#still thinking of a name.. maybe apple spice

[noellez-best-life23]

first sorry it took me so long to read this life is hectic and i wanted to really sit down and enjoy it anyways im so excited to read this i love ari and i love apple orchards

“Lift your skirt for me, darling,” he implored, his eyes dropping to where your thighs were still spread, the flimsy fabric of your dress barely hiding your core. “Show daddy what you have under your pretty little skirt.” I'm already screaming

You fell back into your seat with a soft “oomph,” the breath rushing from your lungs when you looked into Ari’s eyes. His blue gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, and there was something in depths of his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—affection or fondness maybe. is that love I'm sensing maybe

“Do you trust me, darling?” Ari asked, cupping your face and leaning across the car’s console to press his forehead to yours. His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, matching the sweeping of his other thumb against the back of your hand ok this is where i start swooning asking about the trust the whole forehead touching this is whole part is so sweet

he asked softly, planting his other hand on the hood of his car, i cant be the only one who thinks its hot when a guy does this can i (maybe i am) (also couldn't find a gif)

“Should I go back for another basket—or a crate?” Ari asked, a grin in his tone. this part is so fluffy and sweet like ari is just so sweet in this

Good girl,” Ari murmured, taking the apple from your hands and pulling away to set it on top of the pile in your basket im now melting

my god the quickie in the orchid is so hot i think im dead

“You know you’re special to me, don’t you, honey?” he asked, using the new pet name that you knew was shortened from ‘honeycrisp’. and we are back to swooning and sweetness

ok so i absolutely loved this it was a perfect mix of sweet and fluff and spice and then they realization that its wasn't ari that was making the boundaries and they reader was just scared to let ari in and how patient he is and there is just so much details in here the way you describe stuff makes me able to really see the story in my head but yeah this was amazing and i love it

sweet as honeycrisp

pairing: sugar daddy!ari levinson x sugar baby!female reader

summary: your sugar daddy takes you on an autumn-themed date to the apple orchard, and what starts off as a fun and flirty day unfolds into a meaningful turning point in your relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, biting, brief cockwarming, exhibitionism, light bdsm, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, very light degradation, lots of teasing, pet names (darling, honey), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 14.5k

a/n: whew i've been working on this for like two weeks now, and i'm so happy to finally be able to post it!!! i was struggling a bit with the emotional throughline of this fic, and i only decided on it very late in the editing game so if some things don't make sense, just ignore it!!! if you can believe it, i originally just wanted to write about a quickie in the apple orchard and it turned into this 🫣 anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!!!

“Kiss.”

The warm, playful voice of your sugar daddy, Ari Levinson, met your ears as you lowered yourself into the passenger seat of his Lexus, greeting you in the way he always did. When you closed the car door behind you, the sounds of the Manhattan street were silenced, leaving you in the relative quiet with Ari.

Eagerly, you twisted on the sumptuous seat of the expensive car to lean over the center console, brushing a teasing kiss to Ari’s scruffy cheek, your lips grazing the edge of his full beard. His skin was warm and inviting, and you lingered for a moment, breathing in the the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne, smelling of vetiver and leather. 

When you pulled back, Ari’s blue eyes were glittering with a hint of mischief that made your heart thump with excitement, a warmth blooming in your core despite the cool air of the car’s air conditioning brushing your legs. It was a warm September day, the last remnants of summer clinging in the air as if it protested giving up its seat to autumn. 

The thought crossed your mind that if any man looked like the embodiment of summer, it was Ari Levinson. His skin was golden with a perpetual tan, and his brown hair had sun-kissed blond highlights that shimmered in the daylight, though they were dimmed a bit in the shadow of his car. 

Still, as he grinned at you, showing off his pearly whites framed by his dark beard, you couldn’t help but feel like the summer sun had taken a liking to you and sat beside you. When he looked at you like that, with that smile and those blue eyes shining like the sun off the ocean waves, you wondered what it would be like to have his attention all the time—to be more than just the sugar baby he took on occasional dates when he wanted to have fun.

Pushing those bothersome romantic notions aside, you raked your eyes down Ari’s form, noticing that he’d dressed down for your date. He wore a soft denim, long-sleeved button-up over a simple white t-shirt and tailored slacks. Casual loafers and sunglasses perched on top of his head completed the look. Even in such a simple outfit, he looked good. 

“Show me.” 

His voice was a deep rumble that pulsed between your thighs, and you flicked your gaze back up to his face, finding heat in his expression, the same mischievousness in his eyes that’d been there since you got in the car. The corner of Ari’s mouth was curved in a smirk, and you felt another throb of warmth in your core.

Your lips curled at the edges, a wicked smile curving your mouth as the energy in the car crackled around you, spurring your heart to beat a little faster. You knew exactly what Ari wanted you to show him, and you knew it was naughty—but that was part of why you liked spending time with your sugar daddy. 

Ari was always urging you to be a little daring, to do something that made your heart race and your breath come a little faster. He didn’t push you, so much as guide you down the path to depravity, and you followed him willingly. You never felt more alive than when you were with Ari.

So while you smiled at him, you spread your legs on the leather seat of his Lexus, the short skirt of your dress falling between your parting thighs. Ari’s smirk deepened with satisfaction as he watched your movements with rapt attention. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your dress, the fabric having ridden up quite high on your thighs. 

But before you could reveal what was beneath your skirt, you looked away from Ari, and it crashed over you that you sat in a car in the middle of a busy Manhattan street surrounded by other people. There were folks driving in their cars just outside your window and others walking by on the sidewalk beside where Ari was parked. There were even people filling up the buildings that overlooked the street. They were everywhere around you.

“Darling, look at me,” Ari murmured, his tone entreating enough to call your attention back to him. 

You noticed his sparkling eyes had lost some of their mischief when you looked back at him. But the steadiness of his gaze had you relaxing when you hadn’t even realized you’d tensed up, and the corners of your mouth flickered in an uncertain smile.

“Do you trust me?” Ari asked simply. His face was open, no hint of pressure in his tone or voice. 

For a brief moment, you considered his question, then you nodded your head. You watched as warmth flooded into his gaze, and it made you feel a little more sure. 

“Lift your skirt for me, darling,” he implored, his eyes dropping to where your thighs were still spread, the flimsy fabric of your dress barely hiding your core. “Show daddy what you have under your pretty little skirt.”

You gathered every ounce of braveness in your body and pulled up the hem of your skirt. There, nestled between your spread thighs, was your bare pussy. The air in the car seemed to heat by a few degrees when you heard Ari suck in a sharp breath.

It had been Ari’s idea for you to go without panties on your date, and you’d agreed, the idea sending excited thrills through your body. Walking through the halls and the lobby of the Manhattan high-rise you called home, you’d felt like you had a secret that only Ari knew, and it gave you a delicious kind of satisfaction showing your sugar daddy how you’d gone without panties, your pussy fully exposed beneath your dress.

“You have such a pretty cunt, darling,” Ari groaned, his hand sliding up your thigh until the tips of his fingers teased the top of your slit. 

You bit back a gasp and squirmed in your seat, trying to hold your hips back from thrusting into his touch. 

“I never get tired of seeing this pussy, and how wet she gets for me.” 

His fingers spread your lower lips and he brushed ever so gently over the tip of your clit, making you twitch in your seat, your legs shaking with the effort it took not to close them on his hand and trap him against your heated core.

“And the way your thighs tremble for me,” Ari rumbled, pulling away from your quickly dampening slit to grope roughly at your plush softness, his grip possessive in a way your sugar daddy rarely was. 

“Ari.” His name was a breathy exhale, an undercurrent of admonishment in your tone as his touches stoked the blazing fire in your core, making you squirm even more on the seat. A sliver of worry wormed into your mind as you remembered the leather you sat on, which would surely stain if he kept touching you, and you gasped, “The seat.”

Ari only chuckled, the sound cavalier in a way that made butterflies take flight in your belly, but before you could chide him again, his hand was slipping back between your thighs. Ari dragged a finger from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, flicking your clit and wringing a moan from your lips as your thighs trembled on the seat.

Then he was pulling his hand away, leaving you to drop your skirt to cover yourself, and popping his finger into his mouth. Your sugar daddy made a show of savoring the taste of you, and your head fell back against the headrest. You watched him suck your taste from his skin, your breaths heavy in your chest while Ari’s eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“Mm, sweet as apple pie,” he praised, making heat rush to your face while you shook your head and rolled your eyes—even as your chest warmed at the compliment. Ari was grinning shamelessly at you when he grabbed your face gently and pulled you gently across the car toward him. “C’mere, darling, see how sweet you taste,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you.

The musky flavor of your body made you moan into Ari’s mouth, your sugar daddy devouring every little noise you made while he kissed you thoroughly. You sank into him, reveling in the smooth glide of his lips and the possessive exploration of his tongue. Your fingers curled around the collar of his denim shirt and you clung to him, feeling the edge of something more in the way he kissed you. It left you breathless when you finally pulled away.

You fell back into your seat with a soft “oomph,” the breath rushing from your lungs when you looked into Ari’s eyes. His blue gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, and there was something in depths of his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—affection or fondness maybe. 

A small, uncertain smile curled your lips, your heart thumping in your chest as you wondered if that’s how Ari looked at someone he truly cared about. Someone special to him, who had a more permanent place in his life than the sugar baby he called when he wanted to have some no-strings-attached fun. 

For the briefest of moments, you could pretend Ari was more than your sugar daddy, and you were more than his sugar baby. 

But then the moment ended, and Ari cleared his throat as he looked away, focusing on the wheel and gear shift of his car to put it in drive. A silent sigh of disappointment gusted from you, and you turned toward the passenger side window, intent on watching the city fly by once Ari eased into traffic.

To your surprise, Ari’s hand slipped into one of yours, his palm pressing against yours while he laced your fingers together. Your breath hitched with uncertainty even as the corners of your mouth flickered in a smile. It took you a moment to get used to the feeling of his hand in yours, turning it over to trace the veins on the back gently while he maneuvered his Lexus through the Manhattan streets.

It had only been a few months since you’d started seeing Ari, and while his touches were often greedy when you were fooling around, he hadn’t been prone to physical displays of affection since the first few dates you went on with him. Back then, he’d reached for your hand a few times, but after a point he’d stopped.

Truthfully, it had been a relief. One of your greatest fears was falling for a sugar daddy who didn’t return your feelings, and considering how handsome Ari was, you’d known it was a serious risk getting into a relationship with him. But he’d been so charming and carefree, you didn’t think it would be a problem to keep your heart out of things. He didn’t seem like he was looking for anything serious anyway.

So you’d focused on having fun, and that had been easy. Ari took you to expensive restaurants with delicious food in New York City, or he’d fly you somewhere else if he was itching to get away for a little bit. During meals, you’d chat about trivial things, then fall into bed together as soon as you were back in whatever hotel room Ari had booked for the night. 

You didn’t quite know why your conversations didn’t go deeper than the shallow things you talked about, but you didn’t question it. It made everything so much easier if you didn’t truly know Ari—if he didn’t know you either. So you just stuck to safe topics, like planning dates and having sex. 

Your relationship with Ari was a nice change of pace for you. He was far from your first sugar daddy, and you’d learned some hard lessons in your past relationships. Too often, sugar daddies wanted to know things you weren’t comfortable sharing, but Ari had never pried. He’d set boundaries and didn’t push them. You were grateful for that.

But another part of you, a part that started off small and was growing with every date you went on with Ari, yearned to know more about your sugar daddy. You wanted to know what he liked to do when he wasn’t working or taking you on dates. You wanted to know if he had any family, if he celebrated the holidays with them. You wanted to know if he’d ever had his heart broken. 

Tamping down on those curious thoughts, you focused on the present—the music that was playing gently in the car, and the scenery passing by your window. The skyscrapers and high-rises of Manhattan had given way to the tightly-packed homes of the suburbs. 

Biting your tongue against all the questions you wanted to ask, not even sure how you’d begin to try to get to know your sugar daddy better—let alone whether it was a good idea—you sat in silence with Ari. The suburbs eventually gave way to the lush forests and hilly countryside of the Hudson Valley, giving you something prettier to look at.

It was too early in September for the leaves to be changing yet, but there were glimpses of golden yellows and warm oranges among the green foliage. A hint of what was to come. Autumn was inevitable and you found comfort in the changing seasons. 

Cozy weather was right around the corner, and you couldn’t wait for it. Hot apple cider and pumpkin pie, butterscotch cookies and mulled wine—you were a glutton for all the food and beverages associated with the autumn months. And you liked to make them yourself from scratch whenever possible. 

It was part of the reason you’d wanted Ari to take you apple picking, though he didn’t know that. He’d just accepted the request and planned the date. 

After a little while more of driving, Ari pulled off the paved road and onto a dirt track. There was a sign for Brothers’ Apple Orchard fixed to a worn, wooden fence, though dense trees hid the farm from view. 

A little ways down the dirt road, the trees opened up into a large parking lot that was already packed with families and groups of friends going apple picking on the warm September afternoon. The sight and sounds of all the people had nerves twisting in your stomach, and you wondered if it had been a smart idea to go without panties to a place that was meant for wholesome fun.

You’d long since learned that Ari had an exhibitionist streak, and that day wasn’t the first time he’d told you to show up to one of your dates without panties. You’d always enjoyed the excitement in the inherent risk of wearing a dress without anything underneath, but he’d never taken you somewhere with so many families before. The consequences of getting caught seemed so much worse than they ever had before.

Ari must’ve felt your fingers tense in his because he gave you a comforting squeeze as he pulled his Lexus into an empty space and put the car in park. Once done, he looked to you, his smile faltering when he took in the way your brows were pinched and the corners of your mouth were turned down in an uncertain frown.

“Do you trust me, darling?” Ari asked, cupping your face and leaning across the car’s console to press his forehead to yours. His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, matching the sweeping of his other thumb against the back of your hand. 

You were quiet for a moment, nibbling on your lower lip as you thought about his question—really thought about it.

It weighed on you a little that you didn’t know Ari very well, especially since a part of you desperately wanted to, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know his character. Ari had never pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do, and he always checked in with you when you were together, making sure you were comfortable and having fun. So while you didn’t know his favorite color, you did trust him. 

Exhaling slowly, you nodded, your forehead shifting against Ari’s. “I trust you, Ari,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper, like you were telling him a secret in the privacy afforded by the enclosed space of his car. 

To your surprise, Ari sighed in relief at your words, the exhale so short and quiet, you wondered if you’d heard correctly. But you didn’t have time to analyze it because Ari was pressing a quick kiss to your lips and then pulling back to open his door and step out into the September sunshine.

You watched as Ari rounded the front of the Lexus, a charming grin on his face as he winked at you over the hood of his car. It was only because you were alone that you allowed yourself a silly little giggle, your mouth spreading across your face in a wide smile. He opened your door and offered you a hand to help you out.

“Careful, darling, wouldn’t want to give anyone a free show,” Ari murmured teasingly while you slid your hand into his, feeling the roughness of his palm against the pads of your fingertips. 

A zing of thrill went straight to your core at his words, joining the sparks you felt when you touched him. The fingers of your other hand played with the hem of your dress as you stepped one foot out of the car. You darted a look around, finding you had some relative privacy between Ari’s Lexus and the next car over, and pretended to rearrange your skirt. 

In reality, you flashed your bare slit for your sugar daddy, biting your lip and ducking your head when you heard his sharp inhale. Ari made a low, tortured sound and squeezed your fingers, practically pulling you out of the car before pinning you against the side.

“Naughty girl,” Ari growled in your ear, pressing his big body against yours so you were trapped between his hard muscles and the warm metal of the Lexus at your back. “You’re going to get us in trouble if you keep flashing that pretty pussy at me, darling.” 

A breathless, disbelieving laugh gusted past your lips before you could stop it, even as your head went a little fuzzy from the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne filling your senses. It felt like the vetiver and leather on his skin was embedded in your mind as a reminder of all the pleasure he’d given you, and with his body pressed against yours, it took you a moment to respond.

“You’re the one who told me not to wear panties to our apple picking date, daddy,” you reminded him, gripping the soft cotton of Ari’s t-shirt beneath his denim shirt, your fingers brushing against the sides of his tapered waist. You pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, brushing your body against his firm form enticingly while your lips grazed along his scruffy cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that if you didn’t want me to show you my achy, needy cunt.”

A low growl rumbled in Ari’s chest and he pressed you harder against the side of his car, his body impossibly warm and hard through the thin fabric of your dress. You could feel every firm line of him against your soft curves, including the thick bulge digging into your stomach. 

Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Ari’s hands skimmed down your sides and dove beneath the hem of your skirt, palming your ass and kneading your soft flesh with firm, possessive fingers.

“Darling, if you keep saying such filthy things, you’re gonna end up in the back of my car with my cock buried in your achy, needy cunt,” he purred, a threat in his tone that he punctuated by nipping at your ear, making you gasp and arch into him, pressing your tits against his solid chest. “You’re gonna get us banned from the orchard because you won’t be able to stop screaming while I pound your pussy—is that what you want?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes. 

In the short time since you’d stepped out of the car, Ari had you feeling wet and aching and empty. Warmth flooded your body that had nothing to do with the sun shining brightly above your heads, and you wanted badly for Ari to free his cock from his slacks and slide it inside you.

But then the shrieking laughter of children punctured the bubble of lust surrounding you, and you remembered exactly where you were. Shaking your head, you dropped your gaze to the edge of Ari’s jaw while you sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the fresh air beyond the scent of your sugar daddy’s cologne. 

Ari’s big body eased back, giving you more room to breathe and you ignored the pang of disappointment at the loss of him. Instead, you let the crisp autumn breeze brushing against your cheeks and dancing between your thighs cool you down. 

After giving you a moment, Ari curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. His brows were lowered and his eyes looked at you questioningly.

“Do you still want to go apple picking?” he asked softly, planting his other hand on the hood of his car, as if he needed to force himself not to touch you so you could answer his question. The thought made you smile, and his eyes dropped to your lips, his thumb brushing quickly over the bottom one. 

“I do,” you said in a light, breathless voice, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. On a whim, you nipped at Ari’s thumb, giving him a smirk when his eyes darkened. “If you think you can keep it in your pants until later, daddy,” you taunted him, pushing your hips forward so his bulge pressed into your belly.

“You’re such fucking trouble,” Ari growled before his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. One of his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into him while the other cradled your head gently, holding you exactly where he wanted you while he devoured your mouth, his tongue sweeping possessively past your lips until you were moaning softly into him.

A loud, clearing throat had you finally breaking apart. Both you and Ari turned your heads toward the sound, finding a blonde woman raising an eyebrow at the two of you before cutting her eyes pointedly to the children beside her. Your cheeks heated and you buried your face in Ari’s neck to muffle a cackling laugh. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Ari called gruffly, raising a hand in a repentant wave. 

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes, which only made you laugh harder, pressing your face deeper into the warm curve of Ari’s shoulder as you tried to stay quiet. When the woman and her family were finally gone, you leaned back, giving Ari a cheeky grin. 

“Think she’s gonna complain about us and get us banned?” you asked teasingly, sliding your hands up Ari’s chest until they rested on his shoulders, trying not to think about how easy it was to touch your sugar daddy so casually. “Tell them we were acting indecently in the parking lot?”

Ari laughed, chucking you under your chin gently before ducking down for a quick kiss. “If she does, I’ll just buy the farm,” Ari murmured against your mouth. “They can’t ban us if I own them.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at Ari’s pronouncement, surprise making your heart leap in your chest. Your sugar daddy had bought you plenty of expensive gifts since you’d started seeing him, but buying a farm so you could go apple picking in peace was on another level entirely. You had to wonder if Ari was serious, but the look in his eye was genuine when he pulled back. 

“Don’t give me that look, darling,” he rumbled, his heated gaze raking over your face, taking in your wide eyes and parted lips. His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, pulling on it ever so slightly to the side, sending a little thrill through your body. “Or we aren’t making it into the orchard.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing thickly and bobbed your head in a nod. Then, you slid away from Ari, slipping from between his big body and the car and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Even with the warm September sun shining down on your shoulders, you felt a little cold without Ari’s heat and shivered. But you told yourself you were being ridiculous, shaking off the shiver and turning back to your sugar daddy.

Ari was standing with both hands planted on the hood of the car, his head hanging between them while he took deep breaths. He must’ve felt your attention on him because he lifted his head and gave you a charming smile. 

“Just gimme a sec, darling,” he said, shooting you a wink before he straightened and dropped his hands to the bulge in his slacks. 

You tried not to ogle your sugar daddy as he adjusted himself to make his hard length less prominent in his pants, but you knew what was hiding beneath his clothes and you knew how good his cock felt sliding inside you.

A sizzling, delicious warmth cascaded through your body, and you let yourself watch Ari’s big hands adjusting his bulge for a moment before tearing your eyes away and taking deep breaths of the fresh air to clear your head as much as possible.

A moment later, Ari slung his arm around your shoulders and together the two of you walked toward the entrance to the orchard.

It took effort, but you managed not to look down at the front of his pants, sure that if you did, neither of you would make it any further. And you did want to go apple picking. You had so many things you wanted to bake with the apples you were going to pick. 

Keeping your chin up and your gaze forward, you and Ari walked to the small, squat red building that served as the entryway to the orchard. One side was for folks heading into the field of apple trees, and you joined the line while scrutinizing the size of baskets and crates you could get for picking. 

Ari let you choose the size, and you picked a decent size wooden basket, thinking that would give you plenty of apples to use for baking. A farm worker explained that your apples would be weighed when you were done, and you paid per pound. Then they handed Ari a map that specified where each apple variety could be found, and the two of you were set free into the orchard. 

“What kind of apples are we picking today?” Ari asked, peering at the paper in his hand while he snagged the basket from you. 

You leaned into his side so you could read the map, and pointed when you found what you wanted. “Honeycrisp, honeycrisp!” you chanted, letting your excitement overtake you. 

Ari chuckled, folding the map and tucking it into his pocket before giving you one of his charming grins. “Honeycrisp it is, honeycrisp,” he teased, smoothing his hand down your arm to lace his fingers with yours before he began walking into the orchard.

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at Ari’s gentle, familiar touch and the sweet new nickname. He’d only ever called you ‘darling’ before, and while you liked the pet name, ‘honeycrisp’ made you feel closer to your sugar daddy because it was meant for only you. It was something people in a real romantic relationship did, wasn’t it?

