, querents bestow fine talents—performing onstage (i.e. singing, dancing), creative writing, interior or fashion design, etc. Makes them exceptionally special, more so in the public eye; "starstruck". "Nice & Slow" can allude to querents steadiness in attaining their goals, taking the long route for lasting (rewarding) results.

♰♰♰ Embodying traits of people's ideal person (i.e. "perfection") is one of the main factors of being seduced; reminding them that humans aren't one dimensional, that we're made up of universal qualities. Humor would be the best example, because it's not a requirement to be with someone funny, until you realize that you love to laugh. Pile Five has this natural likeliness, they're able to be relatable without coming off as a flake ("try hard"); they're a breath of fresh air, a "relief". Youthfulness is a key factor as well, subtle mannerisms and expressions that thump through people's hearts; "twinkling eyes" and sweet smiles. The wonder in querents eyes is especially prominent, everyone notices at first glance. Literally the Star card, lighting up the nighttime. ♰♰♰ I envision this pile having many friends, being the favorite person in a lot of people's lives. A bestfriend, even to passing strangers. I'm hearing "polly pocket", which says people don't ["ever"] want to outgrow playing with Pile Five. (i.e. spend time with them). Spilling secrets, getting/giving advice, and trusting forever comes with this pile's care package lol; they're the sun for someone else's rainy day ("a confidant"). All above is the answer to "what's so beautiful about them?" Inner beauty is perceived to be felt "by all". Beautiful generosity is what I'm hearing, so querents hospitality is noteworthy. Getting-people-awestruck energy.

QUERENTS DEMEANOR DANCES ALONG THE LINES OF BEING RESERVED AND STRICT. BEING DEFINITIVE IS THE BETTER WORD, THEY'RE APT TO EARNESTY. If Virgo placements are present then this level of poise comes effortlessly, it's a part of them. Primitive and prestigious, people find these attributes to be "fascinating". Miranda Priestly from "the Devil Wears Prada" is who I visualize Pile Five to be; attentiveness to detail, pristine image from successes, a name upheld by its holder. Her character struts with diligence and strives for the greatest opportunities (it's in querents presence). Not letting up on a goal and seeing it to the end draws everyone in; "making shit happen" with devotion catches everyone's attention (enamoring).

♰♰♰ Getting feisty and excessive cussing is a part of querents likability; "randomness" in their words or expressionism. Lol "loudmouthing" is coming in, so they're bound to going off in the heat of moment ["or any time of day"]. The wheel generator (unexpectedness) of their speech is their bat signal, but especially when they're feeling mean. People may project weakness onto this pile—not taking them seriously—until it's their turn to get told off ("caught in the crossfire"). Harmless until they detonate :P, people are reminded that Pile Five has two separate sides. ♰♰♰ Their facial features are accentuated for luring (attracting) attention "wherever they are"; recognition for how irresistible they look to other people. Characteristics of an "angel", plump (cherubic) cheeks or apple like cheekbones. Highlighter serves them well, makes their appearance "radiant", can resemble the Sun. Broad shoulders, toned calves, or a built figure; seduction in their flex, or in moments where they're on display (e.g. in a swimsuit). I see them invoking the spirit of a Taurus [bull] and arousing tenaciousness in lovers. If it was possible to do, someone would paint Pile Five's face to hang in the Louvre.

WHAT'S SEDUCTIVE IN BED ⟶ 🎴8oC↺. 10oP↺. Ace of Swords. the Lovers. Page of Pentacles. Queen of Cups [bod].

HAVING AN EFFECTS OF HEAVY DRUGS WOULD BE AN IDEAL REFERENCE TO PILE FIVE’S SEDUCTIVENESS. All it takes is just one dose, because right after that is when the addiction begins (i.e. obsessive lovers). It's not uncommon for this group to attract internet watchers or stalkers, otherwise past partners that don't want to leave them alone; "can't get enough" of their love, aimlessly wondering if Pile Five's wondering too. "Made for everyone", as in "one taste and you're whipped". Don't be afraid to indulge, especially if it's the best you'll ever get. The pile that got away for a lot of past lovers [111, 1111 is significant].