Your feet stumbled a little before you fell into step beside Ari. Out of the corner of your eye, you looked up at him consideringly, wondering—not for the first time—what he thought of you. If he thought you were someone worth caring about—if he thought of you at all when you weren’t together. 

Your sugar daddy flashed an easy smile at you, and you couldn’t help but return the gesture, even as you thought about how difficult he was to read. He was always charming and easygoing, and it made it hard to figure out what he was really thinking, let alone what he was really feeling.

You did your best to push those pondering thoughts from your mind and simply enjoy the walk through the orchard with Ari. You reminded yourself that he’d made it clear he just wanted to have fun with you, so that’s what you were determined to do: Enjoy the warm day and pick some apples with your handsome sugar daddy.

The honeycrisp section of the orchard ended up being quite busy, with families and groups of friends forming small crowds around all the trees closest to the entrance of the field. You paused for a moment, your face falling in a small frown.

Ari must’ve seen your expression because he tugged on your hand and led you past the crowds, strolling down a long row of apple trees to go deeper into the orchard. The excited chatter of other people faded until you could barely hear them and the farm grew peaceful. Finally, you came to the edge of the orchard, and Ari pulled you to a stop at the end of a row of honeycrisp trees. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of apples,” you said, peering up at the trees around you. They were bigger and taller than the ones you’d passed that were being picked over by the crowds. Their branches were practically bursting with ripe, red apples, the color swirling with yellow and green as it often did with that particular variety. 

It seemed no one else had thought to escape the crowds and venture deeper into the orchard, because you couldn’t hear anyone else around. It was just you, your sugar daddy and the apple trees. 

It was so perfect you couldn’t stifle the beaming grin that spread across your face.

“Should I go back for another basket—or a crate?” Ari asked, a grin in his tone. 

When you finally tore your eyes away from the trees and their bounty, you found him staring at you, something like fondness in his gaze. It struck you that Ari had no idea why you wanted apples—you’d never told him you liked to bake or what you planned to do with the ones you picked—but he’d planned the date and was offering to help you pick as many apples as you wanted. 

A warmth started in your chest, feeling as though it were wrapping around your heart and filling you up with a dizzying amount of sunshine, until your ribs were nearly bursting with it. Your cheeks felt warm, and your face ached a little from how wide you were smiling. 

When you realized that you were staring back at Ari with just as much, if not more, affection than was in his gaze, you tried to tamp it down, forcing yourself to scoff lightly at his question. 

“I think one will be plenty,” you said dryly, turning back to the trees and trying to calculate how many apples would fit into the basket Ari carried. Would it be enough for the apple crisp cheesecake recipe you’d been dying to try? You decided it would have to be. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, honeycrisp?” Ari asked softly, curling a finger beneath your chin and tipping your face to look up at him. He eased your bodies toward each other and your arms wrapped naturally around his waist. 

It wasn’t until you’d pressed your hands to Ari’s back, your hands settling against the solid muscle of him, that you even realized what you were doing. When you did, you froze, feeling a little spooked by how easy it was becoming to sink into Ari’s casual touches and return them. It felt like there was a growing intimacy between the two of you, and you didn’t know quite yet how you felt about it. 

“Honeycrisp?” you asked, latching on to the one thing you could think to say that would delay you needing to answer Ari’s question. 

He’d never asked you what you were thinking before. When he checked in with you, his questions were always more direct, and more specific about what you were doing. You didn’t know if he really wanted to know, so you hoped a distraction might work.

Ari’s grin turned a little mischievous, like he knew what you were doing, and he wrapped his arms around you, hauling you up against his large, firm body. He ducked his head and nudged your nose with his, tickling your cheek with his beard until you laughed softly into his scruff.

“It fits, doesn’t it?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that sent warmth dancing through your body. “You’re sweet as honey and as delicious as an apple crisp.” He kissed your lower lip, sucking on its plumpness with a slow, deliberate drag that had you nearly moaning into his mouth.

“Yeah, I like it,” you murmured when he released your lip, your voice obscenely breathy as your eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t remember closing them. Being so close to Ari, having his arms around you and his lips on you, was rattling your brain a little.

“Now, darling honeycrisp, tell daddy what had you thinking so hard about those apples,” Ari rumbled, his voice sweetly coaxing as he brushed butterfly kisses along your jaw. His lips were soft and his beard was coarse, and the contrast of the sensations had you sighing softly and melting further into his arms. “Unless you don’t want to tell me?”

There was a thread of uncertainty in Ari’s tone as he voiced the question, like he wasn’t sure if he was pushing too hard by asking you to tell him what you’d been thinking about. 

It was so different to how other sugar daddies—other men in general—had treated you. They’d always demanded you tell them whatever they wanted to know, as if they had a right to every part of you. 

But Ari wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that, and it didn’t surprise you that the first time he asked something even remotely personal, he was still giving you the opportunity to sidestep the question if you didn’t want to answer. It made you want to tell him all the more.

“I was thinking about what I want to bake with the apples we pick,” you answered, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. “And trying to make sure one basket would be enough.”

Ari brushed a kiss to the apple of your cheek, as if thanking you for telling him. Pulling back a bit so he could look at you, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

“You like to bake?”

You felt a little shy in the moment, ducking your head under the weight of his sparkling blue eyes, and nodded. “Yeah,” you said shrugging as if it was no big deal. Then, when Ari didn’t reply right away, you went on, filling the silence by answering a question he hadn’t asked. “I don’t usually tell sugar daddies—the one time I did, he got weird.”

Biting your lip to stem the flow of words from your mouth, you winced. You weren’t sure if Ari had known you’d had other sugar daddies before him, but it felt awkward to acknowledge the fact even if you weren’t ashamed of it. Besides, something inside you rebelled against the idea of lumping Ari in with all your other sugar daddies—he truly wasn’t like anyone else you’d been with. 

“Weird how?” Ari asked in a tone gentler than any you’d heard him use before. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, but he didn’t try to make you look at him, just stroked your skin with his thumb. The gesture was so profoundly comforting that you lay your head on his shoulder and gave a sigh of relief. 

“Once he knew I liked to bake, he expected me to bake for him,” you explained slowly, choosing your words carefully. “But not just bake—he bought me an apron and skimpy little dresses to wear underneath it with these ridiculous heels. He wanted me to bake for him and…service him.” 

You pressed your face into Ari’s shoulder, remembering the experience and cringing over what you’d let that man talk you into. He was a major reason you appreciated Ari’s boundaries so much. You felt safer, like things couldn’t spiral out of your control, with the boundaries your sugar daddy had set in place.

After you’d answered his question, Ari stayed quiet, just holding you, his thumb stroking soothingly over the back of your neck. His big arms felt so steady around you that you couldn’t help but take comfort in them, and you went on, feeling safe enough to tell Ari the rest.

“He took all the joy out of baking,” you said in a small voice. “I stopped seeing him soon after, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

Ari exhaled a sharp breath and he squeezed you in his arms, holding you tight for a long moment before he eased up a little. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “I would love to try your baking, but only if you want—hell, you can come over today and use my kitchen and bake in one of my shirts if you want.”

A relieved laugh gusted out of you, and you were so glad Ari understood that it took you a moment to realize he’d invited you to his apartment. 

You’d never seen where he lived—and even though he paid for it, he’d never been inside your apartment either. Ari had always gotten hotel rooms, even for dates in in the city. 

You hadn’t thought much about it beyond appreciating the fact that Ari didn’t act entitled to be in your space because he paid for it. But now he was inviting you to his apartment, his space, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

Pulling back, you gave him a curious look. 

“Are you sure?”

Ari leveled you with a look of his own, and though his gaze was serious, there was a hint of amusement in the curve of his mouth. “Are you sure?” he countered, his voice going low and rumbly as he went on. “If you start baking in my kitchen wearing only my shirt, there’s a very good chance I’ll eat more of you than whatever you make.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to drive home the lewd insinuation of his statement. 

But despite his dirty warning—or perhaps because of it—you only warmed to the idea of baking in Ari’s apartment. It sounded fun in a way it hadn’t been with your past sugar daddy and you bounced on the balls of your feet as excitement flooded through you. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, shifting your arms to wind around Ari’s neck. You used your hold on him to keep your balance as you pushed up onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “I already know what I want to make.”

Ari chuckled, giving you a quick kiss before pulling out his phone and telling you to pull up the recipe so that he could forward it to his assistant to make sure his apartment had everything you’d need. You did as he asked and handed his phone back to him, watching for his reaction to the recipe you’d chosen.

To your delight, Ari groaned like he was being tortured, his thumb flicking over the screen as he scrolled through the recipe to look at all the pictures.

“You’re gonna make this?” he asked, before reading out the title, “An Apple crisp cheesecake?” He made another agonized sound before looking to you for confirmation.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, knowing he was excited despite the miserable noises he was making, and nodded eagerly to answer his question.

Ari shook his head with a disbelieving look on his face and tapped out a message on his phone before pocketing it again. Then he grabbed you around the waist and hauled you against him again.

“You’re trouble for my pants, honeycrisp,” he muttered, dropping a too-brief kiss to your lips. “First you make me hard enough I feel like I’m gonna pop my zipper.” He trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck in between his words, his mouth and beard tickling your skin while you melted into his arms. “Next you’re gonna fill me up with apple crisp cheesecake until my button breaks.” 

You made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan as you tipped your head to the side, giving him more access to nip and lick at your neck while you clung to his shoulders, your knees going weak from your sugar daddy’s attention. 

“You don’t need to eat that much cheesecake, Ari,” you wheezed in between bouts of laughter, giggling harder when he nipped playfully at your ear.

“If it’s as delicious as you, I don’t know how I’ll be able to stop myself,” he flirted, kissing the spot just beneath your ear that had you shivering in his arms. 

“Ari,” you said his name on a breathy exhale, and it was a good thing his lips captured yours in a searing kiss, because you didn’t have any hope of responding to his compliment. Instead, you showed him how much you appreciated it by kissing him back hard, your fingers tangling in his soft brown hair as you clung to your sugar daddy and made out in the apple orchard.

By the time Ari pulled away to let you get some air, you were breathless and happier than you’d been in a long time. To your own surprise, you felt good about opening up to Ari and telling him about your past bad experience. He’d made you feel heard and cared for, all while giving you reason to believe he’d never do anything like that to you. He made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t with any of your other sugar daddies. 

Because of all that, you were actually excited to finally see his apartment. It felt like an important step, the beginning of something new, perhaps something deeper, and though there was an undercurrent of anxiety in your belly, you were more excited than anything else. 

And if you weren’t mistaken, Ari looked excited, too. His eyes were looking at you with affection in their depths, and his mouth was curved into a genuine smile. 

As he grinned down at you, Ari let his hands slide down from your lower back to your ass, groping you through your dress before swatting the soft cheeks lightly. 

“Alright, honeycrisp, these apples won’t pick themselves,” he teased good-naturedly. “And I’ve got a craving for some apple crisp cheesecake now.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, making you laugh.

But you forced a serious expression onto your face and gave him a mocking salute. “Yes, sir,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to tamp down on the smile that wanted to break free.

You lost the battle when Ari gave a loud laugh, his head tipping back and the sun shining down on his golden face while he gave into your silliness. He recovered quickly, though, looking back down at you fondly as he rumbled, “That’s ‘yes, daddy’, to you, honeycrisp.” Then he slapped your ass a little harder to urge you to get a move on before he finally, reluctantly, pulled away and turned in the direction of the apple trees.

To ease some of the disappointment you both felt, Ari gave you a salacious wink that had your cheeks warming again. You couldn’t even blame the September sun on the heat in your face. Your sugar daddy was just so hot, it was hardly even fair.

To distract yourself from wanting to curl up in Ari’s arms and say to hell with apple picking, you snatched up the basket he’d dropped, arching your back and popping your ass to give him a peek at your pussy, then straightened and skipped to the nearest apple tree to start picking. 

When you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you saw Ari’s eyes were heated and staring at the way your skirt fluttered around your ass, his big hand palming his bulge in his pants. You wiggled your ass for him, turning back around to hide your laughter when his long-suffering groan met your ears. 

But you couldn’t keep your eyes off Ari and you turned your head to watch him out of the corner of your eye, catching him swiping a hand down over his face while he shook his head. Something about the gesture sent your heart pitter-pattering in your chest—which only got worse when Ari caught you looking and winked while he adjusted himself in his pants.

You felt giddy as you refocused on the tree in front of you, your breaths coming in soft little gasps as excitement and desire swirled in your core. It took you a long moment to gather your thoughts and remind yourself that you could not jump your sugar daddy in the middle of an apple orchard that was open to the public—no matter how much you desperately wanted to. 

With slightly shaking fingers, you began to pick apples, doing your best to pay attention to what you were doing and make sure you were selecting the best fruit you could find. If Ari was going to try your baking for the first time, you wanted your apple crisp cheesecake to be the best that it could possibly be. 

Ari came to stand beside you, and though you wanted him to put his hands on you, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to the task of picking apples, even reaching up to the branches that were too high for you. In turn, you showed Ari how to check for bruises and other unwanted things in the fruit before adding them to the basket at your feet.

Between the two of you picking apples, it wasn’t long before the basket was nearly overflowing, but you were having so much fun, you didn’t want it to end. So when Ari asked if you still needed more, you gave him a shy smile and said just a few. You didn’t want him to go get another basket—because, really, you didn’t need that many apples—but you didn’t want the apple picking part of your date to end just yet.

Your sugar daddy seemed to understand your desire to linger because he didn’t call you out on the fact that your basket could barely hold any more apples. Instead, he flashed you an indulgent grin and nodded, joining you under the apple tree where you’d been picking. 

But rather than moving beside you, as he’d stood while you’d worked together, he came up behind you so that his chest was brushing against your back. His hands settled lightly on your waist, loosely caging you in beneath the apple tree with your body facing the trunk. 

He ducked down so his scruffy, bearded cheek was pressed to yours and pointed to a cluster of apples just out of your reach. “Why don’t you grab one of those?” he suggested, the practiced innocence in his tone nearly making you snort with laughter. 

You knew Ari was playing a game, you could feel it in the mischievous tension crackling in the air, and you were almost certain it would lead to some sort of naughtiness in the orchard. But your body was wound tight, and you wanted to get up to a little mischief with your sugar daddy, so you decided to play along. 

“I can’t reach, daddy,” you simpered, proving your point by reaching your hand up to show that the apples were too high up, your fingertips only barely grazing the fruit. You used the movement to deliberately push your ass back into Ari’s lap and you had to smother a giggle when you felt the hard ridge of him in his pants.

“Let me help, honeycrisp,” Ari rumbled, and though you couldn’t see his grin, you knew it was there by the warmth in his voice. You bit your lip against your own wide smile.

Ari’s hand slid down your side, all the way to the back of your thigh, before he gently grabbed your leg behind your knee to lift it until your foot was planted on a low branch. Then he guided your hips deeper into his lap, where you could feel the long, stiff length of his cock wedging between your ass cheeks through your thin dress.

“C’mon, honeycrisp, reach a little bit more,” he urged, tilting your hips and bending his knees so that his hard bulge was pressed against your bare slit. Then he surged forward, lifting you just a little off the ground while he dragged the thick length of his cock against your weeping pussy. 

You fell helplessly against the trunk of the tree, the apples forgotten as a low moan slipped past your lips. Ari teased you with his clothed cock, and your spine arched to bare more of yourself to his hard bulge. Craning your neck to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder, you gave him a desperate, pleading look. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a whine, pushing back into his lap and wiggling your ass side to side to try to entice him into giving you something more. You’d been teasing each other all day, and you were hitting a breaking point. You needed him to give you something.

Ari chuckled, burying his face in the side of your neck, his deep laughter rolling deliciously down your spine and settling between your thighs, until you were pulsing with desire. He curled around your body until he was surrounding you, your smaller form fitting perfectly within the cage of his arms. 

He reached above you and easily plucked the apple he’d directed you to pick from the spot you hadn’t been able to reach and presented it to you. At the same time, his other hand began to wander, groping your soft tits until you moaned prettily again for him. 

“Does it pass your inspection, darling?” he asked, urging you to focus on the apple he held in front of you. 

Truthfully, you didn’t care anymore about picking apples—you had plenty of them in the basket at your feet—but you did your best to look it over. You turned it over in your trembling fingers, checking for bruises and bugs. Finding it to be perfect, you nodded. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” Ari murmured, taking the apple from your hands and pulling away to set it on top of the pile in your basket. 

You had to bite back a whine at the loss of him, but he was back against you a moment later, his warmth surrounding you as his arms curled around your body. His hands slid up your sides and cupped your tits, kneading them in his big, strong hands until your head fell back against his shoulder and you let out a soft whimper of need.

“Now is that enough apples, honeycrisp?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Yuh huh,” you mumbled, nodding weakly as you arched your spine and pushed your chest into Ari’s hands. He rewarded you by pinching and plucking your nipples through the soft cotton of your dress, wringing a weak whine from your lips. “Plenty.” 

“Good,” Ari rumbled, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his mouth licking and nipping at your skin like you tasted as sweet as the fruit you’d been picking, his rough beard making you shiver in his hold. “Because if I had to see your pretty pussy winking at me from beneath your skirt one more time while you were bending over or reaching for some apples, it was going to drive me fucking wild.”

A low moan slipped free from your lips while one of Ari’s hands skimmed down your front, sliding under the hem  of your dress and cupping you between your thighs. His big hand covered your entire mound, which was sticky with your juices. 

He growled when he felt just how wet you were, the sound reverberating down your spine and making your pussy spasm, more wetness dripping from your slit and into his palm.

“Fuck,” Ari ground out through gritted teeth, his voice rough with his own barely leashed desire. “You’re soaking wet for me, honeycrisp—I gotta feel you,” he said, an urgency in his voice as he sank two fingers into your drenched hole, pulling another moan from you. His hips were grinding his bulge against your ass so hard, you could feel him throbbing. “Gotta feel this tight warm cunt on my cock, ‘m not gonna make it back to the car—need you now.”

“Ari,” you whispered harshly, trying to sound angry, but the two syllables of his name came out dipped in desire and you felt your sugar daddy shudder against your back, his fingers working harder inside your sopping cunt, his palm making soft slapping sounds every time he bottomed out. “We shouldn’t.” 

Despite your weak protest, you rolled your head to the side on Ari’s shoulder, peering through the branches of the tree toward where you’d left the crowds of other apple pickers. They were still so distant you couldn’t hear them over your soft, gasping breaths, but there was no telling when someone might stray from the others. They could stumble upon you at any moment. 

The only protection you had from wandering eyes were the branches of the apple tree. Thankfully, they were close enough and the leaves dense enough that you couldn’t see much beyond Ari’s big body, but if someone came close enough, they’d no doubt hear you or Ari, and then you’d be caught.

“We’re going to get arrested,” you scolded in a hushed tone before turning your head to bury your face in Ari’s beard and stifle the moan on the tip of your tongue. He hadn’t stopped fucking you with his fingers and your reluctance was ebbing from your body just as surely as your desire was leaking into his hand. 

Instead of responding to your statement with the seriousness you felt it deserved, Ari simply chuckled against your cheek and used his thumb to circle your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand, your body wordlessly begging him for more while you muffled a whine into the underside of his jaw. 

“We’ll be fine, honeycrisp,” Ari soothed in a placating tone that made you growl like a feral kitten into his throat, so he switched tactics, his voice going low and rough. “Don’t you wanna feel me, honey?” He asked, grinding his hard length into your soft ass until you mewled pathetically. “Don’t you wanna drip your sweet juices all over daddy’s cock like a good girl?” 

It was on the tip of your tongue to give in. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew there was a very real possibility that you could get caught, and it was only your fear of the potential consequences that held your words at bay. But Ari was well acquainted with the fear that held you back, and he knew exactly how to help you break through it. 

“Just the tip,” he murmured, his voice so warm you could hear the smile in it. “Just take the tip, and stay quiet, and we’ll be golden.” He nuzzled your face, his beard rasping over your soft skin and sending tingles of delight all through your body. 

You knew it was a ploy. You knew that Ari knew that you’d never be able to settle for just the tip of his cock—after all, you never had before. But it was easier to pretend you could settle for just the tip than to say yes to Ari fucking you in the middle of the apple orchard when there were people not too far away. It was the small step you needed to break free from your fear.

Lifting your head, you looked around. There was nothing to see except dense branches and leaves and endless apples. Ari’s body hid you entirely from sight, and you still couldn’t hear anyone else close by, so if you stayed quiet, you really could get away with a quickie in the orchard. 

A wicked smile spread across your face and you turned your head to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder.

“Just the tip?” you asked, you voice laced with suggestion. You knew Ari was going to end up sinking much more of his cock into you, but you wanted to play along for a little bit. “Promise, daddy?” Your question was meant to sound innocent, but you couldn’t help the way the corners of your lips wavered in an eager grin.

Ari chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, because he knew exactly what you were doing. “I promise, darling…” he said, trailing off as he pulled his fingers from your pussy with an embarrassingly wet sound that made him grin. “Unless, of course, you beg me like a good girl.” 

“Hurry, daddy,” you cooed, wiggling your ass against Ari’s bulge, a teasing smile on your lips as you watched him over your shoulder. 

Ari’s eyes darkened and then he was using his clean hand to fumble with his belt and fly while he swatted your pussy playfully with his drenched fingers. You gasped and twitched, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably as desperate keening sound slipped from your mouth.

At your urging, Ari wasted no time, shoving his pants open and pulling out his cock, pushing your dress up over your ass and rubbing the tip through your drenched folds. Both of you groaned, Ari’s face falling forward against your shoulder while you grabbed onto the trunk of the tree in front of you, trying to stay upright while your knees trembled. 

Then Ari was pushing inside, the head of his cock sinking into the warmth of your pussy. The stretch of him was too delicious, and you moaned louder than was wise, but you couldn’t help yourself. He felt too good. 

“What’d I say about staying quiet?” Ari rumbled in your ear, right before he shoved his fingers in your mouth. The tart taste of your wetness mixed with apples burst on your tongue and you moaned again, licking wildly at his fingers to get as much of it as you could. “Mm, that’s it, clean up your mess, honeycrisp—show daddy what a good girl you can be.”

Ari’s other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady while he fucked you with just the tip of his cock, pushing into your tight hole and pulling free until the tease of it drove you wild. 

“Mm-oah, mm-oah,” you begged around Ari’s fingers, trying to push back on Ari’s stiff length and take more of him, but he held you still, forcing you to take only what he gave you. You bounced impatiently, the foot that was still lifted on one of the branches shaking it so furiously, the leaves rattled and a few apples dropped to the ground.

“Oh, did you want something, honey?” Ari asked, his tone filled with mocking innocence as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. You shot him a half-hearted glare over your shoulder, pouting. 

“I need more, daddy, please,” you begged, giving him your best desperate, pleading look while you pushed back against his hold, reveling in the way he didn’t let you move to take him further. “Please split me open with your thick cock, daddy—I need it.”

Ari blew out a sharp breath. “Fuck, I wanna tease you some more, but I can’t—need you too bad, honey,” Ari rasped, squeezing your hip while his other arm wrapped loosely around the front of your throat, so the bulge of his bicep was just beneath your chin. 

“Remember, stay quiet.” His hushed words were your only warning before Ari slammed into you, shoving every inch of his hard cock into your wet, needy cunt. 

A scream welled up inside your chest, your mouth dropping open as it clawed its way up your throat, but at the last second before it was set free, you managed to bury your face in Ari’s bicep. Your teeth sank into his warm, golden skin and you bit your sugar daddy while you screamed into his arm. 

His tortured groan was loud, but only because it poured directly into your ear, the sound dripping in pleasure as your inner walls squeezed his hard cock and made room for the thick length of him in the depths of your body.

Bliss consumed you, the stinging edge of Ari pushing inside you so fast and stretching you so suddenly making your body burn all the hotter. Already, your cunt was pulsing around Ari’s cock like you wanted him to stay buried inside you for a long time and you sighed happily, pulling your teeth from your sugar daddy’s arm. 

While Ari gave you a moment to adjust, his hand kneading the plush softness of your hip, you kissed and licked at the indents your teeth had left in his skin. He chuckled, brushing a kiss against your temple, an acceptance of your wordless apology. 

“Ready, honey?” Ari asked softly, nuzzling your cheek while he rolled his hips, grinding his cock into you in a way that had you moaning again. “This is gonna be hard and fast. I can’t—I gotta pound your pretty pussy,” he rumbled, his tone almost apologetic with the urgency in it. “Gotta feel you dripping around me, squeezing me, milking me.”

His hand shifted from your hip to slip between your thighs, his fingers finding your slippery clit and rubbing the puffy pearl. He grunted when you clenched around him, his fingers stroking you harder and winding your pleasure higher while he rolled his hips, fucking you in short, sharp thrusts.

“Fuck, honey, fuck,” he bit out, his breaths heavy in between every word. “Tell me you’re ready for me to move.”

“Please, yes, move,” you cried propping your chin on Ari’s bicep while your nails dug into the trunk of the tree in front of you. You used your grip to brace yourself and push back on Ari’s cock, taking him deeper with every thrust. “Need you, daddy, please, please, please,” you babbled, your voice coming out strained with the effort to keep it quiet.

“Fucking right you need me—just like I need you,” Ari growled, pulling his hips back and slamming forward, driving into you with so much force, you could hear the soft sound of your ass slapping against his thighs. “You have the sweetest, tightest pussy I’ve ever had—best fucking pussy in the world. I dream about it when I’m not with you,” he confessed, his words rough like he’d pulled them from the depths of his soul. “Dream about pumping you full of my come until your belly’s bulging with me, honey.”

Your mind reeled at Ari’s confession even as your body sank deeper into his hold. You were still trying to catch up on processing his words but your pussy was clenching around his cock greedily, as if begging for him to come inside you already. 

In that moment, a singular truth crystalized in your mind: You’d been deluding yourself into thinking you didn’t care for Ari—that he didn’t care for you. It was very clear that Ari did care about you, and you cared about him.

All those boundaries in your relationship, you realized you’d been the one creating them, not Ari. Ari had been patient, chipping away at the walls you’d built around yourself until he’d somehow found his way in. He’d dreamed about you, and you’d thought he was just another sugar daddy looking to have some fun. You’d been so wrong about him.

At the weight of your realization, you nearly collapsed against the tree, but managed to hold yourself up, sobbing with pleasure and emotion. Ari seemed to sense the shift in your mood and he slowed his movements, as if he was going to stop, but you shook your head, feeling feral with your need for him. 

“Please, daddy,” you cried softly, your voice hoarse with the flood of affection filling your heart. It was emphasized by the feeling of Ari inside you, surrounding you, your body cradled in his arms while he fuckd you like he wanted you to never forget the feel of him. “Fill me up, make me your perfect little cumslut, daddy, just keep me—keep me.” 

“Always,” he rasped, his lips at your temple. The promise in that single word buried deep in your heart, taking root. 

Something changed between you and Ari, and you knew he felt it too because he started fucking you faster than before, his hips snapping harder against your ass so he could push deep into your cunt with every thrust.

“Fuck, honey, ‘m almost there, are you close?” he rasped, his tone desperate. 

Your head bobbed in a nod. 

“Uh huh, ‘m close, just need a little more…” you trailed off in a whine, trying to push back on his cock and grind your clit against his stroking fingers at the same time.

Thankfully, Ari understood what you were begging for, and he rubbed you harder, his fingers relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure while he rutted into your cunt.

“C’mon, honey, come on daddy’s cock,” he rumbled in your ear, his voice deliciously deep to match his dirty words and push you closer to the edge. “Be a good little cumslut and milk my cock, make me fill your sweet pussy with all my come, honey.” 

You buried your face into Ari’s bicep again, your teeth sinking into his skin as you screamed your release. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body, until your limbs were trembling and your fingers were shaking against the outside of Ari’s arm, having forgotten when you’d let go of the tree to cling to him.

With a grunt, Ari’s cock twitched inside you, reacting to the sting of your bite and the merciless grasping of your inner walls around his hard length. His hips stuttered, then he started fucking into you wildly, his thrusts falling out of rhythm while he chased his own release. 

“Good girl, honey, so good, feel so fucking good milking daddy’s cock,” he muttered, cutting off on a deep groan while his cock throbbed inside you.

Ari spilled himself deep in your cunt and you moaned weakly, pulling back from his arm and licking his golden skin to sooth the indents your teeth had left behind. He tasted like salty skin and sweet apples and you hummed in pleasure as you rode out the remainder of your release with your bodies writhing together.

After a few long moments basking in the glorious afterglow of coming together, Ari took a deep breath and shifted his arm, chuckling lowly when you whimpered at the loss of his bicep to lick and kiss. He made it up to you by turning your head and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, pouring all the affection you finally knew he felt for you into the way his mouth moved against yours. 

When he pulled away, leaving you slightly breathless, Ari leveled you with a serious look. 

“You know you’re special to me, don’t you, honey?” he asked, using the new pet name that you knew was shortened from ‘honeycrisp’. 

You’d been too wrapped up in your own head to notice the way it rolled off his tongue—it was an endearment for someone Ari cared about, someone who was special to him, as he said.

Biting your kiss-swollen lower lip, feeling a little abashed that it had taken you so long to realize what Ari felt for you, you nodded. You could feel your cheeks warming, and tried to duck your head, but Ari only chuckled and caught your lips in another kiss, though it was briefer.

When he’d kissed away your anxiety, Ari set about extricating himself from you, pulling free from your body and helping you down from the tree. He quickly stuffed his softening cock back into his pants and then helped smooth your dress back over your hips before doing up his slacks. You turned to him, brushing his hair back from his face and warming at the way he was smiling down at you. 

Ari had an infectious grin on his face, and you couldn’t help but return it, your heart feeling warm and cozy in your chest. 

The two of you smiled goofily as you helped right each other’s appearances. Once you’d fixed yourselves as much as possible, Ari stooped down to pick up the basket of apples you’d picked, then grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and planting a kiss on the back of your palm before heading off back to the farm stand.

As you walked past all the crowds of people, you were certain everyone knew what you and Ari had gotten up to in the orchard, but no one stopped or stared or said anything. They were all too focused on their own friends and families and the task of apple picking to notice you and Ari, or your big, silly smiles.

At the farm stand, Ari paid for the apples, then loaded them into his Lexus before helping you into the passenger seat. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, then rounded the front of the car and slid into his own seat.

You were quiet on the drive back to the city, your mind ruminating over the beginning of your relationship with Ari. When you thought back to your first few dates, you realized you’d been the one who was hesitant to answer any personal questions from your sugar daddy—and you’d never asked any of him. You’d also been the one to balk at the idea of either going back to his place or your apartment, leading him to get hotel rooms. 

Ari had been the one to respect your boundaries, even as he’d tried to get to know you better. He’d tried to ask you questions you felt comfortable answering—it was how he’d found out you liked apple picking, because you’d chosen it as a fall-themed date. He’d been so careful with you, it made your heart hurt a little that you’d kept him at arm’s length for so long.

Turning from the scenery of the foliage fading into the cityscape of New York, you ran your eyes over Ari’s profile. His expression was easy, relaxed and open, the hint of a smile on his face. You’d thought he just always looked like that, but you realized it was because he was with you. 

Reaching across the center console, you scooped up Ari’s hand and laced your fingers through his before settling your joined hands on your thigh. He glanced at you, shooting you a quick smile and squeezing your fingers, before turning back to the road.

By the time the car pulled into the underground parking garage of the high-rise on the Upper West Side where Ari lived, you were resolved to try to let your guard down a little more around him. Ari had shown you he could be trusted with your heart just as much as your body, and you were determined to show him you trusted him with all of you. 

Still, it was a little intimidating walking into his apartment for the first time, the anxiety that he was only bringing you there because he wanted something from you—something you didn’t want to give—was a knot in your stomach. But then you looked at Ari and you realized he’d never do that to you. He was bringing you to his home because he wanted to, not because he wanted something from you. 

Ari’s penthouse was warm and cozy, decorated in dark brown wood and warm golden tones, with hints of blue that reminded you of the ocean. You realized you knew Ari was a fan of the beach, because so many of the trips he’d taken you on had been close to the water. Walking into his home felt like walking into a reflection of his heart, and you didn’t take that for granted.

After setting down the apples on a table next to the door and stepping out of your shoes, Ari took you on a tour of his apartment, both the upstairs and the downstairs (because it was big enough to have two floors!). He showed you every room, including his bedroom and his study, tugging you into each by your joined hands when you seemed hesitant to enter his spaces.

Ari left the kitchen for last, but the two of you lingered in the living room, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. Ari wrapped his arms around you from behind, swaying you lightly from side to side, almost like you were dancing. 

“You have a beautiful home, Ari,” you said, looking out over the city and appreciating the way the buildings and treetops were cast in the warm, yellow glow of afternoon sunshine. An errant thought crossed your mind, that you could get used to the view from Ari’s apartment. It was stunning.

“Thank you, honey,” Ari murmured, dropping a kiss to the base of your throat while his arms squeezed you tighter. He buried his face in your neck, so his words were a little muffled when he said, “I always hoped you’d like it enough to want to come over again and… again.”

You could hear in the pause of his words where he’d stopped himself from saying something different, and you wondered over it. But you knew yourself well enough not to ask. If just walking into his apartment felt like a big step, you knew asking him what he’d meant to say might spook you a bit too much, and you didn’t want that. So you just hummed in response.

Ari chuckled, like he somehow knew it was taking effort for you to be in his apartment, and he thought it was cute how difficult it was for you. His mouth trailed up your neck, effectively distracting you from your thoughts, before nipping at the edge of your jaw. 

“Want to see the kitchen now?” 

Nodding so eagerly, you nearly head-butted him, you turned in his hold and looked up at him with expectant eyes. Ari gave you an affectionate smile, then grabbed your hand and led the way to the kitchen.

He’d saved it for last, and when you stepped inside, you understood why. A gasp slipped from your lips as you took in the beautiful space. The color scheme of the apartment carried over to the kitchen, with dark brown cabinets and lighter wood countertops. There was a pop of blue in the backsplash, and all kinds of expensive gadgetry. 

You were so busy taking everything in, it took you a moment to spot the brand-new stand mixer sitting on the counter in a color that matched the rest of the room. Beside it were some of the ingredients you’d need for the apple crisp cheesecake you’d told Ari you wanted to make and you realized his assistant must’ve already come and gone. 

Walking over and running your fingers over the sleek mixer, tears welled up in your eyes. It took effort to blink them away, and you shook your head slightly at yourself. It seemed silly to be crying over a stand mixer, but it felt bigger than that, like it was a sign of Ari making room in his life for you. He wanted you there, he wanted to keep you, like you’d begged him to. 

“Everything ok, honey?” Ari asked, coming to stand behind you, but not touching you, giving you some space while you processed everything you’d realized that day.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice thick, no doubt giving away the emotion you were feeling. Before you could overthink it, you spun around and threw your arms around Ari’s shoulders, launching yourself at him for a tight hug. “You bought a mixer,” you stated, as if that was explanation enough. 

A soft laugh rumbled in Ari’s chest and he swept a hand down your spine, comforting you while a few tears leaked down your cheeks and into the collar of his denim shirt.

“Well, yeah,” he responded good-naturedly, a smile in his voice. “I did say I wanted you to want to come back, didn’t I?” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, laughing a little at his comment. Then you murmured, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ari said, sounding genuine. 

For a long moment, you hugged him, and then you pulled away, swiping at your cheeks to clear away any tears or makeup. 

“Is the offer still open to bake while wearing only your shirt?” you asked, tipping your head back to smile shyly at Ari while your fingers played with the collar of his button-up.  

A grin spread across his face while shrugged out of the denim shirt. Then, to your surprise, he yanked his t-shirt off over his head, asking you which one you wanted. 

You took the denim one with fumbling fingers, your eyes raking over his bare chest while warmth bloomed deep in your core. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Ari shirtless, of course, but you never got tired of looking at the expanse of his golden skin, dusted with dark brown hair that you wanted to rake your nails through. 

Ari let you look for a moment, using your distraction to help you slip out of your dress. Then he eased your arms into the denim shirt and buttoned it up, his big hands pausing briefly to grope your soft body every few moments. 

There was a glimmer of deep satisfaction in his blue eyes when he stepped back to look at you in his shirt. 

“Mm, you look so pretty, honey,” he rasped, taking one last look before crowding you into the counter at your back. His gaze darkened as he stared down at you, his grin turning wolfish when he rumbled, “I think I need a snack before you start baking.”

That was your only warning. You shrieked with surprised laughter when Ari hauled you back into the living room and tossed you down on one of his leather couches. Your giggles cut off abruptly in a moan when Ari descended on you, burying his face between your thighs and feasting on you like he was starving.

Your fingers twisted in Ari’s brown hair while he ate your pussy, encouraging you to scream your pleasure in the comfort of his home while he made you come against his mouth. You shattered apart with a loud cry while he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth greedily devouring your release, and the come he’d buried inside you earlier, like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

When he finally pulled away, Ari’s beard was soaked in your juices and he grinned up your body while you lay limply on the couch, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Chuckling at the sight of you sprawled out on his couch, Ari pressed wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, licking the traces of your release from your skin.

“Fuck, honey, I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbled, his big hands kneading your plush thighs and hips, proving his point since it seemed like he couldn’t stop touching you. The blatant need and desire in his voice sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“If you keep going, I won’t have the strength to bake,” you warned him in a breathless voice, managing to lift your head enough to give him a stern look. 

Ari laughed into your thigh, pressing one last kiss to your skin before he raised up and gave you a wink. “Can’t have that,” he quipped, grabbing your hands and helping you up off the couch. You stumbled a little, your legs weak from your orgasm, but Ari caught you easily, wrapping his arm around your waist while he led you into the kitchen. 

Once you were propped up against the counter near the stand mixer, Ari left to retrieve the apples from the entryway. When he returned, you noticed he carried a pair of slippers that matched the ones he’d put on. Without saying a word, he set them on the floor next to your bare feet and carried on to start washing the fruit in the sink. 

You stepped into the slippers, your heart warming when you realized they were a perfect fit. For a long moment, you stared at Ari’s bare shoulders and broad back, wondering how you’d ever kept such a thoughtful man at arm’s length. Well, you decided, once again, you wouldn’t be doing that anymore. 

Turning back to the stand mixer and the ingredients, you organized everything on the counter, going to the fridge to pull out everything else you’d need. 

To your surprise, you and Ari worked well together in the kitchen. Once he was done cleaning all the apples you’d picked, he asked what he could do next, and you put him to work peeling and coring the fruit while you worked on the other elements of the cheesecake. 

When it came time to bake, Ari took the pan from your hands and popped it into the oven while you set a timer. Tension crackled between the two of you after the oven had snapped closed, and you came together in a flurry of limbs. Ari guided you back into the living room while he kissed you, his hands making quick work of removing all your remaining clothes.

You rode Ari to another orgasm while the sweet treat baked, the golden glow of the New York City sunset keeping the apartment awash in warm hues that made you feel cozy—like you were home. 

Once you were both sated, you collapsed on top of Ari’s chest, burying your face in his neck and nuzzling into his beard. You inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, vetiver and leather, with a little bit of cinnamon from baking, and melted against him. You wanted to breathe in nothing but that scent for the rest of your life—and you refused to let that thought scare you.

Ari pulled a flannel blanket off of the back of his couch and wrapped it around you both, your pussy keeping his cock warm while you cuddled together until the timer went off. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched Ari take the baking pan out of the oven wearing only an oven mitt on his hand. You, meanwhile, stood off to the side with the flannel blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He’d told you the blanket was highly flammable and insisted you stay clear of the oven with a stern look that made your insides go all gooey.

The two of you made out in the kitchen and made dinner while the cheesecake cooled. All the while, you kept thinking how easy it was to be with Ari, how you could see what your life would be like together. And you liked how it looked. You liked kissing him whenever you wanted and asking him about what movies he liked and what was the last book he read.

After dinner, you ate a slice of cheesecake together, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Ari’s face, enjoying every little groan and expression of pleasure he made. It was erotic enough that you left the last bite for him, getting to your feet to walk around the table and straddle his lap. 

He fucked you to another, blisteringly hot orgasm, and laughed only a little when you fell against his chest with an exhausted, but satisfied, sigh. 

In a soft voice, Ari asked if you’d stay the night, and the hope in his tone made your heart warm enough that you ignored the brief flicker of anxiety the question prompted. You shushed the worry inside you and said yes. 

Together, you cleaned up the kitchen and then Ari led you upstairs to the bedroom, pausing every few minutes to kiss you, like he wanted to remind himself you were still there. 

He gave you some of his clothes to wear to bed and showed you where everything was in his bathroom. You couldn’t help but notice that he had all of your favorite products, and a spare toothbrush for you. You smiled as you got ready for bed and slipped under the covers with him.

“Did you have a good day, honey?” Ari asked, pulling you into his body and wrapping you up in his arms. You were wearing one of his t-shirts—a clean one—while he had on a pair of boxer briefs. You hummed happily when your legs tangled together, enjoying the feel of his warm skin and tickling hair against you. 

“Mm, I had the best day, Ari,” you murmured sleepily, the comfort and warmth of his bed making it easy to let your exhaustion creep in. “Kiss,” you said, turning your head and repeating the greeting Ari had given you when he’d picked you up.

Your sugar daddy chuckled, the sound rumbling down your spine and making your heart flutter with delight. Your eyes were already closed, but you could feel his smile when he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll still be here in the morning,” he promised, his words assuaging a fear you hadn’t realized you’d felt, and you sighed in contentment.

Everything had changed between you and Ari, and you couldn’t help but think it was for the better. You were still a little anxious about opening yourself up to someone, especially a sugar daddy, but Ari had shown you that you could trust him—really trust him, with all your heart—and you were determined to do just that.

“G’night, Ari,” you whispered into the pillow that smelled like him, a hint of a smile in the curve of your mouth as sleep claimed you. 

“Good night, honey,” Ari crooned in your ear, his voice gentle and soft and oh so affectionate. “My sweet, sweet honeycrisp.”

[sam-egg]

dash with her baby

[tightwadspoonies]

How to Shop at an Asian (or other ethnic) Grocery Store

Do you live in or near a city in the US?

Need to save some money on groceries?

Might I introduce you to... shopping at the local Asian grocery?

Asian grocery stores aimed at an Asian-American customer base almost always beat the prices of their western (or for-western) counterparts. Often by a significant amount, especially in categories like produce, meat, rice, and spices. Plus in addition to lower prices, you get the satisfaction of supporting a small, local business instead of a larger chain store.

(Note that a lot of this information applies to other ethnic grocery stores as well, but we're using Asian because they're common in many cities, and have particularly good prices on produce.)

But it can be a little bit of a learning curve when you first start to shop at them. This post will give you the information you need to navigate them.

So how do you find a good Asian grocery store?

First, go on google maps and search "grocery".

Note that you are NOT googling "Asian Grocery" or "Cheap Grocery". If you search "Asian Grocery" you will get results for Asian stores marketing toward a western audience, and because of this, will be neat, shiny, and very pricey. If you search "Cheap Grocery" you will get stores marketing themselves as cheap, which generally are only slightly less expensive than their "expensive" counterparts (think Aldi). Okay in a pinch, but you can do better.

Second, look at the pictures of all the stores you can easily get to.

Here's what you want: not a lot of printed ads, pictures of hand-written signs (especially in languages other than English), food in cardboard bins, and you want it to look kind of "junky". Bonus points if you can see prices listed in the pictures or the people shopping there are mostly older, ethnic women.

Third, If you couldn't find anything like this, go on your city's subreddit.

Search "cheap", "cheap grocery" and "expensive grocery". Why "expensive grocery"? Because you want to find people complaining about grocery prices, and you want to see the advice they get. Many times, that advice is Asian or ethnic grocery stores.

If you're still not getting anything, google "[city name] cheap grocery" and "[city name] expensive grocery" (see above). Scroll until you get to FORUMS discussing groceries in your city. You DO NOT want blogs or articles. Again, you're looking at the advice people are given when they complain about grocery prices.

One of the first questions people ask upon walking into an Asian grocery store of the type discussed in this post is:

"Is the food I'm getting here safe to eat?"

The answer is just as safe as anywhere else you might shop.

You're probably used to very clean, pretty, well-lit, well-organized stores. This will probably not be that, but it will be regulated by the same health department that regulates those stores. They are held to the same standards.