♰♰♰ Wetness and fluids are big with querents, the first thing I channeled was "water fountain" (cream). It's making me giggle, because private areas can be seen as a "problem" from producing so much liquid. This can indicate "magic" genitals, private parts sprinkled in glitter. Orgasms from this pile are the "gift that keeps on giving", like people's self-worth (value) end up skyrocketing lol. "Heaven sent" plus the gift of pleasure leaves the impression of God's angel on others. Breeding or ["multiple"] creampies as a kink, because lovers find themselves absorbing the excess ("wanting it all", if you catch my drift..). Water is heavy [throughout the spread] which confirms many messy situations ;). ♰♰♰ Lips, lips, lips: kissing and feeling them is an experience, a solidified moment in anyone's lives if they're granted the chance. Pile Five's kisses (mouth in general) is an escape, a getaway the promised land ["of ecstasy"]. Kisses are delectable, tasting dessert-esque (sugary, savory). Flavors of peppermint or "candy" is prominent, otherwise satiating the desire. Also, the red lips on Sabrina's cover art gives me the idea of being kissed all over; the body, face, and "soul". A level of expertise this high means Pile Five is [or will be] a lot of people's "first"; love, orgasm, or fulfilling relationship. I don't believe there's anything about them that won't get someone turned on and yearning.

AS IT'S BEEN SO POTENT, PILE FIVE'S ACCESS TO A HIGHER SOURCE OF POWER IS GRATIFYING; DIVINITY LIES WITHIN BED, IT'S AN AWAKENING OUTSIDE OF THE BODY. Sex is inherently spiritual, because to partners the encounter isn't "of this Earth". To me, I envision it as beams of light poking (pouring) through the mind and spirit of whoever's with this pile, essentially aligning physical pleasure to mental (i.e. their psyche) bliss. That's to say, any form of sex is tantric and transcendental. People will be taken aback (at first), but that's due to the encounter being as sacred as it is; the intention (or "practice") is too important to interrupt before it begins.

♰♰♰ It's hard to not claim this pile as being perfect, but omg the downloads just validate the sentiment. There's not one hair on querents body that isn't adorned and appreciated, this reigns even more true if they're in a committed connection (i.e. special person). No matter how they envision themselves, to the collective their existence is "exalted" and favored. Skin could even glow during and after sex, because they're so cherished; "everything they think they aren't" is debunked at their most vulnerable (nakedness). Laving on their sensitive spots (legs, thighs, feet) is a token of gratitude from lovers, it'll happen frequently considering how devoted to Pile Five they'll be. ♰♰♰ This is coming in so intensely, querents have the mouth of an oral [sex] god. Nothing short of a munch, they leave marks with their tongue or throat; pulling people into their utopia (i.e. ecstasy). Ecstasy is recurring word for this pile, hence being compared to a drug, an indicator for sex that's "numbing". During head, partners are bound to throw their heads ["and hands"] upwards. The pressure of being sucked into the void is "stilling", the calm before a ravage storm. Lmao, they get people stuck with their mouths on 'o'. Minds on cloud nine, limbs so light from relaxation they "could float"—blown. This pile is made up of lovers that give and give, until they can't give anymore. It's as if oral is a "souvenir", an experience meant to be collected forever more.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐒.

♡⃕ "Ironheart"; has the courage of the [cowardly] lion, bravery is learned (earned). Lightning strike(s) of a person, turns heads and charges surroundings with their intensity; energy is incomparable. Uranus could be a part of big three [Sun, Moon, Rising], Uranus dominant or in 1H/2H. Authors (writing can "revitalize" people, give them a wakeup call).

♡⃕ Connected to their highest form ("truest self"), receives messages through [or "from"] the Universe. Alienlike; "not of this Earth." What's on the inside (soul) reflects what's on their "face" (e.g. feeling good internally so they're extra smiley in person). Balanced. "Sacral chakra" alignment is a godsend for sex [can top or ride well]. Stomach is people's favorite part; birthmark, belly piercing, tattoo(s) above the waist.

♡⃕Insecurities are a part of them; "stories" about overcoming disappointment. Secretive to a fault ("can hold water" forever). Believes in trust and exposing what's on the inside—"bareface" (might also be more present at their "rawest"). Holds the key to the world (i.e. everyone's secrets). Consciousness. Lmao, fucking with them is a spiritual ass whooping full of drawbacks [and lessons]. Powerful ancestors (spirit team).