It's a lot of work to keep a store looking like a western consumer expects. It's a lot less work (and thus less money) to keep a store looking like an ethnic career housewife or grandmother expects. That is largely where the savings comes from.

What's a good deal at an Asian grocery?

Produce. You're probably used to things like onions and carrots being the cheapest per pound. Here it's going to be greens, apples, pears, radish, cabbage and maybe squash and sweet potatoes. Check unit prices and prepare to try some new things. Also a pound of greens is a LOT of greens. Keep that in mind. Also keep in mind that you might see a few pieces of produce that are bruised or have mold on them. That's okay. Just don't buy those pieces. The rest of the batch is probably fine. Wash produce when you get home if you're concerned, though you should be doing that anyway.

Rice and dry beans. If you like to buy in bulk, you're in luck. Don't expect to walk away with a pound or two of these. They come in 40lb packages. But if you tailor most of your meals around them, those meals will be cheap af. There are also lots of different types of specialty rice if you want to make your own sushi or mochi. Learn how to soak and sprout beans.

Tofu. Tofu is expensive when you buy it at a health food store. It is not when you buy it at an Asian grocery. It probably won't be in pretty packages, but again, cheap is not going to be super pretty.

Meat and fish. Meat is generally going to be cheaper here, though maybe not by as much as the produce is. Pork will probably be your cheapest option. You may also see cuts you don't normally see, like tongue, intestine, liver, kidneys, blood, etc... "Weird," however, does not automatically mean cheap in this context. Check unit prices and prepare to be adventurous. If you don't know what else to do with them, dried fish and animal organs make fantastic stock when boiled.

Spices. Again with the extremely large quantities here. But very inexpensive compared with their western counterparts.

Candy. This makes a great inexpensive gift if you need one, since the candy sold at these stores is fairly exotic for a western audience.

What isn't a good deal at an Asian grocery?

Dairy. This includes fresh milk, butter, cheese, etc... If they have it, it will be very expensive. Consider buying elsewhere.

Eggs. Again, this will probably be as expensive or more than the eggs you could get at a western supermarket.

Snacks. Pre-made items will be expensive in general, even though they may be tempting because they are different from what you are used to and you don't need to learn to cook a new thing. Do your best to avoid these and make your own if you can. If you can't, frozen pork or vegetable dumplings are probably your best bet for a quick meal.

Bread. It's pricey. A lot of Asian cuisines use rice, noodles, or buns for their starch instead of western-style bread. So if you can find it it will often be a novelty item.

What else do I need to know?

It's okay to be overwhelmed by new ingredients. Look up some YouTube videos on how to cook certain ingredients if you're not familiar with them.

These are not supermarkets. They sell food and sometimes the kitchenware (steamers, woks, chopsticks, etc...) needed to cook it. You will probably need to get your soap and household items somewhere else.

Pay in cash if you can. Most of these are very small businesses and paying them cash makes it so they don't need to pay credit card fees. At the very least, make the minimum purchase before paying with a card.

[hyunsvngs]

hyunsvngbinimas !

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

warnings: reader is a cat hybrid, perv!minho, heats, slick, kind of omegaverse but not, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, depictions of porn

Nothing is going right.

Minho’s apartment smells of those cliche candles that just reek of Christmas - spiced cinnamon apple strudel, or something like it. He’s burnt his cookies. His hair is covered in white sugary flakes that he’d tried to make snow for his gingerbread house with, and they’re currently melting into his hair from how stressed out he’s getting. Felix will be here any second. He’s freaking out. Felix always judges his baking.

He sighs, scraping the burnt remnants of his baking endeavours into the bin. Felix will have to be happy with just the gingerbread house. Anyway, Minho got him an amazing present for Christmas - a new headset for his gaming setup that had little holes for his white fluffy cat ears to peek through. 

Being best friends with a hybrid wasn’t easy for Minho. Unfortunately, Minho had some weird affinity for cat girls and boys alike, and his computer was decked out with mountains of hybrid heat porn that would make even Felix’s weird friend Jisung stutter. Minho had gotten drunk one night and opened up to Felix about it, and had received an overly wet kiss on a cheek and a sweet chirp of “I’ll fuck you whenever, hyung”. Minho still blushes to the tips of his ears when he remembers it. 

Felix’s hybrid status isn’t the only reason he’s reserved as Minho’s lifelong best friend. Felix is devious, weird, and a little bit evil just like Minho - he’s also always late, which really means a lot to Minho when he’s stressing out like this. 

True to his nature, there’s a loud knock on the door approximately fifteen minutes after the meeting time after Minho had just put the baking tray of newer, more promising cookies into the oven. Minho throws his oven gloves to the side and then he’s charging over to the door to swing it open, ready to give Felix a fake lecture about being late to their designated day for exchanging presents. 

Only, when the door opens, Felix isn’t alone. He’s standing on Minho’s doorstep with a wild smile on his face, a beanie pulled over his ears and his white tail swishing in excitement. Next to him is you. 

And you’re, well, you. You’re a cat hybrid, too, sans-beanie and baring your orange ears for the world to see. You have a matching smile on your face, and Minho can’t help but fight his own smile back. It’s that contagious. Your fluffy winter dress is swaying around your mid-thigh, and when you turn to stop your suitcase from falling in the snow, your tail curls in annoyance.

Wait. You have a suitcase.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho starts, his apron covered in flour. His apron is covered in flour. He’s a mess, and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep with a cute little dress on. He wonders if you’d let him flip it up and stretch your pussy open with his thick- no. He clears his throat, repeats Felix’s Korean name once again. “Yongbok-ah. What is this?”

“Your new roommate!” Felix beams, his smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Minho contemplates how he can kill him. “She was looking for somewhere to stay. Her landlord just kicked her out over Christmas, hyung, isn’t that so sad? Anyway, I remembered you saying you wouldn’t mind someone moving in to help with rent, so-”

“I work!” You blurt, cheeks sufficiently rosy pink and your bottom lip looking so biteable. Minho mentally chastises himself. He needs to behave. “I can pay rent, and Felix said you’d like me.”

Oh, he did, did he? Minho manages to drag his eyes away from you to stare menacingly at Felix, who only nods in agreement and smiles. Minho sighs, eyes flickering behind him. How quick can he do a deep clean of the house so that you think he’s perfect and amazing and maybe want to be with him? “I do have a spare bedroom.”

“Great!” Felix chirps. His eyes flicker between you and Minho. You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, tail swishing around your back excitedly. It’s orange with faint stripes in it, and Minho’s trying not to get hard in his pants over the way you’re grinning at him. Felix claps his hands together, gloved and muffled. “So, I’ve got to go now. Bye, hyung!”

“Y-Yongbok,” Minho blurts. Did he really just stutter? “What about your present?”

“Oh, give it to me another day,” Yongbok waves him off, already turning down the drive.

Minho scoffs. “What about my present, you little-”

Yongbok turns around. “She is your present, hyung. Silly.” 

Minho reverts his eyes to you. He can feel how he’s widening them in shock, his bottom lip quivering. He wants to say something. He wants to talk to you, but how can he? You’re looking at him so expectantly and your dress has damn pom poms on it. He’s going to die. “Uh. D’ya wanna come in? I have cookies in the oven.”

“Great!” You say, and Minho’s convinced your voice is exactly how angels sound. You shimmy past him with your suitcase and leave it in the doorway, sashaying into the living room as if you’ve been there a million times. He watches you sprawl on the sofa in awe, stretching languidly. If he squints, he might be able to see the panties you’ve got on underneath your dress. “I love cookies.”

“Uh, yeah,” Minho says intelligently, kicking the door shut. He’s quick to follow you despite still being in his apron and having white specks in his dark hair. He tries to sit down casually on the sofa, and you gravitate towards his body heat, curling up beside him. “Have you had a roommate before?”

“A roommate?” You perk up, looking at him. Minho thinks he’s going to die. He’s definitely hard now, and he’s glad the apron is loose enough to cover it. You blink, and then you nod. “I guess so. In college, I stayed with a bunny girl. She was super sweet.”

A bunny girl? You two… lived together? Minho’s heart has stopped beating, officially. Maybe you’re still close friends. Maybe you can bring her over, when one or both of you are in your heats, and maybe you’ll let him watch if you-

Oh, Minho’s so fucked.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re so fucked.

When Felix said his friend Minho had mentioned wanting a roommate, you hadn’t expected him to be so sexy. Even standing on his doorstep with an apron covered in flour and a timid expression on his face, he was sexy. He’d shown you to the spare bedroom, nice as pie, and had waited while you got settled in to comfier clothes before getting on the couch with him. You couldn’t stop your tail from swishing when he fed you a cookie, warm from the oven, and you’d been looking at him with round, owlish eyes. He has to know. You’re wondering how much you can put down to kitty tendencies just to get closer to him. 

“Can we cuddle?” You chirp, and Minho turns to you. He blinks, lips parted. His eyes are so dark, so round. “You know, kitty tendencies. I like the warmth. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay-”

“No,” He shakes his head, patting his lap. “C’mere, kitty- sorry, God, can I call you that? Is that okay?”

You giggle, curling up in his lap. Your tail curls around his arm comfortably, and Minho chokes back a noise. You wonder if he’s alright. “Kitty is fine. I like it.”

Minho lets out a stuttered breath. “O-Okay, so- how do you want to do this? I can cook for us, if you wanna clean?” He shakes his head. You feel his body tense up from beneath you. His thighs are so broad and muscled you can’t help but nuzzle your nose into one. You’re purring before you even realise you are. “Actually, no. Don’t clean.”

“I can clean!” You insist, but he’s already protesting again.

“No, kitty. Please don’t. Please don’t clean.”

Why not? You screw your face up in a pout, but you can’t help but feel the most comfortable you’d ever felt. It feels domestic, almost, the way you’re curled up on his lap and he’s just letting you. He’s warm. He’s warm and toned, and you flip over to look up at him. God, he’s pretty - sharp nose, pouty lips, the cutest bunny teeth that would have you swearing he had to be a hybrid too if you hadn’t seen his human ears. You want him.

Minho looks down at you then, a smile playing on his lips. “Why are you staring at me, kitty cat?”

You blush, shaking your head. “No reason. Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I’m not moving though.” 

“Of course,” Minho chuckles, his shoulders shaking. You watch as he reaches over you to grab the remote, flicking through channels until he finds a decent Christmas one. He looks at you, almost hesitant with his spare hand raised above your hair. “I- Felix likes when I scratch his ears. Do you- would you-”

“Yes, please,” You nod eagerly, and he snickers at your response. His hand threads into your hair, fingertips rubbing absentmindedly at the start of your orange ears, and you purr. It makes him tense up again. 

When you finally turn over to pay attention to the movie, it’s some stupid film about two people finding love at Christmas. You can’t help but hope you have a similar experience, and you definitely wouldn’t be disappointed if it happened with the man who’s currently stroking over your ears and humming a soft tune. It feels too easy with him, too natural, but you’re not one to complain.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re panicking. You’ve been living with Minho for a week now, and between him doing absolutely everything around the house and refusing to let you pay rent - for what reason you’re unsure - you’re determined to get him a good gift for Christmas. Christmas is only in a few days, and you just can’t find anything perfect scrolling through your laptop. You have goosebumps on your arms from how cold you are, but you’re so focused you can’t put an extra layer on.

You’re convinced you’re hallucinating when the screen freezes, turns blue, and crashes. What? You bang on the keyboard with clenched fists, ears flattening in annoyance. What’s going on? Has it… broken? No way. No way would this happen to you, not during the most important time of your life. You had to get Minho a good gift. 

He’s sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone when you perk your head around the doorway - or perk your tail around, since that’s the first thing Minho sees. He grins, turning to you. God, his grin makes your stomach flutter. 

“What’s up, kitty cat?” He muses, and you grimace. 

“I- I was doing… something on my laptop, and I think it’s broken,” You say, voice quiet. Despite getting so close to Minho in the week you’ve been there, including even taking naps together on the sofa, you still can’t push past your silly little crush on him. Especially not when he scratches under your chin and feeds you cookies. “Nothing weird. I just- could I use yours? Just for an hour or two, and then you can have it back, and-”

“Of course you can,” Minho cuts you off. You try not to stare at his biceps as he leans over to grab his laptop, white t-shirt clenching tight around his muscles. You suppress a whimper as he hands it to you, and then you’re scurrying back to your room with a delighted squeal.

The sheets are soft on your legs as you make yourself comfortable again, and then you open the laptop. It has no password, which is just so Minho, and is covered in cat stickers. He must really like cats. The thought makes your tail curl in delight, and you try to calm your excitement as the laptop boots up. 

Immediately, you take notice of the fact that his laptop is definitely a newer, more expensive model than yours. It makes you shy, embarrassed that you’re not paying rent to live in his house and still can’t even get a good laptop, but then you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He has around ten files, labelled nothing other than numbers 1-10, and they’re neatly organised in a row across the screen. 

Before you can even process what you’re doing, you’re clicking on the first one. You gasp, hand covering your mouth. You’re snooping. Maybe… maybe the files will help you learn what stuff he’s into, what kind of things he’d love for Christmas? Yeah. That’s why you’re looking. Definitely no other reason. 

The first file has ten files inside it, all video files that are just begging for you to double click on. Could you watch them? Could you be nosy like this? Does that make you an awful person? You realise that yeah, you must be an awful person because you’re going to watch them. You’re going to watch every single one just to find out what they could be.

You don’t expect to be met with a cat hybrid being bent over a desk. She’s a girl, noted from the way the man’s speaking to her, and her slick is gushing around his cock. Your eyes widen, comically round, yet you can’t tear them away. Her tail curls around his waist, keeping him close, and her eyes roll back into her head. The camera is positioned to the side but it captures every single expression she’s making.

Is this what Minho’s into? Is he… into you? Would he fuck you like this, would he talk to you like this?

You’re clicking on the second video before you can even think of it. This one is recorded by the male, camera positioned to capture the cat girl’s tits as they sway and bounce enticingly. You want Minho to record you while you ride him like this. You wipe sweat off of your brow. She’s pretty, with blushing cheeks and ears flattened to her head as she moans in ecstasy. His pubic hair is drenched with her slick. You whimper. You want it. You want it with Minho. 

He must jerk off to these, you decide, clicking on the third video. This one’s a little different - the girl is on her knees, slobbering and spitting all over a rather large cock. Is Minho that big? It’d be perfect to breed you, he could hit your cervix like that. You wipe drool off of your bottom lip. It’s suddenly very, very warm, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Imagining Minho’s cock is sending your senses into haywire, your whole body feeling like it’s been ignited with fire and electricity and-

“Kitty,” A voice from your door. You perk up. You’d left it open, just slightly ajar, and Minho is standing there with wide doe eyes. “Oh, no. You’ve seen them. I’m so sorry, if you want to move out I understand and I- kitty?”

You’re panting. Your eyes are glassy, covered in unshed tears, and your t-shirt suddenly feels like it’s stuck to you. Weren’t you just cold? You can’t remember. Your senses are full of Minho, Minho, Minho, and you want him to fuck you under the Christmas tree or bend you over the sofa or his desk or just take you on the floor, you aren’t picky. 

“Minho,” You finally speak, chest heaving. “Minho, Minho, you- you- you like these? You- Minho, please, do you like these videos?”

He’s slow walking over to your bed, almost anxious to approach you. He sighs when he reaches the foot of the mattress, climbing onto it to sit cross-legged. He twiddles his thumbs. “Yeah. It turns me on. Yongbok- Felix said I have a kink for it. I’m sorry.”

“S-Sorry?” It’s so warm. It’s so warm. “Minho, Minho, I- I’m really warm. Are you warm? It’s really warm in my room, isn’t it?”

Minho’s eyebrows furrow. He reaches over, placing the back of his hand to your forehead, and you whine. Loudly. Just him touching your forehead with the back of his hand is enough to make your pussy drool slick into your sleep shorts, and you can’t even begin to question why you’re suddenly so wet, until Minho speaks. “Oh, kitty,” He coos, his hand moving up to scratch your ear. You hum, leaning into the touch. Your vision is blurry, but you can see him perfectly. “Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry. I think you’re going into heat, kitty. I’ll call Yongbok, and-”

“No,” You wail, surging forward. The laptop slides off the side of the bed with a loud clatter, and Minho doesn’t even blink, staring owlishly at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. You’re in heat. You can tell when his body hits yours, your pussy gushing and making even more of a mess just from his body, despite being clothed. “No. God, please, Minho, don’t leave. It’s you, I want you, I was thinking about you and me, and the videos, and-”

“You want me?” Minho’s voice is soft, and he swipes a thumb over your cheekbone. Your head is positioned on his chest, and you can smell him, earthy and woodsy and manly. He sighs, and then he’s speaking again. “I want you.” 

“Please. Please, please, please, please, I need you, I need to see it, I need to feel you,” You’re babbling, sweat dripping down your temple, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air. “I- Minho, is- do you want to? Please.”

“You need to see it?” He chuckles, shoulders shaking. His eyes form crescent moons and you can’t even admire how cute he is through your haze of lust. “What’s it, kitty cat? My dick?” You nod eagerly, and Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “I want to kiss you first. Let me do it right, yeah? Let me do it how I want to. I need to treat you right.”

You’re still shocked when his lips press into yours, pouty and plush. He licks into your mouth and you have to avoid nipping at his bottom lip, until he does it to you and you deem it fair game. You’re devouring him then, nibbling on his lip and sucking on his tongue and encompassing your arms around his neck. He lets you push him into the mattress, lets you run your hands through his hair and pull away to nip at his neck teasingly. 

“Kitty likes to bite, huh?” He huffs, and you nod, nipping him again for his cheek. Your tail swishes behind you, excited and playful, and you can feel how hard he is against your leg. “Better not bite like that when you suck my cock.”

You pull away from his neck in alarm, the milky skin littered in teeth marks and red bruises. “I can suck it? You’ll let me? Oh, please-”

His hand envelops in your hair, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging hard. “Maybe later. I can feel how that pussy is drooling on me. You need it badly, huh? Need me badly.”

“Yes! Yes, yeah, since I saw you, I- I wanted you to fuck me through my heat so bad, pin me to the bed and just make me take it, and when I saw the videos I- Minho, I thought I was gonna die, and-”

Minho flips you over onto the mattress, your front planted against the bed. You let out a satisfied purr when he strokes your tail with one hand, and then he’s hooking his thumbs into your sleep shorts and yanking them down your legs. You feel the cold air hit your pussy and you moan, loud and high pitched, spreading your thighs to arch your back and present your pussy to him.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Minho coos, his thumb swiping over your hole. Your hole clenches with the lack of fullness, oozing more slick over his digit, and he groans. “Messy little pussy. God, do you want me inside you that bad? Little minx.”

“Please, please. Minho, Minho, will you fuck me? Look’it,” You whine, spreading your legs further. “Look at how wet I am. I need you, need you. M-master, please.”

Minho hisses through his teeth, and then his cockhead is pressing between your folds. When did he get naked? “You dirty little thing,” He whispers, his voice low. “Take master’s cock, then. You wanted to see it, how’s about feeling it?”

He sinks into you, all of his shaft in one go. It doesn’t hurt, only stretches you beyond pleasure, and your fingernails rip into the sheets with one loud moan. It feels insane, raw and veiny and pressing against your walls as if he was made for you. You let him grip your hips and arch you further, your tail wrapping around his waist to keep him close to you. It’s like the first video you saw, and the realisation has you whimpering into the sheets.

“God, you don’t know how long I thought about you like this,” Minho grunts, and then he’s thrusting. His pace is punishing immediately, your slick gushing and squelching around his cock messily and you can only hope his pubes are drenched in it. You want him to cum inside you, breed you, fill you up with kittens and mark you as his so that everyone knows. “Pliant, wet and so desperate for me.”

“Love it,” You slur, eyes rolling back into your head. You don’t realise you’re bouncing back on his thrusts, ass hitting the bottom of his tummy with every movement. He’s bent fully over your body, chest against your back and his lips whispering filth into your ear. “Love your cock, master, ‘s so big, I feel so full, I- hnnfg, master, master, will you breed me? Will you cum inside me?”

“Oh, kitty cat,” He moans, passionate, and when you try to look at him his eyes are rolling back into his head. His bunny teeth bite his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. His cockhead fucks against your cervix with every thrust, primal and intense. He wraps his arms around your front, hands clutching onto your shoulders to pull you back into him. “I’ll breed you, jagi. I’ll fuck you full until it has to take, yeah?”

You can’t think straight. Your pussy clenches around Minho’s cock almost painfully and it only makes him feel bigger, pulsing and throbbing inside of you. You need his cum. You need to cum - your clit throbs painfully with it. “Oh, oh, I need’a- master, master, I need to cum, I need to cum, please, hurts,” You huff, squirming beneath him. He reaches from your shoulder to pin your hips down into the bed, ensuring that you can’t thrash or wriggle anymore and he has full leverage to fuck you the way you need it. “It hurts! Ah, it hurts, I can’t, I can’t, I need to cum, I need to-”

“What’s stopping you?” He questions, hips starting to fuck you in a sinuous grind instead. The change in pace has your toes curling, hands scrabbling to find a better grip on the sheets as he lets you feel every inch and every vein of his length. “C’mon. Cum around my cock, and I’ll give you my cum, breed you full of kittens. Give it to me, jagi, c’mon, let me feel it.”

With a wail and a sharp inhale of breath, you’re cumming quicker than you ever have with any partner or even your own hand. Your pussy pulsates and gushes around him, and he grunts through your orgasm, trying with all of his might to fuck you through it. You try to thrash, to grind back on him through it, but he has you pinned down with a vice grip that only proves to make you cum even harder. 

Minho’s hips press tightly against yours, and with a deep sigh, you feel his cum flood inside of you. You’re purring with the sensation of it, warm and thick and reaching your cervix with every messy pulsation of his load. You hope it takes, deep down inside you - you hope you’re swollen with it, that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his. 

With the knowledge that you’re full of cum, your heat is slightly sated, and you blink through the fog while Minho sidles up next to you. When did he pull out? You huff and cuddle into his chest, and he reaches up instinctively to scratch over your ears. 

“Good?” He questions, voice timid. You blink owlishly.

“Good?!” You shriek, lifting your head up to stare at him. “I’m enlisting you for the rest of my heat, and then every day after that. You’re mine now.”

Minho chuckles. “I think that’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever been given.”

“Well, I was actually looking for something to get you when my laptop broke,” You say shyly, and Minho turns to look at you with a wide smile on his face. “It’s embarrassing! Just have me instead.”

“I think I’m okay with that,” He yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “Nap. You’re gonna need to be fucked again soon.”

You wondered how he knew, then you remembered the videos on his computer. “That’s true. Merry early Christmas, Minho.”

“Merry early Christmas, kitty cat.”

[talesof-old]

honeyed tale | l.v.

pairing(s): lucien vanserra x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, mentions of B*ron, rough(ish?) sex, outdoor sex, chasing, not edited so if you see a mistake no you didn’t

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

lupercalia is always eventful in the autumn court

Lucien downed a mug filled with spiced cider and eyed the scene in front of him. Childhood nostalgia gripped him just the same as bitter grief, and he didn’t truly know why he agreed to come in the first place. Maybe it was because Eris was his last living brother after all the madness. Or maybe it was the way his mother had pleaded for him to return despite it all.

He set his drink down. Music was being played by a group of younger fae, leaving everyone else to dance around the giant bonfire, bob for apples, or hang around the many tables of food and drinks. Barrels of ale, spiced cider, and mead lined the clearing they’d taken up residence in.

By now, the revel was in full swing. Laughter echoed through the trees and Lucien was certain he’d already seen at least five different couplings make off into the woods. Anticipation hung in the air for the coming main event, something that would start any moment now. Adults had long since ushered children into bed, and now all that remained were those participating.

His eyes scanned the crowd, shoulders tense.

“You seem off tonight, sunshine.” His heartbeat jumped as he turned to you, a grin already washing over your face.

Dressed in a low cut red dress with far too many slits up the thighs, he knew very well you’d be joining in the festivities of the night. Still, he couldn’t help the way he longed to caress your exposed skin. Your smile turned knowing, and before he could react you were looping your arm with his and pulling him away.

The heat of your body made his throat go dry.

You’d grown into yourself in the time you’d both been apart.

You dragged Lucien away from the table, unsure if he’d seen his eldest brother approaching or if he was distracted. Growing up in the Forest House, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Chasing after each other in the gilded corridors and sharing hidden tender moments in the apple orchards. Over time, however, you found yourself far from the Autumn Court and Lucien found himself a lover by the name Jesminda.

It hadn’t hurt as much as you’d expected it to. Following her death, Eris and you ensured Lucien’s passage to the Spring Court and you minded your own, keeping far from the youngest Vanserra in order to protect your courtly position. Now, you both were finally free of one Beron Vanserra.

“Are you staying tonight?” Lucien swallowed hard, his gaze trained on your face with an intensity you hadn’t had the chance to experience.

The edges of his lips quirked upwards in a smirk you could only describe as wolfish. You raised a brow.

“Is this you asking me to stay, little fox?” You tilted your head to the side, a calculating move he knew better than to dismiss.

“Depends,” you purred. The two of you slowly made your way towards the barrels of mead, and briefly you recalled the last time the two of you got drunk off of it together. You stopped, leaning towards him.

“Thinking about chasing after me tonight?”

Lucien leaned closer towards you, his scent enveloping you. Spices undercut with something bright and green, familiar enough it made your heart ache.

He pushed a stray curl from your face, the warmth of his fingertips sending shockwaves through your skin.

“Would you like me to?” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

Desire shot through you, but you merely leaned back until you were standing straight again, a playful smile on your face. Off to the left, you saw several of Eris’ lords reaching for the giant bell they’d set up. You couldn’t have timed it better.

“Yes.”

One of them hit it hard, the sound echoing through the clearing. For a few seconds, everyone paused. In true Lupercalia fashion though, those deciding to be prey took off sprinting, and you were no exception.

Laughter and playful shrieks filled the air as you wove through the trees. A few of the male chasers were mock howling, and the sound carried as though the forest itself was making the noise.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Maybe Lucien would cave and follow you, maybe it would be someone else who decided to instead. Either way, you were going to get fucked tonight until your legs were weak as a fawn and your mind cloudy.

Lucien blinked at the spot where you’d been standing. You hadn’t seriously run off like that, had you?

Then again, it was you, ever mischievous as a fox.

He moved to run after you, but a fleeting thought made him pause.

Did he really want the first time he had sex with you again to be in the middle of the forest, surrounded by others doing the same?

He shook his head. That part didn’t matter. He wanted you, and clearly you wanted him.

To hell with it.

He broke into the tree line, catching your scent up ahead of him. His ears strained to hear something, anything, as he pressed forward.

You were a wild thing, blazing and brilliant, and he’d be damned if someone got to you first.

A tree branch cracked behind you and you turned, catching a flash of dark brown hair. Lord Asters had been after you for decades, so it was no surprise he had immediately come after you. Handsome and strong. He’d gained quite a reputation on how well he pleased women.

Still, disappointment stirred in your gut, strong enough to send you racing deeper into the orchard. A whistle came from somewhere behind you, your heartbeat racing.

Asters’ scent filled the air, earthy and damp but not unappealing. You almost caved, almost let him catch you, until you caught sight of a certain redhead in the corner of your eye. Your stomach fluttered.

In a matter of moments, you were dancing away from Asters’ fingertips and rushing past Lucien, his golden eye gleaming in the dim light.

Laughter bubbled out of your mouth and into the air, leading Lucien right to the oldest part of the orchard. As you darted through the trees, they were taller and wider, their roots curling as your feet bounced against the ground. Lucien said something behind you, just feet away.

Your legs burned as you ducked to the right, throwing him off and grinning to yourself. A groan of half-hearted annoyance sounded behind you.

Deeper in the woods and off to your right, you heard the tell tale sound of someone long caught.

Heat pooled in your stomach and Lucien swore viciously. Vigor renewed, you pushed on until you reached the oldest orchard trees, massive and looming. You no longer heard Lucien behind you but you knew exactly where he’d meet you.

You ran along the border of apple trees. Their limbs reached for you, the leaves whispering as you passed.

Years ago, the two of you would sneak away from Forest House, all childhood innocence and young love. High Lord Beron sent you away to stay with your cousins in an attempt to control his youngest son. Your heart pinched at the painful memories of your youth. You turned the last corner, coming to a small cave made entirely of tree roots. Impossibly dark on the inside, it did nothing to hide the glowing of Lucien’s golden eye. You grinned despite yourself.

A tanned hand reached out and snatched your wrist. You squealed, stumbling into his lap. The hardness of his erection pressed up against your cunt as you settled, legs straddling his hips. He hissed.

You couldn’t help it, you rocked your hips along the hardness, eyes fluttering close at the wanted friction. Lucien’s hands grasped at your hips, halting your mission. You opened your eyes, a playful pout on your lips. Lucien stared at you with an intensity you’d caught a glimpse of earlier, some kind of wildness that you’d never been privy to.

His chest rumbled in appreciation as his hands began to move, featherlight as he grazed the bare skin of your legs. “You look beautiful tonight, little fox.” He lifted you away from his cock. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers trailed far up your inner thigh, almost to the place you needed him. You nearly whined when he stopped just short of your cunt.

“A little eager,” He leaned close to you, breath fanning your face. You shivered. “Aren’t we?”

The edges of his lips quirked up to form a smirk. You rolled your eyes, flashing a soft smile in response.

His arms wrapped around you, gently unlacing the back of your dress, each loosened string drawing a shaky breath from your lungs. As he moved, copper hair fell over his shoulder. Instinctively, you reached out, brushing it away with a tenderness that had him reeling. Your frame leaned into his; your face pressed into his neck, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin in ways that brought him back to a time he’d long forgotten.

He pulled the sleeves of your dress from your body, the fabric falling down your torso to reveal heaving breasts. In a blink, he’d moved you backwards and latched onto your nipple. You arched, fingers coming round to tangle in his hair. He moaned at the sting.

You tilted to the side, an awkward position, but rubbed your cunt against the fabric of his pants. The friction had your eyes rolling backwards. He tugged at the sides of your dress, the fabric tearing away with a simple pull. If you weren’t so ready to jump him bones, perhaps you would’ve cared.

Instead, you flung the fabric away, Lucien’s mouth attaching to your other nipple. His tongue swirled along the pebbled flesh, teeth grazing the sensitive nub. You gasped, a soft whine leaving your throat. His wicked tongue made thoughts impossible.

Lucien sucked hard on your skin before letting it go with a satisfying pop. He briefly wondered how long it would take to make a mosaic of bites along your body. As he straightened his back, he gazed up at your blown out pupils and glassy eyes. Heat swelled in his cock, heady and incessant, urging him to sink into you. He unlaced his pants with practiced hands, fingers deftly removing them from his body. You lifted your hips to allow for the fabric to drop to his ankles.

Ignoring the way his cock slapped against his abdomen, he wasted no time; Lucien’s fingers found your wet cunt, tugging you back to hover over him and stroking your lower lips before sinking the tip of his finger into you. You moaned, a lewd sound. He chuckled, dark and low, the noise vibrating through your very bones. You rocked your hips against his hand, letting his middle finger sink deeper and deeper until you were as far as you could go. Your cunt clenched around his digit, your juices coating his hand as you used him for your pleasure. As your hips rolled away, he added his ring finger into the mix. You slowly sank onto it, eyes fluttering.

His cock twitched beneath you, aching to replace his fingers. You didn’t seem to mind either way, rocking back and forth, lips parted and head tilted back. He leaned forward, licking a stripe along the column of your throat, grinning as you mewled at the feeling.

Your cunt pulsed against his fevered skin and dripped onto his thighs. Coated them. He withdrew his fingers with an obscene squelch, bringing them to your lips. Despite your whine, you parted them; you took them into your mouth without hesitation, tongue swirling along the lengths of them, from the knuckles to the tips of his fingers. His cock throbbed, turning darker as the seconds ticked on.

It took no time at all to ease into you, your walls clenching tight around his cock, pushing him closer to his own orgasm. He clenched his jaw, a moan bubbling up in his throat.

“Let me hear you.” Your voice took a seductive turn, raspy and low as you spoke into his ear. The vibration of your chest rumbled against his. He lifted his arm to snake around your waist, locking you in as he bottomed out. You moaned at the fullness.

“You like to hear me, hm? Like how you can turn a male into a whimpering mess.”

You’d pulled away enough to send him a wicked grin, raising his free hand to your throat. He groaned at the action. His fingers dug into your skin, your eyelids rolling back at the feeling.

He moved his hips, though the roots digging into his back were enough to cause him to huff in discomfort. He hoisted you up, the two of you nearly falling as he moved you from a sitting position to lying on the bare ground.

“Reminds me of when we were younger.” His golden eye gleamed in the dim light. Your heart thundered in your chest at the feral expression he wore.

“But what I like has changed, I’m afraid.” You raised a brow, undulating your hips beneath his. Lucien’s head dipped down to lick the sweat from between your breasts, teeth grazing the burning skin. You clenched around him.

Like something unlocked within him, Lucien pulled out of you until only the tip remained before ramming back into you. A cry left your lips, your parted legs coming to wrap around his muscular thighs. His pace proved brutal. He rocked into your body with a force that had you reeling, the ache far more pleasurable than you might’ve expected. This was what you wanted.

Sweat coated his smooth skin, his back flexing under your hands as you raked your nails along his exposed skin. You gripped the nape of his neck with one hand, your other digging into the skin of his shoulder as he sucked on your clavicle. He trembled as you clenched tighter around him. Lips pressed to the side of his face, your teeth tugged on the lobe of his ear; he swore through clenched teeth.

You matched his thrusts, his fingers far more expert than they’d been, circling your sensitive, throbbing clit as he moved. The itch to pull his hair but you with overwhelming need. Your fingers slid up his head, locking and twisting in his beautiful strands, and yanked. The next moan to leave his lips was a broken, pathetic noise. One russet eye made contact with your own. His already full lips were swollen, wet with saliva. Lucien’s responding grin had your cunt pulsing. He dipped back down, mouth enclosing around your previously abused nipple. You cried out. His hands gripped your hips, urging you to bend into his with every motion. His teeth grazed your hardened tit. You moaned.

He kept up his pace on your clit, your walls fluttering and thighs quivering. Minutes rushed by and time blurred as you came undone by his hand, head thrown back against the ground and back arched; your breasts rubbing against his chest was enough to send him off the edge, your cunt squeezed tight around his cock to milk him for every drop.

When you came down, body limp and only partly satiated, Lucien laid down beside you, fingers trailing along your sticky body. You hummed, curling into his side. His body radiated heat which proved quite welcome in the biting Autumn air. His arm wrapped around your waist, palm gripping your arse as you lifted a leg to rest it on his.

“It’s good to see you again, you know. Missed you all those years.” Lucien’s lips twisted into a smirk, his eyes closing as he attempted to steady his breath. You kept your gaze on him. Eyes trailed over the curve of his jaw, the shape of his nose. He had been handsome before, but the years away had created him a devastatingly beautiful visage.

A moment’s silence was all you were given before he opened his eye and peeked over at you. “Tapping out on me already?”

You grinned. “If we both can still walk, I’m not done.” His chuckle echoed through the cave before he hoisted you up to straddle him. “Fuck me then.”

+++

[syoddeye]

unsolicited

semi creepy little thing inspired by @pfhwrittes's incredible soap x reader roommate piece and this thought i had once upon a time. ~1k words. unedited, because i'm about to be dragged out to watch sports. gaz x reader. cw: dick pic, stalking, masturbation

“That one’s no good.” A tongue clicks. 

You turn from your close study of the tube of tomato paste in your hand and find a man inches from your side. The aisle was empty save for you a second ago. Either he’s light on his feet or a ghost. A twinned tingling of your belly and spine fires off mixed signals to your brain: Are we scared or horny?

Both. 

He's handsome—he knows it, too, judging by the hook of his smile and the slight crinkle of his nose. He sports a scar on his cheek and the right amount of stubble. He looks down at you, all smug, like he's saved you from an unforgivable culinary mistake. He tears his deep brown eyes off you to reach toward the top shelf and selects a beautifully branded sealed box of paste. It's artisanal, not within your price range, and he sets it in your handbasket like you're shopping for dinner together.

“You’ve got to treat yourself to nice things once in a while.”

Oh, he thinks he’s so quick with it, doesn’t he?

You smile so wide it pushes the apples of your cheeks up like a cartoon chipmunk. It usually does the trick of deterring smarmy little bastards like this one. “Wow, thank you, what a gentleman.” The feigned saccharine lilt of your voice hurts after a long day on the phone, but the look on his face when you swap the pastes is worth it. You leave the fancy one on the shelf and continue down the aisle for pappardelle. 

He finds you in produce. He doesn’t immediately approach, giving you space while you grab an onion and garlic, but he circles.

“So, what’s on our menu tonight?” He asks, inspecting the leek as you place a vine of tomatoes into the basket. He’s too close again. His hand lowers the vegetable to his own haul, purposefully skimming your skirt with the spindly leaves, letting the texture catch the fabric before he drops it in. Nutcase.

“I’m making pasta for my friends.” 

He chuckles.

The dance continues around the store. He’s clearly following you through the store, not trying to hide it at all. He ‘helps’ you at the dairy. Heavy cream’s better than light, don’t you think? The spices. Babe, we can afford name brand. The meat counter. Bacon? No, no, here. Pancetta. You want that meat. Trust me. He’s insistent and inappropriate, yet his voice drips with the weirdest charm. Calls you ‘babe’ and ‘sweetheart’. You let him continue. You should find an employee and tell him to buzz off, but he’s not really doing anything other than raising your grocery budget. Maybe you do deserve nice things, though. You sit on a seesaw, bouncing between sick interest and appropriate unease.

You’d always been a thrill-seeker, but stringing along a beautiful, perverted, and officious stranger? Were your last few dates so terrible? 

By the time you reach checkout, you’re bored of his antics. He must be desperate to seal the deal and get your number, given how his approach escalates to trying to pay for your groceries.

“Is he bothering you?” The cashier asks bluntly, glaring daggers at your shadow. At the end of the counter, the bag boy’s head pops up, eyes wide at the question.

You glance at the hand, reaching past again to place a card on the counter. You catch half a name. Kyle. You look at the older man. “Yes, yes, he is.”

It’s a wonder what a few strategic smiles can do. They’re catnip to men like Gerald, the store manager who walks you out. He’s soft-spoken and apologetic and slips you a gift card. Your groceries are free, and so is next week’s haul if you promise to remain a loyal customer. If being followed by a harmless model of a man pays for your food, you’ve done stranger things for money.

Still, you take the long way to Alyssa’s and look over your shoulder. That night, over pappardelle alla Fiesolana, Grocery Kyle becomes a joke. A morbid fantasy you and your friends giggle over between glasses of wine. He becomes a real fantasy that night when you snake your hands between your legs beneath the duvet and imagine him smirking down at you. Condescending the whole time, he talks you through it. He’s the type that likes the sound of his own voice. Your fingers curl, and you cum at the idea of him scolding you for being so easy.

The following day, somewhat hungover on your couch, you warm your hands with coffee and open Instagram. One new follower. It's not so odd; you have hundreds of followers. Mostly bots at this point, but you're too lazy to weed them out. You don't post as often anymore, either, nor do you share exciting things. Flowers, cats you meet on your walks, and the rare selfie. So when you see that the new follower liked a photo from nine years ago, that sick little twinge sparks something in your belly. A spark that grows when another notification pops up. And another. They're on a liking spree, driving through your memory lane.

When they like your very first post on the account, an awkward self-portrait in front of your first-year dorm eleven years ago, you finally investigate.

‘Sgt141’ has no profile photo. No description. No followers. No posts. Only follows you. It’s another bot spamming your notifications for some unknown reason.

You forget about it until you post a selfie from the gym two weeks later. Nothing scandalous, just showing off your growing biceps. Sgt141 is the first to like it, and minutes later, you receive a DM request. You fully expect a generic chain, formulaic message about being your own boss. The dick is a surprise.

A very pretty and completely unsolicited surprise.

In an instant, you know whose dick you’re looking at. 

You should be scared and report the message instead of screenshotting it. You should be disgusted, alarmed, and probably crying. Not stuffing your hand down your shorts.

Definitely shouldn’t respond.

> someone got a crush?

>> you have no idea.

> following me around the grocery store did it for you?

>> did a lot for me, actually.

> maybe you can follow me around the mall next time.

sgt141 changed the theme to Love.

[softshuji]

𝟐𝟏:𝟓𝟏𝐏𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐉𝐈

Title: A Love Letter To You

Summary: You just think you love him, and you find there are a million and one ways to say it. This is by far the most personal thing I've ever written. It's just very much a love letter in general. Happy Birthday to my beloved precious treasure, the apple of my eye and the one who has my heart.

cw: afab!reader, some suggestive content but nothing explicit, some brief kissing, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, babe, princess, doll), some brief marriage mentions, very brief angst and so so many confessions, tears were shed writing this. Reblogs appreciated! Link to masterlist here!

Hanma doesn’t think his feelings for you are a secret.

You find his subtle (and less subtle) touches endearing, moreso when you remember he's the first to treat your body like it's something special. Even in the moments outside of sex. A hand in your jeans pocket giving your ass a loving squeeze, relishing in how your thighs look in the denim, or his fingertips dancing along your spine, a light slap to your upper thigh that has you jumping just a little, and him smirking when you flush and look away.

He likes your eyes, finds it cute how you sit in front of the vanity to dab on gels and creams underneath them, all diligence and routine that he's never had a chance to experience, safety and comfort in the four walls of your shared bedroom.

You turn to him sometimes, stand to smear creams he can't even pronounce on his cheeks because "they're good for your skin Shuji, you need to take care of yourself" and somehow he never has the heart to tell you anything otherwise. He likes when you frown in concentration, an angry pout that he knows with certainty, he's been the cause of on many occasions. What can he say? He thinks you're cute in a way nothing else is and maybe it makes his dead heart flutter with warmth to see you pout, if only for him to kiss it away.

He likes your lips. In many ways. Mattified red clinging to his neck, the collars of his shirt, and he wears it with pride, a kiss mark to his lips when he leaves for work, tasting of cherry and a lingering softness that he's upset is gone before he can appreciate it.

He likes those moments between. In the morning when the sleep grit is still crusting his eyes, your lips pressed to his chest, his neck, anywhere you can have him, sometimes soft and sometimes not, and it never matters, because you're no less beautiful to him, even when you don't feel like it.

He likes that you steal his cologne, both discreetly and not, to spray over your clothes and pillows when he's gone, as if it can somehow make him nearer, as if it can lessen the ache of his absence. You tell him it's because you like his scent, the washed fresh clean linen and shower gel undertone of him, a hint of tobacco and cedar, amber and spice that he finds makes you a little..... Excited, especially when you breathe in with your mouth to his neck. It's flattering, he thinks, that the reactions are so visceral without him needing to touch you and that your love teeters on the edge of worship to him, for him, as if he is something more than just the reaper.

He likes to pretend he doesn't also carry a small bottle of your perfume in his briefcase, a secret compartment where a Polaroid of you, a watch, and your perfume sit snug against the leather. Maybe he is just as needy, regardless of whether he'll admit it or not.

But he likes that you never make him feel lesser for it, all the things he does that you are the first to experience, efforts he's made that have never occurred to him before. Lit candles, petals and chocolates and roses on your bed for when you return, a therapy room he calls it, when he takes your coat and massages your shoulders, two adept hands that'll slip to your waist as you kiss, as you often do, just before it leads to more, as it often does. He says he's helping you relax, let off steam, that you seem stressed but you secretly suspect, that it's just as much for him as it is for you, the promise and effort of giving for you, of providing in a way he knows how, as if he somehow has to make up for himself.

And it never bothers you actually. The unseriousness of him, the seriousness of you that meshes so well somehow, and you think maybe he needs someone who has the courage to pull him back every now and again when he races too far into recklessness, when you think death might scrape him with its fingernails, and maybe it works because he's willing to pull you forward in all the ways you're too scared of going. Fear that has you constantly holding back. You think maybe you can be his peace, the one he deserves after so long, the one he looks forward to somehow.

Maybe it works because he's never had anyone to look after before now, or vice versa even and it scares him to such an extent, a responsibility of a whole person, for him who has learned not to need and never be needed.