♡⃕ "Thank you" is their passage to life. Grateful for the smallest and largest things; "tearing up" over sentiments. Type to thank their lover for giving them orgasms ["submissive"]. "Soothing" voices; can converse or "rock" anyone to sleep (comforting). Cancer placements could be prominent [Sun, Moon, Venus][Lunarian].

♡⃕ "Bed Chem" by Sabrina Carpenter, might be "short and sweet". Emulates the energy of a little person ("smol"). Hair can be long, full and thick too [great for tugging, wrapping, or "pulling" in bed]. Cocoon, people don't want [them] to leave. Rich and "domestic" (motherly) singing voice. People like (love) to hear them whisper [Mercurial].

♡⃕ Artistic (artists at heart); creativity is all they know, all they breathe. Life path number 3/4, 5m [artistry]. Would do well onstage, might've experienced Broadway, could dream of visiting ("talent"). Pleasers (they're really submissive); lovers give them "everything" (i.e. drowning in ecstasy). Devotion is a personality trait. Pisces could be a part of their big six [Sun, Moon, Rising, Mercury, Venus, Mars][Neptunian].

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

#lovebitdemonic ψ #new pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #18+ tarot #self love #shufflemancy #channeled message #Spotify #𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗝𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝟭𝟬𝟭 𖡎 #𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗗ྀི #𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗖.

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keraawrites · 29 days ago

Text

Still us?

Summary: It was platonic; it had to be. You guys were the best co-parents there were, but that didn't mean you didn't still love him, that didn't mean you still got wet thinking about him every night. ۶ৎ Bakugo x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Contex: Co-parents, dirty talk, use of the word daddy, mama, ma, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, soft but rough sex, kitchen sex

word count — 3.2k

Your house was buzzing with the kind of chaotic joy only a three-year-old’s birthday party could bring. Colourful streamers dangled from the ceiling, a banner with “BOOM! Happy Birthday, Baby Blast!” stretched across the wall, and the scent of pizza, frosting, and too many lit birthday candles filled the air. Laughter bounced off the walls, kids darted around like little gremlins hopped up on sugar, and the grown-ups—some friends, some family—did their best to keep up.

Your son—your wild, beautiful little firecracker—was at the heart of it all. In his blue birthday shirt with a cartoon explosion on the front and a bright red cape flowing behind him, he looked like a tiny hero-in-training. Curls bouncing with every step, cheeks smeared with chocolate, his energy was contagious. He zipped between groups of kids like he had somewhere to be, pausing only to grab another juice box or show off the “power pose” Uncle Deku taught him, which was, in his words, “soooo cool it made the table shake.”

He didn’t want to be too far from either of you—every five minutes, he was running up to tug on your shorts or Kaysuki’s pant leg, needing a hug, or to show off his newest toy, or to just rest his head for a second before launching back into the madness. At one point, when you knelt to fix the strap on his sneaker, he hugged your neck and whispered, “Best party ever, Mama.”

Yeah. That made everything—your aching feet, your cluttered kitchen, the cake stain on your carpet—so damn worth it.

Bakugo stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t lowkey melting. But you caught him. Eyes soft, mouth twitching like he wanted to grin but didn’t want anybody to see. He looked so damn good—black tee snug around his arms, loose joggers hanging low on his hips, a little frosting smudged on his jaw like even the cupcakes wanted a taste. You weren't the only one who noticed, either.

But it was more than that. He wasn’t just your baby daddy. He was him. Top pro hero. Good ass dad. And whether you liked to admit it or not—still fine as hell.

You’d wanted to make the day perfect. It was your son’s third birthday, and he had demands. As much as he loved his dad, his obsession with both Deku and Dynamight meant this party was green and orange chaos. Much to Katsuki’s dismay, he still made it happen. Because he always showed up for his son. No matter what.

And that’s the thing about him—he’s good at everything. Always has been. Including being annoyingly, disgustingly good in bed. Which, honestly, was a blessing and a curse.

You two broke up two years ago. It was hard, but it was necessary. He was rising through the hero ranks, your job was demanding, and you had a one-year-old who needed everything. You didn’t want to grow resentful. Didn’t want to hate each other. So you ended it with love. Quiet, aching love. The kind that never really goes away.