But, he does it better than he ever expects. You, who'd been told that a man like him can never really be trusted, can only ever hurt you in the end, can only ever be good for pain and all its synonyms. And him, who believes that fact about himself anyway. He worries about what he calls "fucking up" often, that he can't give you what you deserve even if you never ask for it. He wishes you would, wishes you asked more of him, less able to forgive, less willing to bind him together again when all the old wounds resurface, more like you hate him than love him.

And you do, you really love him and it burns you often, that you've either willingly or unwillingly given your heart over to someone who believes they don't deserve to hold it. You trust him enough, more than enough to know he'll care for it properly anyway, without having been told because for all his faults, Hanma Shuji loves you too, and maybe the concept of hurting your heart worries him more than it does you.

He's careful not to wake you on those nights when all those old wounds resurface. He sits up beside you in bed, you with a hand tucked under your chin, the other reaching across towards him where the toned ridge of his muscle is warmed by the comforter, a soft sigh that has the folds of the pillow shifting under your cheek.

And he watches, a lump in his throat that aches, the dry and suddenly prickly sensation of unshed tears clogging his chest, pushed so far down, the pit and void of all those same hurts now churning together, the new fear of your loss that seems to be the heaviest. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, lets a long finger linger on your cheek, the twitch of your eyebrows that makes your eyes shift under the lids, and he can't help the way the smile comes, so quickly, the full force of it that adds to the ache in his throat.

Then your eyes flutter open and lift, to him leaning back against the headboard, pale, the rigid beginning of a smile that never not feels foreign when it comes genuinely, and even then only for you.

'Sh....Shuji?' you say, and lift a hand to touch at his wrist lingering against your cheek, a soft and gentle roll of your thumb along the veins on the inside.

'Shit- sorry Sweetheart, didn't mean to wake you like that.' And he clears his throat, the rough and gravelly timbre now broken, the lump in his throat receding for now, abated till those old fears resurface again.

'No no it's okay but why are you awake? Are you okay?' You lean up onto your elbows, reach further out to touch at his cheek, and he leans instinctually against your palms, the soft and reassuring nature of you that never changes, that never feels unsafe, that feels important even if he can't explain why.

He loves how gentle your eyes are like that, the moonlight that spills in through the gap in the wavering curtain, calm, collected, and safe, when he knows he is less than either of those things at the best of times. Not all there, he says, as if it means anything, as if it makes you love him any less.

'Mhm? Yeah, yeah I'm fine Pretty Girl, go back to sleep, you'll be tired otherwise,' he says because it matters to him, small things like that, the various ways he cares that he won't admit to doing and that you notice anyway. You've always liked it about him, his willingness to do so much unasked for, as if he's trying to prove to something that he can, as if he's afraid that one day you'll let go of him.

As if you ever could.

'You sure? You're not sick are you? Let me get you some water-'

'No, no Princess I'm not sick, come on, go back to sleep Sweetheart.'

You pull him down with you then, wrap your arms around his middle with a frown, a kiss to the apex of his chest, his neck, the swell of his bare shoulder where a few scars and marks and indents permeate the honeyed glow of his skin and you find him beautiful even like that, tired, sullen perhaps, quiet in the way you know you have to let him deal with in the way he knows best, a hand on his back, on his stomach that tells him you're there anyway, silent peace that lets him finally drift to sleep. And he does, calculated breaths that give way to a soft and pleasant sighing against your hair, caught on his lips, between the juncture of his shoulder and neck where he bends to kiss the crown of your head.

Peace.

He knows it can't last, knows the instability of him is bound to ruin the reliability the steadfastness of you in some way, that he's going to be your death in a way that'll continue hurting for however long he has after that, which won't be much if he has a say in it. But despite it all, he finds it harder still to let go of you in the morning, between the confines of the sheets and duvets where the smell of the two of you clings to the fibres, short golden hair woven into the pillows where the shape of him still lingers, memory foam that couldn't forget him even if it tried.

When you turn over in the morning, a tumble into his arms where he's catching you, the night seems less scary, less fraught with danger right here, where he's able to keep the rest of the world at bay for you.

Your voice is muffled when you whisper a good morning into his skin, still sluggish with sleep, the trail of saliva now a transparent line from your mouth to his chest. He doesn't mind, he likes it in fact, the genuineness he finds here and nowhere else, the trust that he believes you created all on your own, his pretty girl who picks him up every time. He knows there's a lot that makes him wrong, that makes you wrong too, and of course you fight, like all couples do. Words are thrown haphazardly, often without meaning, loud voices that permeate the space, the booming vibration of his frustrations that slices clean across your lungs, your hiccupping cries and interruptions that are somehow lost underneath the chaos.

He is hurt sometimes, you know this, when you refuse to be entirely honest, when you're trying to protect him in the way he does you. But you love him enough to have him like that. Angry with you, and alive, a beating heart that'll still thrum under your ear when you sleep, than anything else. It never lasts long. You pick up the pieces after some time, the debris of your vitriol strewn about the room, pillows half-off the sofa now fixed, the broken and sore open wounds now smoothed over by the both of you, a heated kiss that's born from getting too close in a moment of anger, makeouts that are all teeth and wet tongues that often lead to more. When you're mad at each other and the room is too warm, too close, the heat of him that seems a few degrees higher, a little too domineering when he backs you against the wall and the warmth spreads along your skin at the closeness, his chest brushing yours when he uses his knee to part your legs and lick into your mouth with need.

But, in hindsight, he likes that you're brave enough to do just that, a flash of anger and hurt you're not afraid to show, that you trust him with your love and everything else, that you know your pain is also safe in the calloused and scarred cradle of his hands. You wish there was more. Words, a variety of them, more than what you can say when you whisper 'I love you' against his lips before sleeping, before leaving the house. Because it's never guaranteed. The next morning, the evening when he returns, world-weary and grinning still, the tired slouch of his bones loosening when he hears your sock-clad feet on the kitchen floor, the clatter of dishes and distant music, a murmured 'I'm home Princess' that you hear over the tinny drip of water in the sink.

'Shuji!' You run, unbound hair and loose shirts, legs around his waist, a laugh that bubbles instinctively when he holds you close and presses your scent to his nose. Again. You wish there was more, because 'I love you' can only say so much. You wish you could swallow the sun for him, just to prove that he's worth the effort, run your hands over every sharp edge, and love him till you're sick with it, and everything bad in the world no longer has any meaning.

'My Princess,' he says and strokes your hair, your lips, a kiss to your forehead that makes you ache somewhere in your chest, palpable weight that has the tears pricking far too quickly. Can you ever love him in a way that doesn't make it hurt? Or is that what it means to love the unchangeable and perfect nature of him so completely? Maybe there is no happiness, maybe there is nothing beyond this. He's okay with it, with you being the reason, with him being yours, and at times- the worst of them that is- he thinks it's more than he deserves. To be loved so religiously, so divinely, worshipped like he is more than he is.

He has no illusions about what and who he is. Chaotic, violent, hot-tempered, cunning, a murderer even.

You love him. In those moments, in every moment.

You have no illusions about who or what you are. Wrong to a fault, tainted in some way shape or form, not half as great as you are believed to be.

He loves you still, it's the only thing he knows is right, the biggest sin that he believes needs atoning for.

Sometimes you wonder, at night when he's drifted off, the slight raise of his amused eyebrows now softened, the curls falling across his forehead, the thin gold chain he wears skewed to the side and caught under his shoulder, whether what you have is love when it hurts this much. You wish you could keep him there, every morning forever. Hold him by the hand away from the world that's so desperate to drink his blood, to break him in some way. A world that is not half as good to him as you wish it could be. The indent of him on the mattress under the soft duvet, his arms reaching for you in sleep, the suit he'll wear hung on the door of the wardrobe, the thin plastic cover swaying with the draught.

He sleeps. And he dreams. And the two of you are setting the world on fire and watching the smoke hand in hand, and you are happy with him. You kiss, and you love him. He brings you flowers and chocolates and candles, and he spends the night loving you gently, softly, words of praise that make you flush and he giggles at it all. The bodies at his feet do not scream, do not cry and he does not see you bleeding out, purple bruises on your neck that he put there with his hands, lifeless body that he ruined with the same hands he uses to stroke your cheek. He pulls back, frightened, begging for you to wake up, to stay, shaking you till his voice is hoarse, panicked jittery hands that fumble with his phone to call someone, anyone.

It's temporary, like all things. He'll wake at some point with a jolt, a gasp, a look of abject terror that has him twisting the sheets, long limbs tangled and suffocated and hands clenched into fists.

Something soft touches his forehead, smooths back his hair, wipes the tears on his cheeks, over and over, a whispered, "shhhhhh, it's okay baby, i'm here,' that sounds heavenly, far away and so full of light and warmth, enough to fall into.

'My Pretty Girl,' he says, slurred, stiffening with apprehension at finding himself here again, another night lost to the memory of time. He tries not to cling, not to lean, not to make it seem like it hurts this much to be ripped in and out night after night, those recurring images that never leave because they never can. He never tells despite your asking, and you respect him enough, more than enough, not to push it. You don't know what manner of horrors he's seen, experienced, inflicted even, to nurse his wounds like this, an injured animal hunched over in pain.

'You okay?' you say, a glass of water and some soothing later, the two of you now hidden beneath the soft comforter, your hand on his warm cheek, tired eyes fluttering and leaning into your touch.

'Fine Princess.' Sluggish and quiet, subdued. And then, 'Go to sleep Sweetheart, I'm alright.'

You purse your lips, a tender smile, watery and weak, all the love you wish was enough to be his peace spilling into the day's exhaustion.

You lean forward, brush your lips to his, a softer kiss, the weight of you leaning into him as you run a hand through his hair, all the vulnerability that he never shows, that you never mention reserved for this moment alone, where he needs you and will never admit to. 'I really love you, do you know this?' you say, and you cup his cheek with a hand, the nail polish from your thumb chipped as it comes to touch at the stray eyelash on his cheekbone.

He kisses your wrist, holds his leg over yours till your hips are flush and touching, his breath warm on your lips from where he kisses you harder in response. Because he knows, and he does. Love you that is, more than you do if it's possible (you'd argue with him but somehow he wins every time- though you think winning an argument by pinning someone to the wall is hardly fair).

But he knows, it's a certainty that buoys him on the harder days, that there's a girl, his girl, who thinks he's the best person in the world, even when he doesn't feel it, and still pretends he does.

You never mention it when he wakes and he likes that too, but your hand is softer still when you cradle his jaw to kiss him before he leaves, a fierce light in your eyes when you tell him 'I love you, come back safe okay?' and he nods, a single moment of solemn vulnerability before he dips out and you watch the car leave, him reversing out of the driveway with the mist left in his wake. He takes a part of you with him every time and you wonder if the grief will ever feel less suffocating to let him go like that, if you'll have the fortune to have him back by the end of the day.

And he hasn't ever been one for marriage, domesticity and love. It's not the lack of commitment but he doesn't know if he can love anyone enough, in any way that's right when he's so sure of who he is, when he knows the day of him breaking them is inevitable and he won't expose himself to the heartbreak of being left when they realize that fact.

He's not one for children either. There are too many parents with too little accountability and he's under no illusions that he can be that kind of Father, that he doesn't have to be a saint to know a kid is a responsibility he can never live up to. Unstable, brash, reckless and arrogant as he is.

He wonders, on occasion.

And really, he likes his life. Fast cars, poker chips, drinking that constantly keeps him moving. He wonders why they don't suppress the ache when he's away, a busy casino where his hands itch for the need to touch you, to ground him, a getaway that leads to you, where the cold burns a little less in the safety of your arms.

No he's not one for marriage and children, but he stops on occasion to look at a ring he thinks you might like, just because, and he wonders what kind of Father he'll be, and maybe, on occasion, he thinks of how perfect you'll look to him with your pregnant glow, and round and soft with his child, a hand on your bump and a kiss to the swell of it before he leaves every morning.

You try to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the concept of a family with him and you pass it off as hormones when you idly flick through magazines and brochures, or trace the hairs on his stomach at night, a pattern that he pretends he doesn't feel when you press your mouth to his shoulder and your hand sneaks, as it does, beneath the hem of his sweatpants. But you do want it. And it eats you alive, swallows you whole when you think of it. And you burn at the concept of wanting something so badly, at being seen wanting, as if it's some shameful thing to want to spend the rest of your life with someone who doesn't think he'll make it to that part anyway. Maybe it's because you're used to the idea, that if you're seen wanting, it can never hurt to not have. So you reduce your needs, in the hopes that no one will ever notice how much you want, how much you crave.

He does. He always does.

It's In small moments. A Carton of milk dropped in the kitchen and he's telling you 'it's alright, no need to apologise doll," and you ache at how soft it comes, how gentle and sweet and lacking judgement when you expect disappointment hurled at you from over the kitchen floor, tears hastily wiped and mopped. There's something fragile in the way he comforts you like that, a hand on your back, as if it comes naturally to him when you know the opposite is true. As if you're glass and he's afraid to break you, careful and methodical movements that leak with all the effort he wants to give.

You think perhaps he's fixing you in some way despite yourself. He's firm enough, rigid and gentle and sturdy and soft all at once, and you wonder at what manner of things he's seen to flock to you like that, whether it ever becomes too much for him to continue loving you when you are so unbearably you.

'What's wrong with my pretty girl today, hm?' he'll say and a hand will come to tilt your chin up, a close and forced proximity that gives you no option but to stare at him from beneath your furrowed brows.

'Nothing, I'm fine,' you say and damn him for how he coaxes it from you, how his hands come to run along your sides, a squeeze of your hips and a smile that has your chest aching in full force. It's instinctual when you fold and your lips tremble and he clicks his tongue in love and leans in to kiss your forehead.

'C'mere sweetheart,' he says and brings you to his chest where the weight seems to melt, where everything means a little less as you fold into the surety and warmth of him.

You feel guilty for it often. For how hard it must be for him to love you so completely. But if you were to ask him he'd disagree, and so would you. You know loving him is the easiest thing to do and it comes so naturally, like breathing, a core part of you that he's taken for himself and you'd call him self-absorbed for how much he's taken of your life, but you know you'd have it like this, with him at the centre, than not at all.

If you're asked why you love him, or how, you think you might stumble for an answer. Because it never seems enough to say he's funny, sweet, attractive, smart and gentle with you, domineering and playful and rough in all the places you need him to be, and the word 'perfect' seems to be a vast understatement.

But you do think he is, and so when you say 'I love you' it is with all the words you're able to say, and all the words you're not too.

A/n: I have no explanation this time other than I have never cried so many times writing something as I did here which is pretty pathetic but anyways. I don't think I've ever written something so self indulgent or personal or from the heart before either so pls be nice lol. I hope everyone enjoys it, especially my beloved, the light of my heart.

Taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @deskaisers @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013

[junkissed]

sweet treat

member | junhui x f!reader genre | smut, a little fluff (happy valentine's day!) word count | 1.9k synopsis | jun has a tasty way to spice up your valentine's day, and not in the way you think it is. warnings | reader has a vagina and breasts, dom!jun sub!reader, food play kind of (with candy hearts), oral (reader receiving), handcuffs, making out, reader is a little bit of a brat but in a fun way, pet names (sweetheart, baby, good girl), jun is whipped for reader hehe, everyone please pretend that uti's don't exist and that eating food during sex is 100% safe notes | it's been a while but here's something finally!! i know i said this would be out like a week ago i'm so so sorry oops but it is here now :) it's way past v-day sjdfgfshj but i hope you enjoy regardless! this is very minimally edited so if you see mistakes please don't perceive them

when jun asked if he could try some new things for valentine’s day, you don’t know what you were expecting. maybe wearing a nice new set of lingerie, or going a little rougher than usual, or maybe even introducing a toy or something. you’ve never had the most incredibly exciting of sex lives, but it’s been more than enough to satisfy the both of you throughout your relationship.

what you didn’t expect is to have your hands tied to the headboard above you, completely naked, while jun hovers over you, completely clothed.

he picks up a single candy heart from the dish by the bed, holding it up between two fingers. he studies it for a second before popping it in his mouth, his lips parted just enough for you to see it sitting on his tongue before he bites down on it with an audible crunch.

you know the way you’re spread open in front of him is getting to him by the straining outline of his cock in his pants, but his eyes never leave your face as he chews on the candy, his gaze zeroed in on yours.

his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows, and your cunt clenches involuntarily at the sight.

jun sits on the bed beside you, still studying your face. “you’re so quiet, baby,” he hums. “you’re usually so loud.”

“and you’re usually doing more than just standing there watching,” you bite back with a huff. but you aren’t really mad; in fact, the long, drawn-out foreplay to your valentine’s day sexcapades is only making you more excited to see what junhui has planned next.

he furrows his bottom lip. “and you aren’t usually this bratty, either,” he says, a hint of a smirk on his face.

you grin. “that’s because i like it.”

he leans over you, grabbing your chin with one hand to tilt your head closer to his. you can’t help but moan into his mouth when he kisses you, happy to finally be touched, even if it’s only with jun’s lips and nothing else.

the way he’s sitting above you gives him the perfect angle to slide his tongue into your mouth, and his free hand begins to trail down your body as his grip on your jaw tightens, each kiss getting rougher and more desperate. your skin prickles with goosebumps at his touch; you can almost barely feel him there with how lightly he’s moving across your body, but you know he’s there

you arch your back with a whine and he pulls away, pushing your head back down onto the pillows as you inhale a deep breath.

your eyes follow him as he leans away from the bed, but with his back facing you, you can’t see what he’s doing. you pull against the fluffy pink handcuffs holding you to the bed, wanting to touch him. you want to trace your hands along his back, feel his muscles under your fingertips, feel his skin without the clothes he’s—frustratingly—still wearing. you groan under your breath, tugging at your restraints once more, but it’s no use.

he turns back around, keeping one hand behind his back out of your view, and you sit back, batting your eyelashes innocently, hoping it’ll convince him to finally do something more.

"open," jun commands, and for a second you think you’ve succeeded. automatically your mouth falls open, ready to receive whatever he's about to give you.

but what enters your mouth isn't what you're expecting. instead of fingers or spit (or maybe if you’re lucky, his cock) like you're usually used to with him, he simply places a pink candy heart on your tongue.

you start to close your lips to chew on it, but he just raises an eyebrow, tsking at you.

"did i tell you you could do that, sweetheart?" he scolds. the pun in the nickname he uses almost makes you want to laugh, but you're so focused on the way he swiftly pulls his shirt over his head that you can't even think about making jokes right now.

you shake your head in response, your tongue still hanging out of your mouth as the sugar begins to disintegrate.

he grins. “good girl,” he says, and he stands up, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed.

suddenly you cry out, and he looks up at you, his eyes a little bit softer than before. “do you need something, baby?” he asks.

you mumble out a reply, still holding the candy on your tongue, and he giggles at your persistence. “you don’t have to keep it there, baby, you can eat it if you need to. talk to me.”

you scrunch your nose, contemplating, but you bring your tongue back into your mouth, putting the candy heart against the inside of your cheek. “wanna see you, junnie,” you moan, looking down at him. “can you take your shirt off? please?”

he grins, standing up again so you can see all of him. “well, since you asked so nicely,” he smiles, pulling his shirt up and over his head faster than you can blink, and then he’s beside you again.

“everything else still okay?” he asks softly, and you start to answer, but his lips, which have started trailing down your neck, make it hard to even think. you let out a sigh when he starts sucking at your skin lightly.

“need an answer, sweetheart,” he reminds you gently, his lips leaving you for just a second before moving down to your chest, leaving wet, messy kisses all across your skin.

“yes, jun,” you moan out, and finally he moves back down to between your legs, giving you one last satisfied kiss before he kneels at the edge of the bed.

with his head so close to your cunt, you automatically reach out for him, but your restraints pull you back once more. you huff in frustration but give in, craning your neck so you can see him instead.

and just before he’s about to press his lips against your aching heat, he pulls away to look up at you. “you better put that candy heart back where it belongs, darling,” he says challengingly.

you cock an eyebrow at him. “and what if i don’t?”

he shrugs, looking way too nonchalant for how hard you imagine his cock must be— you’re not the only one that hasn’t gotten anything yet tonight. “then i’ll just leave you wet and grumpy until you wake me up in the middle of the night begging me to fuck you.”

the fact that he isn’t wrong about that is enough to make you back down. there’s been numerous slightly embarrassing occasions where you’ve accidentally-on-purpose woken jun up at 2am because you were way too flustered to sleep and your fingers just weren’t cutting it.

and although you know he’s definitely bluffing—he’s way too sweet (and insatiable) to ever leave you unsatisfied for too long—you let him win this one anyway.

you stick your tongue out for him, the half-melted candy heart dutifully in its place, and the silence that follows is more than enough of an answer for junhui.

“that’s my baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you with a glint of mischief in his eye, his mouth hovering over your soaking cunt.

“that better still be there when i’m finished.”

and with that he’s diving into you, his mouth covering every inch of your pussy and sucking like his life depends on it. you groan and start to close your mouth, but you remember jun’s instructions and leave your mouth open instead.

his tongue prods at your hole, easing you open around him. he knows you like the back of his hand, and it doesn’t take long for him to bring you right up to the edge.

your moans get higher and breathier as you struggle to keep the candy from falling out of your mouth, throwing your head back with a gasp.

jun’s lips move up to wrap around your clit, simultaneously inserting one finger into you as he begins to suck harder. the stimulation from his mouth and fingers, combined with the intense focus you have to keep on your own mouth to make sure you don’t accidentally lose the candy, makes it hard to think straight.

but just when you feel yourself start to teeter on the edge of your orgasm, jun pulls his lips away, keeping his finger inside you, pumping slowly. you whine and clench around him, muttering out something that’s supposed to be “please” but ends up sounding more like “aleathe”. you raise your head to look at him, meeting his eyes.

he grins. “you wanna cum, sweetheart? all over my face, with your pretty little pussy? hm?”

you can barely manage an “uh huh” in response as jun adds another finger and increases his pace. his fingers brush against your walls over and over, making you arch your back, desperate for more as he brings you closer and closer.

he doesn’t stop as your orgasm crashes into you, his mouth moving everywhere over your cunt until overstimulation starts to set in. your thighs squeeze around his head, and he groans against your folds, making you jerk. he wraps his arms around your hips, holding you tightly against his face as you writhe against him.

when he finally pulls away from you, you lay back against the pillows, breathing heavily. he stands up and comes to sit on the bed, gently caressing your face with the back of his hand.

feeling him beside you, you pry open your tired eyes, sticking out your tongue proudly to show him how obedient you were.

he laughs. “you can eat it now,” he says, and for the first time in a while you close your mouth, finally getting to savor what’s left of the candy.

he sighs fondly, watching you slowly chew on the treat as he moves to undo the cuffs holding you down. once you’re free, you sit up and rotate your wrists, a little sore from being held up so long, and jun takes your hands, massaging them with his thumbs.

you lean over and kiss him, and his tongue slips into your mouth, letting you taste the remnants of your orgasm and letting him taste what’s left of the sweet sugar in your mouth. the kiss grows deeper, his hands letting go of yours and wrapping around your body instead, holding you tightly in his arms, his lips never leaving yours. you don’t even notice the change in positions until you’re flat on your back again with jun on top of you.

he pulls away for just a second so you both can breathe, and in that second he studies your face, still glowing from your orgasm. he grins, and leans down to give you a quick peck on the cheek. “i love you, baby. happy valentine’s day,” he says with a giggle.

and you can’t help but smile when you look up at him, seeing the excitement in his eyes. “i love you too, junnie. happy valentine’s day.”

taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @photographic-girl @onlymingyus @just-here-to-read-01 @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @skzzooyaaa

join my taglist here!