Most people didn’t get it. But it worked for you.

When it was time for the cake, everyone gathered around the kitchen island. You lit the candles while Bakugo held your son up on the counter like he was the most important person in the world (which, to you both, he was). He grinned so wide you thought his little face might split, eyes glued to the flames, bouncing in Katsuki’s arms.

“Okay, ready?” you called out, raising your phone to record.

And the crowd erupted into song.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Your son was absolutely eating it up. Giggling, wiggling, soaking in the love like sunshine. He clapped along with the beat, even sang his own name extra loud at the end. When they finished, he shouted, “Blow ‘em out with me, Daddy!” and Bakugo leaned in so they could do it together.

One puff, two sets of cheeks, and the candles went out in a small puff of smoke and cheers.

“Best. Day. Ever!” your son yelled, pumping his fist in the air like a tiny pro hero.

Bakugo smirked, still holding him close, whispering something in his ear that made your baby snort so hard he hiccupped. The sight of them together like that—your son beaming, Katsuki so soft around him—it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t have words for. A good ache. A deep one.

Eventually, the sugar crash hit hard. After goodie bags were passed out and the last guest was escorted out with a slice of cake and a juice box, the house quieted. Your son was curled up on the couch, cape wrapped around him like a blanket, his little fingers still clutching the Dynamight action figure his dad gave him. Out cold, tiny snores escaping his frosting-sticky mouth.

Golden hour slipped through your windows like honey, the kitchen glowing with syrupy light. You’d snuck upstairs to change—into one of Katsuki’s old Dynamight tees and a pair of shorts you didn’t realise were that short until you saw yourself in the mirror. Bonnet on, lip gloss faded, and cheeks still glittery from the “makeover” your niece insisted on giving you, you padded barefoot back downstairs and started tidying, humming to yourself a little.

"You always hum when you’re about to cry or cuss somebody out," his voice rumbled low from behind you, that familiar smirk threading through it like a dare.

You snorted, not turning around just yet. "Or when I’m tryna not cuss somebody out."

"You always hummed around me."

"Yeah because I always wanted to cuss you out."

His chuckle was soft, almost quiet—completely not Bakugo nature, but it was nice. You hated how much you still loved that sound.

"You did good, Ma," he said, voice closer now.

And that. That little “Ma” he always hit you with when he was being sentimental, or trying to get under your skin, or both? Yeah, that wasn’t fair. At all.

You finally turned to face him, leaning your hip against the counter. “You helped,” you said casually, keeping it cool. “Birthday boy would’ve lost it if both his favourites weren’t here.”

You could feel the way his gaze was on you, your hands shaking slightly from the little alcohol you had managed to sneak into your punch but also because you could feel the intensity of his stare.

You turned back around, busying yourself once again in order to ignore what was going on between your legs. "He needs to go to bed before he morphs into that sofa."

"Already done it, brat was mumbling about his favourite uncle in his sleep." You giggled at the gruffness in his voice, you didn't even need to face him to know his face was set in his permanent scowl but there was no malice behind his words.

You smiled to yourself, back still half-turned as you rinsed a cup out in the sink. “Mhm. You jealous?”

He scoffed. “Hell yeah, I’m jealous,” he grumbled, stepping up behind you, crowding your space. “Ain’t no way that nerd gets more love than me in this house.”

You turned your head, arching a brow. “You’re literally his dad. You already got the top spot.”

“Tch. Still don’t like sharin’,” he muttered.

And there it was—that little sliver of possessiveness that always made your spine straighten and your thighs press together. The way he said it, all low and annoyed like your son idolising Deku was a personal betrayal. You had to bite your cheek to stop the smile that threatened to stretch across your lips.

You looked up at him fully now. His eyes were darker than before, settled on you with that old familiar heat. The one that used to make your knees weak and your back arch.

“Didn’t realise you still wore my shirts,” he said, eyes running over you, voice dropping, thick with something that made your stomach flip.

You gave a shrug, casual but cocky. “Comfy.”

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

“Katsuki—”

“Been thinkin’ about you,” he cut in. Just said it, all reckless and raw, like he hadn’t just been in your house around your family all day. Like y’all hadn’t been broken up for two years.

You blinked. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” he said, stepping in close. One hand braced on the counter behind you, caging you in. “You don’t still think about me?”

You turned your head, as much as you could, trying to ignore the way he smelled. That damn cologne he always wore, the same one he wore the first time you guys got together all the way back in UA.

You felt his finger ghost over your hand, pulling you back into reality. “You gon’ tell me you didn’t do this shit on purpose?” he asked, eyes flicking down to the hem of your shorts, the edge of your bonnet slipping just a little.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, the weight of his words settling heavy in your stomach.

“I didn’t do it for you,” you don’t even know if it was a lie, but your voice was too soft and too shaky to be believable.

“Yeah?” he smirked, eyes narrowing. “Then why you shakin’?”

You turned back to the dishes again, heart thumping like it wanted out. But you already knew—resistance was temporary. You’d been down this road before. And Katsuki always knew how to get you to walk it again.

He was your first everything. Your only real everything. From high school halls to a hospital room where you both cried meeting your son, to this house filled with all the in-betweens. You could play coy all you wanted. But your body remembered.

Your breathing shook when you felt your back hit his chest. His hands didn’t touch you—yet—but his presence was wrapped around you like smoke, thick and inescapable. You could feel the heat rolling off of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, the way he exhaled like he was holding back something heavy.

Your nails scraped against the sink as you held it like it was anchoring you down to Earth as you felt the way his fingers skimmed over your arms.

Katsuki,” you said carefully, voice a whisper. “We’re not…”

“Not together. Yeah. I know.” His eyes flicked over you, he turned you to face him, fingers still skimming over your skin. “Doesn’t change how I feel.”

You felt your heart stutter. You’d had so many nights alone where you wondered if he still felt it too. If all the love you tucked away, folded up neatly under co-parenting and polite distance, was still sitting under his skin the same way.

“I miss you,” he said, voice thick. “I miss coming home to this. Miss seeing you like this. Soft. Tired. Still takin’ care of everything even when it’s just you.”

Your eyes burned.

“I never wanted to stop being a family,” he said, stepping closer until his chest brushed yours. “Even when I fucked up. Even when I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed hard. “You can’t just say stuff like that, ‘Suki.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll believe you.”

His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in slow, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Then believe me.”

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. His lips were already on yours, hands gripping your waist like he was holding on for dear life—and you melted. Melted like butter in the pan, like it hadn’t been two whole years since the last time he kissed you like that.

Like not a single thing had changed.

“Suki…”

“Shh, mama. I got you. Just… please. Let us have this.”

His voice was barely a whisper, but it hit like a wrecking ball. Knocked straight into the walls you’d built—every brick, every stubborn layer of distance and pride crumbling under the weight of his voice and the way he held you like home.

God, you missed him.

Your lips moved against his like muscle memory, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the back of his neck. He backed you into the counter with ease, the same place y’all had just passed out cake slices and goodie bags now transformed into the center of the damn universe.

His hands slipped under the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt—and dragged up your skin slow, like he needed to re-learn every inch of you.

“You really gon’ stand there and lie to me?” he murmured against your jaw, mouth trailing kisses down your neck. “Like I don’t know this body better than my own?”

You shivered, breath hitching. “We shouldn’t…”

“But you want to.” He pressed his hips against yours, letting you feel exactly how much he did too.

Your answer came out as a soft, needy whimper.

“You wearin’ panties under this?” he asked, voice low, teasing as he nosed along your throat. “Or you just lettin’ it drip down your thighs like the good girl I know you are?”

Your knees damn near gave out.

“I—fuck, Katsuki.”

He laughed, breath hot on your skin, and in one smooth motion, lifted you up onto the counter. Your legs fell open easy as breathing, and he slotted himself between them, hands already tugging your shorts down like his body remembered the choreography.

“Still this fuckin’ wet for me,” he muttered, fingers gliding through your folds. His groan was deep, guttural. “Shit, mama.”

You bit your lip, one hand tangling in his hair as the other braced on the counter behind you.

The blonde dropped to his knees without hesitation. He grabbed the back of your thighs, dragging you closer until your ass was hanging off the edge. You remembered how he used to sweet talk you before eating your pussy but not today.