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it lets me know this is something people want to see more of and it helps a ton with being motivated to write. thanks for reading!!

[ageravena]

You know what, the Fairly OddParents fandom has been quite tame. Let's spice things up a little bit.

Doesn't anybody else get that silly feeling when you see fanart of Peri being like a father to Dev, like... where's the rest of you 😍? Don't be shy, show us where Dale is. Or are you too scared? (I wouldn't blame you, I was too at first)

Small warning: this post includes slight swearing and many brain-numbing headcanons. I'm not responsible for any mental anguish you may experience

I would like to quickly apologize to the 6 people shipping Peri with Dale. I thought I was the only one but it seems like I've finally found my people. Anyways, back to the topic.

Now that you're here, I may as well show some more art of these two goobers +some silly headcanons. These are my AUed* versions of the two in my odd semi-realistic style that I completely ditch whenever I don't have the patience to draw faces (I often suck at drawing them. No wonder all my OCs are furries)

Note: him being slightly chubby and him having mobility issues are both headcanons I have shamelessly borrowed from others in the fandom. Also am I the only one who thinks Peri WOULDN'T be 6 ft tall? In the series he's like 5 apples tall, so wouldn't it make sense for him to be a bit short?

Note: there's like a bunch of lore explaining the reason why Dale looks so fucked up in my version. I scarred him for life, oopsie! But at least he has Peri now who "forces" him to go to therapy 😍. I may need to make a seperate post where I only talk about him and his past if I have the motivation.

I know a lot of you don't even know the pain of trying to convert a stylized character into a realistic style and still making them look good and kinda recognizable. I envy you who have less realistic art styles.

*And yes, I did say AU. More specifically I'm talking about the "Missionaries of Eden AU" (by me). I'm not gonna go into detail now, but basically it's a semi-biblical and more serious take on FOP, where the fairies are angels, anti-fairies are demons and pixies... I think they can stay as pixies, or maybe they're ghosts, bees? (There's a lot of things I still need to figure out) Their tasks are to work as missionaries on the planets of Eden (planets where life exists). There's a bunch of other lore (some of which I've explained on my casual/personal account on Instagram), but it's best I leave it for another time.

Btw: if you've seen me talk about a "Below the Stars AU", "Bible AU", "Ager DLC" or something else, it's all just the same thing. I just had a hard time coming up with a good name for it lol.

Also speaking of which, I have another post coming up (hopefully) where I explain my reasons for shipping Peri and Dale. It can honestly, out of context, seem like a toxic yaoi crack ship, but believe it or not but I managed to make it the opposite; plausible AND healthy. I want to enlighten you all plus I really want to yap about them.

It feels super funny to ship such a underrated ship. I'm used to shipping semi-popular ships, so to now be all alone feels kinda fun! They have so much potential and so few are seeing the vision?? Though to be fair I'm also glad it's not that famous lmao.

Ps. Ignore the fact I haven't posted anything here for at least half-a-year. All my mutuals are on Instagram, so I don't have a need to post here, though now I've decided to dedicate this account to hyperfixation slop so maybe you'll be hearing from me much sooner.

Ps. Ps. I currently have a 22-page-long google doc filled with lore and info about almost everything I've thought of for the AU, but it's 80% in Finnish so sharing it is useless.

Man, I love writing unnecessary long posts knowing I'm the only one reading them❤️😍 though if you HAVE gotten this far, here's a little treat:

My body refuses to draw Dale in his original outfit. I like to pretend Peri helped him change a bit (most notably taking off his goddamn shoes, though they do have some lore that I've created. GGHHRRAAA EVERYTHING HAS LORE ATTACHED TO IT GRRRR). Also Dev isn't actually grumpy, he just likes to act tough.

My art style looks probably so inconsistent❤️

[i-am-church-the-cat]

Logan Sargeant is a silly little guy

@vii-tto idk why but it wouldn't let me tag you. Hopefully you see this. also @spell-of-the-rain i added things if you want to check out 75-87

But here's the list of things i know/want to know about logan sargeant

Favorite Actor is Brad Pitt

Favorite Movie is Wolf of Wall Street

Favorite food is a hamburger

Has a boat and often goes deep sea fishing

Lived in London since he was 15

Lose Yourself by Eminem is his favorite hype up song

Is a Dolphins and Heat fan

Enjoyed “No Man, No Cry” by Jimmy Sax

Drinks iced lattes with oat milk

Pumpkin spice lattes?? Edit 12/16/23: No

Has been to Wimbledon

Knows what cricket is

Has a rescue dog named Coco

Also enjoys hockey Edit 11/1/23: Supports the Florida Panthers NHL team and has gone to at least 1 of their games with his friend Kyle Kirkwood

Does he follow college football?

What does he think of the new Miami head coach? 

If not for motorsport, does he think he would have gone pro in a different sport, and if so which one?

Enjoys listening to 50 Cent (is also a big rap fan in general)

Can he speak any other languages with any degree of familiarity?

Cannot draw

Can make a sandwich (other foods?)

Rates all food from one bite and with weird decimals

Gritty-ed in his f1 car

Makes the Williams photographers look like they take good photos

Does he have an English or a Florida driver’s license? And does he still have US citizenship even though he lives in the UK? What kind of visa is he on?

Top three female athletes? (Serena Williams, Simone Biles, and Megan Rapinoe are all acceptable answers) 

Collects Aussies and Kiwis for friends

Does he like the snow? Prefers the heat but does he like snow?

Does he like Missy Elliot? (Requirement) 

“Basic Halloween Bitch”

Calls people “mate” but in an American accent which will never stop being funny

Eye Crinkles™️

Does not have a set eye color he’s just too mystical for that

Has never been to a concert (presumably too busy with racing)

He can swim, he can drive, but can he ride a bike? Edit 11/15/23: He can indeed ride a bike

American commercial cars or  European ones?

Has an older brother but is like an older brother to Benny’s kid

Likes marshmallows

Does not like black beans

Did not think apple could be chips

Knows how to sail??

Knows how to golf

Can paddle (required for any F1 driver)

Lost the F3 championship in 2020 bc of a DNF in the last race

Can he sing??

Does he drink energy drinks? Red Bull or Monster? 

He and Duracell are passionately making out

Blush is very pretty 

Wears a lot of baseball hats

Somehow beat jet lag (expat king)

Mostly spends his nights in but he has some nights out (presumably very interesting ones)

Has an iPhone with a blue case

He looks very pretty in blue

His eyes are sometimes blue

Blue=fav color?? Edit 11/6/23: favorite color is Ocean blue (credit to @spell-of-the-rain)

Pretty insecure (armchair diagnosed anxiety)

Close with his brother and parents but maybe not his extended family?

Is Florida State his college team?? (Worst thing a man can be is a Florida St fan) Edit 12/16/23: believing that FSU got screwed over this year is acceptable

Did he graduate high school??

Did he ever consider going into NASCAR or did moving to Europe at a young age kind of set in stone his path towards open-wheel racing?

Hair is blond/dirty blond

Does he vote in American elections?? (If he supports RonD I cannot stan)

Burger Sauce™️

Logan Hunter Sargeant, certified Frat Bro, most American man ever

Has seen peaky blinder and presumably stranger things

Knows how to carve a pumpkin but has not celebrated Halloween at home in a bit

Possibly dating some instagram model

Caused $4 million in damages, gets payed $1 million a year, and supposedly brings in $30 million in sponsors

Key phrases: “Locked in”, “Bam/Boom”, “Done and dusted” Additions 11/1/23: "Oh hell yeah", "I think you're a little lost here, Chief". Additions 11/6/23: “Yeh” (gets quieter throughout the word (how it’s one syllable??)), “on the bounce” (credit to @spell-of-the-rain i believe)

Joined the Williams Driver Academy in 2021 

Got stuck in F3 bc he didn’t have the money to move up

Driver for Carlin in 2022

Former teammates include Liam Lawson, Oscar Piastri, Frederick Vesti (Edit 11/6/23: Max Fewtrell possibly?)

DOB: December 31, 2000

5'11

Had a giveaway for gloves he used to win an F4 race on Twitter in 2017 and both Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell replied

Originally his number was 3 but he switched to 2 for F1 (to much fan consternation who thought he had so many better options)

Childhood best friends with Kyle Kirkwood, a current Indycar driver

Logan's older brother Dalton raced in NASCAR until 2018

Did a commercial for Sport23

Does not have cowboy boots as of COTA 2023

Born in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, USA

lived in Switzerland from 14-15(?)

knows the conversion rate for a kilometer

is taller than a tuna fish

Podiumed at the Macau Grand Prix in 2019

Won the CIK-FIA championship when he was 14 Additions as of 11/1/23

Loves waffles but they are not his favorite dessert

Very patriotic (oh hell yeah)

is the first American F1 point scorer in 30 years and the first one to score on home soil since 1989

Went to see the Nets in NYC (but would have preferred to see the Knicks)

has a custom Miami Dolphins jersey with his last name on the back

Claims to know all the lyrics to "Ice Ice Baby" (credit to @formulaaone) (Edited 11/6/23)

Additions as of 11/6/23:

Under the same talent agency as Alex Albon

Has the same manager as George Russell

George Russell was his mentor coming up

Went to a catholic private school (credit to @wenevrknew)

Does not like fish? (Credit to @spell-of-the-rain)

He runs weird (in my opinion as he reminds me of my brother when he was 12 (he ran very strangely))

Karted in Las Vegas when he was a kid

Can he drive a stick shift? (Alex believes he cannot)

Enjoys video games

Refers to his car as “she”

Knew how to attach a visor to his helmet prior to February(? Could’ve been March but before the season) 2023

Additions as of 12/16/23

Broke his arm in a 2014 German Karting Championship when Marcus Armstrong took him out at T1 (credit to @spell-of-the-rain )

Has gotten his head eaten by the Golden Knights mascot

If he could have any superpower, he would like to teleport

Has never flown a drone

Favorite racing movie is Talladega Nights (sad Mater noises)

Does not trust other people to drive him

Would rather sleep in then get up early

Considers himself fairly organized

His mother makes a very good sweet potato casserole

Got his habit of worrying from his mom

“Santa’s Little Helper”

Driving for Williams Racing Formula 1 Team in 2024

Got out qualified by his teammate every race of 2023

[epinebleue]

i can fix him (no really i can) (m) (chibs telford) | 03

“You’re not stupid, Eloise, just a whore.” Ellie looked into her mother’s eyes, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. A shiver ran down Gemma’s spine. It had been so long since seeing her reflection in her youngest child that she had forgotten how much she hated it. “Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

pairing: filip “chibs” telford x eloise “ellie” teller (original female character)

genre: angst, fluff, mature.

chapter’s warnings: cursing, gemma being a bitch (what’s new), chibs (43) and ellie (24) having a moment...

author’s note: are we ready for the spice in the next chapter or what?

tag list: @daphnen21

chapter index | previous chapter | next chapter

Charming, 2008

Looking back, perhaps Eloise had been naïve to think she would never set foot in Charming again.

That vow had been made by a stubborn teenager, adamant to forget her last name and what it meant to carry it. For a while, she had kept the promise, and with the passing of years Charming became a fading memory of a time marked by heartbreak and sorrow.

But the phone had rung in the middle of the night, and a voice Ellie knew all too well traveled through the speaker. She could barely understand a word, the person on the line weeping and drunk. He was slurring his words, but she understood him nevertheless.

Wendy, overdosed, baby, prematurely.

Jax had asked to go back, and as much as she hated the world she had been born into, she would never abandon her big brother in times like that.

She couldn’t travel on the very same day, Ellie explained, as she had a life she would’ve to put on hold. She promised, and Jax believed her, that she would catch a flight as soon as she had everything figured out.

And just like that, Ellie found herself once again in the familiar streets of the town that had watched her grow up.

Charming had barely changed: the small shops her family frequented were still there, even the little barber shop her father was a loyal customer of. Ellie could still remember the smell of shaving cream and tobacco…

The knot in her throat tightened as the cab passed the repair shop with the sign “Teller-Morrow”. It was crazy to think she had given it the middle finger from the bus that would drive her off to a new life almost six years ago.

It wasn’t until Ellie saw the entrance of her childhood home that she struggled to breathe.

The exterior had been painted green and the steps had been fixed. Other than that, everything looked the same.

A boy with bright, blonde hair stepped out of the house and ran in her direction as she stepped out of the cab. The next thing she knew, Ellie was being crushed in her brother’s arms. She giggled, patting Jax’s patched back, the leather hot against her palm.

“You’re choking me, idiot.”

Jax didn’t let go. Neither did she. Maybe they hadn’t known how much they needed that hug right until then.

“Thank you.”

Ellie smiled fondly at her brother’s muttered words, which brought tears to her eyes.

Everyone thought her problems had been solved the moment she abandoned Charming, but she was still a young girl away from home, afraid of having taken the worst decision of her life as she tried to fall asleep in the most sketchy motel room she had ever seen.

She still needed her older brother and her mother. She even missed Clay, his frown, and even his authoritative tone.

She used to get in booths, hesitant. If she rang home, would they answer? If she asked for help, would they show up? She ended up hanging up the phone every time. The moment she heard Jax’s voice, she would beg him to pick her up.

Remember why you’ve done this in the first place, Ellie would tell herself, you’re better on your own, you’ve always been.

“Always.”

Jax helped Ellie unload her luggage from the taxi and, side by side, they carried the suitcases to the house.

“There she is.” The sole sound of his voice brought tears to Ellie’s eyes. There was Piney, sitting in a chair, his oxygen bottle right beside him. “My little princess Charming.”

The old man got up with a grunt, opening his arms big, and Ellie allowed herself to be engulfed by them. All of a sudden, she was twelve again and spitting venom against her mother and Clay, crying on the shoulder of the man she truly thought of as a father figure after the loss of her own.

“I’ve missed you.” Ellie said, her voice cracking. “So much…”

So many emotions in such a short period and jet lag wasn’t a good combination.

Clay got up from the armchair at the back of the room and locked eyes with her. Ellie wouldn’t be honest if she said she hadn’t dreamt of that moment a million times.

“You’re big.” He said, a strange spark in his eyes. Ellie swore she could see pride behind them. “And beautiful.”

“Thank you, Clay.”

For the first time in years, she stood in front of him as an equal. She wasn’t a rebellious teenager and he wasn’t an iron-fist stepfather anymore, just two adults with a history.

Ellie was an independent, grown woman who had made it.

And so, when Clay smiled at her, Ellie took it like a white flag waving in the air.

Gemma hadn’t changed a lot in six years. 

Her mother’s hair was pitch black and long when she left. It was shorter now, with yellowish-blonde stripes from the middle to the tips.

She observed Gemma from the door frame. It hurt that, after all those years, she had to be the one to come to her mother and not the other way around, like it should be.

But that was Gemma, after all.

“I arrived, mom.”

The woman finished stirring whatever was in the pot and covered it with a lid. Then, she turned around.

The last time Ellie had stared at those eyes, she was screaming she would leave town and never come back. Jax had told her to not be stupid, because where would she go at seventeen with no money? Gemma, on the other side, hadn’t said a word. She just stared at Eloise, her only daughter, as if she were just an annoying little girl throwing yet another tantrum.

“I heard you in the living room.” Gemma smirked and put one of her hands on her hip. “I thought I’d never see you again. What happened?”

Ellie frowned at her question, unable to process how soon her mother had launched an attack.

“Jax told me he needed me.” Only when her nails dug into the palms of her hands did she realize that they were clenched in a fist. Ellie quickly tried to calm herself down, inhaling and exhaling. “That’s what happened.”

“I guess you finally understand what it means to be loyal to your family.”

Ellie scoffed, narrowing her eyes.

“I find it hard to believe that you, out of all people, know what the word loyal means, mom.”

For a second, Ellie could see the shock in Gemma’s face. The woman nodded slowly, taking in her daughter’s words.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“I have.” Ellie straightened her back like she used to do when younger, ready to turn around and leave. “Your head is just too far up your ass for you to notice.”

Gemma was a terrible mom but an excellent cook.

Ellie sat beside Jax with a full stomach and a full heart. It was weird, being surrounded by her family again, especially when she thought that the friends she had made along the way would be the only family she knew from then on.

The rest of the club had appeared soon after she had arrived, carrying colorful balloons and “welcome home” signs.

And amid all the familiar faces, Chibs stood out.

He had hugged her, like everybody else. He had told her he was happy to see her, like everybody else.

Yet another proof that everything Ellie thought he felt for her years ago was a mere delusion fed by her teenage mind.

“Are you tired?” Jax leaned in to whisper when he saw her yawn.

“A bit.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you to my place early.”

“Uhm, actually… I’m staying in a hotel.” Ellie hugged herself, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I’ve rented a room.”

Jax frowned at her. Ellie wondered if he was surprised or hurt.

“I thought the plan was to stay with me, at my house.”

“I’m just here to visit, Jax. I don’t want to interfere with your daily life.”

“Don’t worry, Jax.” Gemma said from across the table, holding her glass of wine close to her lips. She let out an obnoxious laugh. “We’re used to being frozen out.”

Ellie burst before she could even register what she was saying.

“Wow, you can’t keep anything to yourself, can you?”

“Drop it, you two.” Clay intervened, knowing exactly where the situation would go if he let it be dragged further. “It’s okay, Ellie. I can drive you later.”

The table fell silent. Ellie couldn’t believe she had just snapped like that again when she had been less than twenty-four hours around her mother. She thought she would be able to control her temper better than that. Had those expensive therapy sessions been completely useless?

“Dessert, anybody?”

Of course she would sweep anything under the rug like nothing happened, Ellie thought. The guests roared, accepting the treat, and a new conversation sparked among the club members.

Ellie took advantage of it to grab the pack of cigarettes and lighter from her purse, slipping away to the front garden.

The sun was setting, turning the world orange, and a gentle breeze was starting to spring up when Ellie lit up a cigarette. The door behind her opened and she turned around, startled by the noise, only to see Chibs walking down the steps and towards her.

In silence, he stood by her side and lit up his cigarette. Ellie let out a soft laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“How come every time I’m upset you’re the first one to come to me?”

Ellie observed Chibs from the corner of her eye. Chibs took a drag of his cigarette, a smoke cloud billowing out his mouth like a freight train through a small town.

“Guess some things never change, right, lass?” Chibs muttered, his thick accent coming through, as always.

“No, they don’t.” Ellie sighed, her eyes lost on the horizon, where the sun was beginning to give way to darkness. “Especially not in Charming.”

The shorter hair, the gray hairs beginning to show, and the beard seemed to add weight to his face. However, he looked as good as she remembered, as if time had turned him into a more attractive version just to torture her.

“We have a conversation pending.” Chibs suddenly said, his deep voice cutting through the air.

Ellie froze in place, horrified. If there was something she wanted to forget, it was that moment. The shame of that day had been too big to face it again.

“Oh…” She said, letting out the smoke slowly, trying to control her breathing. “I thought you wouldn’t remember.”

“When a young girl kisses you, runs away and disappears for six years… you don’t forget it, believe me.”

Chibs’ eyes were fixed on Ellie, a mix of nostalgia and something else she couldn’t quite decipher behind them.

Ellie looked down, playing with the cig between her fingers. Her stomach hurt and she had the urge to throw up.

“It was stupid of me to do what I did.” She muttered, unable to utter the word kiss. “I was upset.”

Chibs observed her for a while in silence, as if measuring his words. “Was that all?”

Ellie felt the air tighten in her chest. She thought she had finally learned not to wish for the impossible. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more behind his question.

“Should there be more?”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023-2024

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #3

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: self-deprecation

The morning came too soon. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting its beams over the smooth wood floor. He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow. But last night’s promise of breakfast kept him from falling back asleep. Instead, he slowly sat up. His eyes fell onto a water pump and a large basin across the room. 

Clearly for bathing, but it was odd to see it inside. Especially on the second floor. Maybe the keeper was wealthy? 

There was a simple shelf on the wall above the bath. On it sat a small jar, probably traveler’s soap, and a faded towel. 

A wash sounded nice, but it was out of the question. He couldn’t risk getting his hair wet and removing the dye he’d painstakingly rubbed into his hair. Blackberries were out of season now, and he’d have to come up with something else on the road soon enough.

His stomach growled. Clearly it had not forgotten about eating breakfast. “If I feed you too much, you might get used to it,” Master had once said. He was right.

He couldn't risk getting spoiled, and he didn't deserve it anyway.

No use putting off any longer. The keeper wanted to see him and hopefully wouldn't punish him for his laziness.

With some effort, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Exhaustion was already seeping back into his bones. Hair brushed against the back of his neck. He cringed. It was so long now. He wished for a knife to cut it short. Master had liked it shoulder-length. Easy to grab and yank and-

He pulled his hood back up. Breakfast. Right. No more thinking. He wasn’t very good at it anyway.

The stairs were at the end of the hall. Open doors lined the walkway. He wasn’t surprised to see all the other rooms empty and unused. The tavern was out of the way, even for him. The village looked small through the dim light of evening. It looked even smaller through the stairwell window. 

The tavern was well kept. A cheery green plant sat on the windowsill. Maybe sage? He headed downstairs and rounded the corner. His heart beat against his ribs. His lungs refused to take proper breaths.