A choked moan left you as his tongue licked a broad stripe up your centre, moaning into it like the taste alone had him losing his mind. “Missed this fucking pussy mama, missed you” he growled, burying his face between your legs like he needed you to breathe.

Your head fell back, the moan that ripped from your throat embarrassingly loud in the quiet kitchen.

His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you wide open as he licked and sucked, tongue curling just right over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance. He didn't forget what you liked, after years of knowing your body the man still knew how to suck on you clit with enough pressure to have your eyes rolling.

“You’re--fuck such a mess, baby,” you gasped, voice shaking. “Katsuki--oh my God—”

“Say my name again,” he growled against your cunt. “Let me hear it.”

“Katsuki!”

He latched onto your clit at that, sucking hard and fast until your legs trembled around his shoulders, your body rocking against the countertop like you were trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure—but he wasn’t having that.

“Don’t run,” he grunted. “Take it. You know how I eat. That pretty pussy still remembers, huh?”

Your orgasm slammed into you without warning, your hips jerking, mouth falling open in a silent cry as the waves of it crashed through you.

And Katsuki didn’t stop.

Not until your thighs were twitching, not until your hands fisted in his hair and you were whimpering his name like a prayer. Only then did he pull back, licking his lips like he had just finished your famous Sunday dinners.

"Fuckin' missed you so much ma, please, please tell me you've missed me too?" He practically whined as he pulled down his joggers just enough to free himself.

You couldn’t stop staring. He was hard, thick, already leaking, and somehow even bigger than you remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way because it had been too long.

His hand gripped your chin, your eyes meeting each other as you tucked your lip between your teeth.

"Come on baby..." He ran his length between your folds, tapping the tip against your clit a couple of times causing you to whine.

"Missed you so much 'Suki please."

He slid in, slow but deep—too deep. You choked on a gasp as he filled you to the brim, head dropping to his shoulder.

“Fuck—so tight,” he groaned, gripping your hips. “You really ain’t let nobody touch this since me, huh?”

You shook your head, panting. “Only you.”

And damn if that didn’t break something in him.

He pulled out slow, almost all the way, then slammed back in, hard enough to jolt the dishes on the counter. Your body arched into his, hands scrabbling for something to hold on to as he started to fuck you in earnest.

He was trying to make up for lost time, every deep stroke had him whispering praises in your ear.

You're whining and moaning like an absolute slut and it makes his dick throb and his balls tighten, pussy clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, I miss hearing those sounds." His hands pull your thighs further apart, thumb strumming at your clit while he fucked you into a trance. Your eyes had taken up residence in the back of your head as the sheer force of every thrust had your bonnet slipping halfway done your head, little by little your braids started falling into your face making you look like a fucking Goddess.

He could feel you tightening around him, letting go of your thighs his hand clamped around your throat as he pulled you into a searing kiss tongues and teeth lashing together as your legs wrapped around him, pulling him in like you were trying to become one.

He continued to pound you into oblivion, fucking you like it might be the last time, but you hoped to God that it wasn't.

Mine,” he growled against your lips, slamming into you again and again. “You're mine, this family is mine, say it."

“Yours,” you gasped, nails digging into his back. “Always been yours, daddy—fuck!”

He feels the way you go rigid in his arms, the first syllable of his name stuck in your throat and he knew your cumming for him again.

He felt it—the way you locked up around him, the way your cunt milked him like it never wanted to let go. You came again, loud and messy, coating his cock in a creamy white slick, and he followed you soon after, hips jerking, breath catching as he emptied inside you with a deep, guttural groan.

The kitchen was silent except for your breathing. Heavy, shaky. The kind that came with everything—sex, love, grief.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Just held you.

You curled into him instinctively, lips pressed to his neck, and you stayed like that for a moment. Wrapped up in each other. The ache was still there. But it didn’t hurt as much now.

“You think he heard us?” Katsuki muttered after a beat.

You snorted, voice muffled by his shirt. “He sleeps like a rock.”

Katsuki leaned back, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "I meant what I said, can we talk, properly?"

You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

#black fem reader #black female smut #katsuki bakugo mha #my hero academia #bakugo smut #katsuki smut #fanfic #katsuki x black reader #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugo x black!reader #bakugo x black female

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