“Good morning,” called the keeper from the bar, “please, sit down. Anywhere you like.” The keeper walked off to presumably the kitchen.

He sat at the closest table, thankfully against another window. There wasn’t any dust on the sill. Breathe, he reminded himself.

A tray laden with dishes clattered in front of him. He jumped. 

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,” said the keeper, taking the place across from him. “Do you like biscuits?” the keeper smiled sheepishly.

“Um. Yes. Yes, sir.” He looked up at the innkeeper, and down at the tray. There was just so much. There was a cup of warm tea, a plate of biscuits, a saucer of jam and another of butter, a plate of sausages, and even an apple. It was green, his favorite kind. 

The keeper had his hands wrapped around his own cup of tea, but that was all.

“You don’t need to call me Sir.” softly spoke the keeper. 

“S- sorry.” he said, because “I can’t really control it” would raise too many questions.

“It’s all right. You can call me Ambrose. Go ahead and have as much as you’d like. I’ve already eaten.”

Ambrose was a pretty strange name for a commoner. But there were more important things to worry about.

The biscuits were still warm, fluffy and amazing. The jam was a tart blackberry and the tea (chamomile) was perfectly steeped. The sausages were slightly spiced but ultimately delicious. He managed not to scarf it all down, but barely. He slipped the apple into his pocket.

The kee- Ambrose- watched him eat and occasionally sipped at his tea. It felt different than when Master watched him so closely. Soon enough the plates were clear. He felt the urge to lick the remaining butter out of its dish. His stomach had never been so happy. But now came the hard part. 

He glanced up at his host. Ambrose was clearly taller than him by at least a head. His hair was blonde and cut clean and short. His eyes were green like summer leaves. He looked away. Ambrose’s certainly looked nice, but he knew that didn’t mean anything. No matter how kind somebody was, it never extended to him.

“Might I ask your name?” gently probed Ambrose. Shit. How did he not think of a name? Gods he was dumb. What name would Ambrose want?

“Uh, I- I- don't. Um-” he stumbled.

Ambrose frowned a little, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry Sir, I- please don’t” as Ambrose moved, surely to hit him- but Ambrose’s hands only set his cup to the side. 

“It’s all right. I shouldn’t have asked. You’re-” Ambrose paused. “You’re hiding from someone, aren’t you?”

His face burned, and he ducked his head. An admission of guilt. But didn’t Ambrose already know that?

“I’m truly sorry about last night,” Ambrose continued, “I shouldn’t have said something so vague. There’s a mail system all large inns and taverns have access to. For weather and dangers along the road, mostly. We use messenger birds, you see. The larger establishments send flocks out at a time, a bird for each middle sized place along the road. Those pass the news to smaller inns, and so on. I’m sure you can imagine how late I get news,” he grinned.

“Cleary at Riverstone Lodge likes to send me gossip when she can spare a bird. She sent me a note about some mudslides in the mountain passes, and mentioned ‘a traveler who traded me some sweeping for a night’s stay’. When you, well,  asked for a ‘deal’, I knew it was you.”

He stared at Ambrose. He didn’t quite understand the apology part, but another question tugged at his brain.

“Did she, um. Say anything else about me?”

Ambrose shook his head.

He sighed in relief, his shoulders slumping.

“Whoever you’re hiding from,” said Ambrose carefully, “I doubt they know where you are. I assume they live far from here?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“And how long have you been traveling? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Um. Four months? I’m not sure..” he trailed off, staring into space. It felt like years. 

Ambrose nodded, seemingly to himself.

“You should stay a while. The room is yours for as long as you like.” His head jerked to look at Ambrose. 

“Really?” he whispered.

“Certainly. No one has to know why you’re here.”

“But I- I can’t pay for it. I can’t cost you more money, Sir,” he protested.

“It won’t cost me anything,” Ambrose shrugged. He took the tea in hand again and took a sip. “Those rooms are empty nine out of ten nights. Most of my business  is from locals looking for a pint and a bite to eat after a long day. The meals will be negligible.”

He took a deep breath. "I.. don't understand."

“Well I can’t let you starve! You’re my guest. I’d be a poor host not to provide something to eat, wouldn’t I?” Ambrose smiled at him.

“Thank you,” his vision began to swim, “thank you, Sir. I’ll be good, I promise, I swear!”

“Is… is there something I can call you? It doesn’t have to be your real name.”

He sniffed and wiped the tears away from his eyes. 

“Um. Maybe- maybe Elliot? If you like it, Sir.” He cringed a little. It was the first one he thought of, and probably sounded stupid.

“That sounds lovely. It’s nice to meet you, Elliot.”

Thank the gods.

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair

[rowdyhughesy]

Meet me in Toronto - Jamie Drysdale

part one

“ love, love isn’t having butterflies all the time. I think love is calm. Love is comfortable. I could sit in silence with you for the rest of our lives and it would mean more than a thousand words with anyone else “

- anon

Word count: 707

It felt unfamiliar, odd for the girl to be back in Toronto. To be back in the streets she used to call home, buildings that held so many memories from her childhood. Summers spent eating ice cream at the small parlour down the street from her old house, movie nights in the basement with her best friends.

The summer with Jamie.

There is a life before Jamie and a life after Jamie, she longs for the life before. When she didn't feel so hollow and restless.

Maybe it's the need for closure that brought her back to Toronto or to torture herself even more with the ghost of Jamie, it's hard to tell at this point.

So she lets herself practically be dragged by the collar of her T-shirt by her friends. They're giggling and talking amongst themselves. Not paying attention to her falling behind, gaze far away and stuck inside her own head.

It's not until one of the friends throws her arm around the girls shoulder leaning her head on hers. Skin sticky with sweat from the summer heat and the small amount of wind doing bare minimum to cook them down.

"So tell me Y/N/N, is secret Canadian boy still in town you reckon?" Y/N's body goes rigid at the mention of Jamie. She's never told any of the friends she made after the move his name, who he is really. Only telling the reason why dates never worked out or why she doesn't have interest in boys being a boy she met when she was younger. Someone that took her heart and nobody had compared since so she just stopped trying.

There was no point in trying to replace Jamie when nobody could. Nobody will.

"No he isn't, I haven't talked to him in years you know that. Doesn't matter anyway." It's a lie and they both know that she's just saying it to brush off the hurt that lingers. Hidden between the words leaving her lips.

The AC blows against her face as the group steps inside the smoothie shop. To focused on their conversations Y/N doesn’t notice the dark haired boy sitting in the corner.

Brim of his hat covering most of his facial features, engrossed in some video his friend is showing on his phone. He barks out a loud laugh, this making the girls ears perk up at the sound.

Her head turning in his direction so fast she’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash from the force. Eyes wide as she finally sees the boy she’s been missing for years. Mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words, will he even remember her?

“Y/N?” Jamie stares back at her with the same shocked expression as she adorns. Stumbling out of his chair Jamie blinks his eyes repeatedly. Wondering if she’s a hallucination or he’s making a complete fool out of himself and it’s not her. Maybe it’s just a look alike and he’ll leave the shop mortified.

“Hi Jamie.” The hockey player towers over her, he’s so close she can smell his cologne mixed with laundry detergent. Apples and pine wood with a hint of a spice she can’t place.

Jamie lifts a shaky hand, gauging her reaction before placing his hand on her cheek. Caressing it with the pad of his thumb. She leans into it, eyes watery and bottom lip wobbling as she tries to hold back the tears. The happy tears because he’s here and she can feel him. It’s no longer just a memory or ghost haunting her in her dreams.

“I missed you, shit I can’t believe you’re standing in front of me right now.” Shaking his head in disbelief as a watery laugh bubbles up from his throat.

Y/N just smiles at him before she throws her arms around him. Hugging him as tight as she can and Jamie is quick to reincorporate the hug. Burrowing his face into her neck.

Neither of them thought they’d ever be here like this again. Holding each other, hear the rhythm of matching heartbeats.

After years of being lost they finally took the right turns and found their way back.

They found their way back home.

[lostgracestories]

Distant Sparks Part 6 (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

Okay so I totally did not want to wait to write this until I got home so I wrote this in the middle of my algebra class LMAO I COULDN'T HELP IT. So, I totally got huge motivation out of nowhere and ngl I think this part is my favorite and I think it will be your favorite too, I hope you enjoy!

TW: SO MUCH FLUFF

wc: 1.2k (NOT PROOFREAD)

sidenote: there's mention of a food named chilaquiles. It is a traditional Mexican breakfast that I just got to try recently (mama cooked em) and I 100% recommend them even for people who don't like spice <3 alright I'll be quiet now, enjoy pookies <3

You arrived at Miguel’s place around midnight and looked through his kitchen for a snack. The pantries were full of Mexican spices, snack foods, and a couple boxes of cereal. As for the fridge? There was a bag of apples, a case of beer, some Jarritos and the freezer was no better. You placed your hands on your hips and sighed. You knew he didn’t come home very often but this was still a sad sight. 

You gathered any ingredients you could find to make something for Miguel to heat up as leftovers. You worked for about an hour in the kitchen as the aroma of spices swirled through the air. You felt so calm and relaxed in his home and couldn’t remember the last time you had the chance to cook something. As you finished up the food you carefully transferred it into a tupperware container and used a sharpie to label it, “Miguel’s chilaquiles” you wrote the date underneath and also the date when it should be finished by or thrown out.

After putting the chilaquiles into the fridge to store, you went and cleaned yourself up in the bathroom. You spent the rest of the night cleaning up and finally sleeping. This had been the most peaceful you had ever felt.

—————

Miguel stood in front of his monitors, the soft yellow glow just barely illuminating his face. Miguel had lost track of what he was doing at least 3 times now and that frustrated him. No matter how hard he tried to focus his mind kept wandering to the thought of you, intrusive thoughts slipping into his mind imagining how peaceful you might look while sleeping. 

Miguel grunted in annoyance at the intrusive thought and shook it from his mind as he sighed and looked into a screen on his far right. A video of his daughter played on the screen, no audio to accompany the bright smile on the little girl’s face. Miguel felt his heart sink at the thought of his late daughter and found his mind wandering to you again.

Maybe just tonight he would go home. Just to see how you were doing.

—————

You were snuggled comfortably under the covers of Miguel’s king sized bed as you slowly felt yourself slipping into a peaceful sleep. Just as you were about to pass out a click sounded and a quiet squeak echoed through the halls and you jolted awake, sitting straight up in bed. Someone had come in through the front door, surely no one would have the guts to break into Miguel’s house, he would rip them to pieces if he found out.

You subconsciously leaned closer to the bedroom door as the creaking of the floorboards echoed closer to the room. He sat stiff in bed until a shadow cast under the door across the floor and the door handle rustled quietly. You quickly laid back down and closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep. Whoever it was, maybe they would leave you alone if they thought you were asleep.

–––––——

As Miguel opened the bedroom door he saw you sprawled out on his bed and caught a smile forming on his lips. He quietly walked closer to you, kneeling by the side of the bed your face was facing toward. He whispered softly and you felt yourself hold your breath as you realized who it was.

“Hey… I’m home. Are you sleeping?”

Miguel questioned to see if you would answer. 

You pretended to just be waking up out of a deep sleep, rubbing your eyes and blinking them slowly open, looking across the sheets at Miguel. This interaction felt… different. Yes, on one hand you were laying in his bed but Miguel had actually come home. And he had told you that he was home too. It almost made your heart skip a beat.

“I am now…”

You mumbled and he pursed his lips.

“Sorry if I woke you up… I was worried…”

His sentence catches you off guard. He was worried about you? That wasn’t like him.

“Worried? Are you sure you’re Miguel?” You carefully sit up and he watches you closely with his eyes and nods to you.

“I was watching videos of Gabriela and it made me think of you… I think… you remind me of her and my wife…”

The room is filled with silence after he shares that information with you. Is that why he had begun to spend more time around you at work? Moreover, you weren’t sure how to feel but it seemed like your body had already decided that for you as you felt your cheeks and ears heat up and your heart practically thumping out of your chest. Miguel could hear it through the silence. He’d always had great hearing since he had become spider-man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

You quickly intervene.

“No! I’m not uncomfortable! I just didn’t expect you to say that… it caught me off guard, that was really sweet of you…”

Miguel studies your face a while longer before looking down to the floor.

“There’s something about you that has been keeping you on my mind… no matter what I’m doing I can’t stay focused… I don’t know what it is…”

It takes you a moment to process what he said before realizing what those feelings typically mean.

Miguel O’Hara was falling for you.

Before thinking you blurted out your thoughts.

“Love-”

You quickly pause and his eyes shoot up to meet yours as he understands what you’re getting at. He thinks about it for a moment before nodding slowly, processing the things he’s been feeling and deciding that made the most sense.

“Yeah… I think you’re right…”

You gaze into his eyes, noting the mixture of red and brown swirling in them. Had you noticed that before? You notice that both of you seem to only have inches of distance between eachother as you continue to study his face.

Miguel knows he’s moving closer to you but he can’t seem to stop himself as he brings a hand carefully to hold your cheek. His hand is so big compared to you and it intrigues him. Before he knew it his face was just centimeters away from yours. He seemed to be looking deep into your eyes for so much as a hint of permission to go further. You give him a small nod and he locks his lips into yours, his hand wandering to the back of your head, your hair loosely tangled around his fingers.

Miguel shifts himself, keeping his lips locked onto yours as he carefully makes room to get in bed next to you. As he lays next to you, you pull your lips away to breathe and you give him a dazed expression. He smiles at how boggled you look.

“Is that a confession…?”

You breathe the words out almost inaudibly and he places a gentle kiss on your lips in response.

“Yeah… I suppose so…”

Miguel pushed his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent, his body visibly relaxing as he does so, his eyes closed and his breathing slowing. You realize that he’s falling asleep and gently pet his head with a small smile, placing a gentle kiss to his head and closing your eyes aswell, falling asleep with your arms wrapped around him.

It couldn’t get better than this.

[hazbinhazbinhazbinreblog]

So for once, nothing angsty, but something more fluffy! ANd its based on food!

So I think, if I remember right anyway, canon Alastor does not like fast food or like food similar to it, and that kind of implies to Radio Guard Alastor too. To a degree tho. He very much would rather cook than have take-out, but also he is not complaining if you wanna give him the egg and spring rolls from the Chinese takeout. It is mainly when he super tired though or had an exhausting day and just has no energy to cook for the gang, since I imagine he may have took over the cooking duties of the hotel.

And now for everyone's favorite types of foods and or flavors of stuff! Alastor-Def prefers more homecooked meals, doesn't matter what, if its homecooked, he will probably enjoy. Does however lean more towards spicy stuff. Man loves spicy dishes, be it a painful spice or a comforting one. Def knows all types of Louisiana cooking and is so happy to share them to others.

Charlie-More on the sweeter side of things. Probably has a love of homecooked food too, mainly like breakfast foods I imagine. But probably also likes fruity stuff too (haha get it because she's the daughter of the Morningstar aka the Devil, the one responsible for Adam and Eve eating the Forbidden Fruit //bonked). Probably loves more baked good spices too? So like cinnamon apple stuff would be her favs

Vaggie-Spice and bitter girlie I imagine personally. She will take her coffee black with a spot of cream or milk while chomping on ghost pepper dusted chips like it was nothing. Can also, for some reason, see Vaggie was a soup girlie. Idk, she gives soup girl vibes. Probably loves spicy veggie soups that just warm you up. Ignoring the fact they are in hell and hell is probably already super hot.

Angel Dust-Def ate like junkie munchie foods. Like cheap, really gross and greasy food. Didn't like it, but it hit the spot. If not that, then super healthier, lean foods, since lets be honest, Valentino would his workers on extreme health diets so they would stay "pretty", so the whiplash of foods probs wrecked Angel's stomach. Now, while trying to go sober and in a safer and healthier environment, Angel def enjoys trying to cook Italian food he remembers his pa or ma making. Would like baking more me thinks

Husk-Bar food. Husk is like Angel, he is eating junkie bar food to use the grease to curve his later hangover. Maybe not as much anymore, but its still there. Alastor does get on him, now more so in a place of concern for Husk's well being. Honestly probs better just making drinks but I can see Husk knowing how to work the kitchen too. Def the type to go to if you have the late night munchies since he knows how to make the most killer late night meals

Nifty-Sugar. Just. Pure. Sugar. She is the type to dump marshmallow fluff on a pizza its that insane. She knows how to cook, sure! And she can cook well with others, yes! Alone in the kitchen? Haha no. Your food is gonna somehow end up in lime jello and taste like you liked the bottom of Willy Wonka's boot. Just dont.

Sir Pentious-Probably doesnt really mind anything. As a snack he def has a more meat based diet which took some time to get used too. Probably likes more mild to bitter foods than anything else. Like the Brit he is, he is def drinking tea with everything. Probs also likes egg based dishes since some snakes do eat eggs. Probably mainly bird eggs, like quill or chicken. So egg bois are safe!

Lucifer-Dont think Luci has a pref. For a good long while it was just whatever he could find in the kitchen after staying locked up in his workshop for days on end. So bowls of dry cereal or pb&js to name a few. It took being forced out of his workshop by Alastor (and seeking therapy by Alastor and Charlie's request yeas later) that Lucifer started to eat more. Like his daughter he loves fruity sweets, and as a given likes pancakes. Probs makes killer cinnamon apple pancakes.

Vox-Probs cheating to say Alastor's cooking, but it is Alastor's cooking. Def has more of a spice tolerance than other Voxs hfdsjkf. Outside of that, probably any more homey foods. Or cheaper stuff like ramen since he never wanted to leave his room at V Towers. Def survived on energy drinks that tasted horribly sweet but kept him going at the tower too. You can imagine his utter joy when at the hotel when he just got to eat proper cooked food again, especially Alastor's

-⚔️ anon

Cinnamon apple for Charlie makes so much sense, she'd probably have begged to get that one cereal that claimed to be cinnamon apple but was kinda mid

All of this feels so incredibly canon and accurate, your MIND

[fictionfixations]

book 7 part 4 spoilers

im having intrusive thoughts (theyre UNWELCOME. ive been hit by so many emotions i cant stop myself from actually crying rn ) now that i finished it okay so

if there are any typos or wrong words that dont make sense im SO sorry i usually sleep around this time (i wrote confused instead of convinced im SOBBING) so my brain is slowing down on me

whbat if. what if if

we encounter the dawn knight

and silver's ring starts glowing

and they accuse him of being a traitor because it seems weirdly familiar (or the knight accuses silver of being a thief? IDK)

LISTEN im still convinced that the dawn knight and silver are connected in some way. i just dont know how yet. aghhhhh

ALSO WHEN is the conversation about them mentioning 'hey you keep calling me father..' (could be brushed off as 'you remind me a lot of my father'. cue probably mixed feelings) or '..hey what was that about you calling yourself a zigvolt when we first met?'

i mean sharing LAST NAMES (edit: i said nicknames wtf? im so sorry) without being related is normal. although i dont know how normal it is in twisted wonderland.

ALSO sebek also like doubled down like

baur: you dont have the signature scales

sebek: my mother has them!

baur: then why dont you?

sebek: ... (ashamed of his father. ashamed of his blood. poor baby. he really just ended up taking being called a 'human /neg'. to be fair i dont want to know reactions to a half-fae, because that would mean during the war between fae and humans, a fae got together with a human. and we know that that relationship was looked down upon even now in the future where the war is over, i think.)

(this book made me such a sebek apologist 😭)

like COME ON dont brush it off. i mean im going to cry for that conversation because its just going to be PAIN but like CMONNN????

where are the consequences?

then again this isnt real its just. a dream.

but...

also what if the dawn knight is silvers dad and lilia fucking idk kidnapped him and it started the war [although he'd be way too young in that case since this is 400 YEARS in the past] (but then theres the note lilia read him which means silver probably did get abandoned. .......or maybe lilia killed the dawn knight and his last words were giving his son over and that note about not wanting silver's eyes to cloud over in sorrow, and to instead be as clear as the jewel on the ring...)

or or or or

AHHH

i have. so many thoughts.

i STILL believe silver's at least related to the dawn knight. ...im just not sure how but i keep backtracking to son because yes.

and like itd also play into the 'fae stealing children' idea thingy. although i wonder if thats more offensive if that gets mentioned at all. if it was like some sort of propaganda bedtime story that humans told their children to make them terrified of fae and viewing them as monsters or something..

like

cuz

remember that merchant in the port town(?) area thing

first mistook us for monsters because of our masks (but thats fair)

realized we were like fae?? made a racket

this guard came over and the merchant accused US of threatening the guy to hand over his shit like what??? WE DIDNT DO ANYTHING WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?? we dont even want your fucking spices or whatever wtf ???

i am also a believer that there's a huge misunderstanding between the fae and humans that caused this war.

but also.

i know twisted wonderland is very tragic and everything

but if the dawn knight and the ironclads kill malleus' mom im going to hate them so much. more than i already do [well i hate the ironclads, not the dawn knight, since one bad apple doesnt make them all bad apples]. (look they probably killed raverne but..... malleus' parents man. one is better then none. :( )

god

imagine though that the dawn knight is silvers dad (in whatever twisted time loophole age gap thing whatever the fuck even if it doesnt make sense)

and the dawn knights kills maleanor . . .? i. cant remember (OKAY maleanor is malleus' mom.? and maleficia is like grandma. i think... i. bro the overuse of mal is confusing me so bad sob)

just. imagine silver spiraling into a sort of self-hate. like. im the child of your enemy. my dad ("your dad is LILIA." says someone) killed malleus' parents...

and it probably feels worse then. idk. being a human in a land of fae. like so much more out of place

and so horrible

ahh im worried

..then again maleanor (i almost said maleficia oops) is super strong right? so she'd probably win.. (but also. its a lot harder to fight with something to protect. that being your precious little eggwhich you would probably die for to keep safe) ALSO SHE DIED SO LIKE ???

hhh i dont know what to think

JP SPoilers now

also really fucking worried because JP server's all the way in like idk pomefiore and im just like

how did you even get there. whAT? THIS ENDS?

like i know it'd have to end eventually but i just cant see an end in sight...

:((

i hope we can bring lilia with us. but there might be a chance he'll be made to fall into a deeper sleep where we cant assist since the whole point of his overblot was about lilia and wanting to keep him 'alive' and there

so.....

im just. sad.