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astrolook · 10 days ago

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❤️‍🔥Synastry Observations - Are They The One or Just Passing Through? 🔗

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home!

If you’re wondering whether someone might be "the one" for you or not, check where their 7th lord and Venus (for a wife), or Jupiter (for a husband), falls in your chart.

The 7th lord shows their relationship mindset and whether long-term commitment with you is likely to work. Check where their 7th lord is falling in your chart, along with its aspects.

Their 1st lord in your chart shows how they naturally behave toward you. This can be learned through where their 1st lord lands in your chart, along with its aspects.

Venus = wife indicator in a man’s chart; Jupiter = husband indicator in a woman’s chart.

Their 5th lord in your chart (and its aspects) shows how they might be as a parent and their potential parenting dynamic with you. These placements reveal how serious they might be, what kind of partner they are, and whether your lives actually align long-term.

Their 7th lord in your chart:

Their 7th lord in ur 1st - You ARE their type. No guessing, no mixed signals. It shows. It’s “I could see a future with you” energy. Even if you're not their usual type, you become their exception. You trigger their desire to settle down or lock something in. If it doesn't work out, they’ll probably compare others to you for a while. They treat you like you matter and you just check most of their boxes. They could put pressure on you to be “ready” even if you’re not. They would woo or chase you. Will keep tabs on you. In public, they act like you’re already theirs. Publicly claim you with touch, eye contact, and presence. Very visible couple energy and people would notice the chemistry.

Their 7th lord in ur 2nd - They see stability in you or at least, they want it from you. You feel like someone they could build a life with. Comfort is the hook. It’s “I want to keep you” energy. You might feel like they expect you to provide something, whether it's emotional, financial, or physical. They might become possessive without realizing it. If it’s one-sided, you’ll feel used either emotionally or materially. They may try to “secure” you before truly connecting. You might feel safe or stuck, depending on your own chart. There's a sense of “I want to have all of you” literally. In public, they treat you like their person through small, steady gestures. Think hand on your back/ shoulder/ hip, picking up the check, always close by.

Their 7th lord in ur 3rd - They feel drawn to your mind and their attraction towards you is beyond appearance. You might become their go-to person for random thoughts and late-night talks. The connection starts light but can get emotionally loaded fast. They flirt through words. Texts, jokes, side comments, etc and that’s their way in. If one-sided, you’ll feel like their emotional dumping site. They romanticize your tone, your humor, the way you speak. Can ghost you out of nowhere if you're not on the same wavelength. If it ends, they’ll still lurk by liking your posts, watching your stories, saying nothing.

Their 7th lord in ur 4th - They feel emotionally safe around you way too fast. You remind them of home sometimes in a comforting way, sometimes in a triggering one. They might start talking about deep personal stuff out of nowhere. If mutual, the bond feels warm, familiar, and deeply personal. If one-sided, you’ll feel emotionally responsible for their mess. You might notice them trying to insert themselves into your routines or family stuff early. If they’re emotionally immature, they’ll act like a victim when things shift. If it doesn’t work, it feels like a breakup with your own peace.

Their 7th lord in ur 5th - They might see you as the father/mother of their children. Can see you as child-like or they can be that way towards you. If one-sided, you might feel they used you for just an ego boost or to keep a score. They may try to woo or chase you. Even if they’re emotionally reserved, you pull out their playful, flirty, affectionate side. You might notice them getting possessive when they’re not getting enough attention back or backing off completely if the energy stops feeling exciting. In public, they want to show you off.

Their 7th lord in ur 6th - They are drawn to how you carry yourself under pressure. They show interest by doing things for you or offering help, not through big romantic gestures. It can feel sweet at first, but over time, you might notice a subtle pressure to perform or “keep it together” for them. You become the reliable one, the one who holds it down. If it’s mutual, the bond feels steady and loyal. If it’s one-sided, you’ll start feeling like their emotional support system, not their partner. Quiet tension builds when effort isn’t returned. It’s love through labor, and that can either ground the connection or wear it out. In public, they help carry your bag, pick you up at work or drop you off, and remember your schedule.

Their 7th lord in ur 7th - They see you as "the one". They show up already “partnered” in their mind. It’s giving a default commitment. It’s not casual. Even if you try, something about it feels official. You bring out their relationship side even if they weren’t looking for it. If they're immature, they might project ideal partner expectations on you too fast. They may test you to see if you match their ideal. In public, you both give off perfect pair vibes to others and people would respect you both.

Their 7th lord in ur 8th - They want access to you, like all of you. They get emotionally attached fast, even if they pretend they’re not. You may feel both desired and slightly exposed around them. You might feel like they want control, even if they frame it as “just caring.” It can get toxic, and you won't realize it until it's too late. Secrets come out, willingly or not. The sexual tension is crazy. It’s there even when nothing physical happens. They’ll either bring you closer to your shadow work or pull you into theirs. When it’s real and healthy, it feels like love meets rebirth. When it’s not, it drains your soul. In public, they can be low-key and people can def see the sexual tension between you both.

Their 7th lord in ur 9th - You might feel like a muse to them. They romanticize the idea of growing with you. If mutual, the connection feels freeing, future-focused, and full of potential. If one-sided, they might put you on a pedestal as their “escape.” Long-distance, cultural, or lifestyle gaps are common with this overlay. A partner in evolution. In public, you both give off travel couple vibes or the nerdy couple.

Their 7th lord in ur 10th - They see you as someone they can publicly claim, like status matters here. You come off as “partner goals” to them, whether you’re trying or not. You might feel like they’re into the idea of you more than the real you. They could treat you like a trophy or someone who boosts their rep. If mutual, you feel like a power couple together. If one-sided, you might feel used or put on display. Respect matters just as much as affection here, maybe more. If it ends, it’s not just a breakup, it’s a hit to their image. Their career can take a hit too. They def wanna show you off and would feel proud to be seen with you. In public, they show you off with pride. People might see you both as a "power couple".

Their 7th lord in ur 11th - They see you as their "partner in crime". They romanticize how accepted and understood they feel around you. Feelings grow through shared interests, group chats, and inside jokes. If mutual, it’s that “my best friend is also my person” type of love. If one-sided, they’ll hover in your orbit, hoping you catch on. The line between friend and partner gets blurry fast. When it ends, it’s still hard to fully let go as the friendship keeps echoing. In public, you look like best friends who also hook up. They act easygoing and proud of you, but not possessive.

Their 7th lord in ur 12th - They feel drawn to you without knowing why and it’s an unconscious attraction. The connection feels private, hidden, or impossible to explain. You might feel like they see a side of you no one else does. If mutual, it’s telepathic. You feel each other’s moods without speaking. Boundaries blur emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes physically. They can disappear emotionally just as fast as they appeared. Feels karmic like you’ve met before or have unfinished business. Love here is felt more than acted on and that can be painful. In public, people don’t really get your dynamic. People never would have imagined you both would end up together.

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notjustjavierpena · 7 months ago

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Dream

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A little Acacius piece to jumpstart my brain again!

Summary: Out on a war campaign, Marcus wakes up in the middle of the night to a dream of you. Oh, how hard it is to be apart.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, YEARNING, kisses, piv sex, emotional and passionate sex, slight breeding, creampie

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60742789

Dream

The Roman encampment lies quiet underneath the starry sky as Marcus startles awake, his legionnaires long ago having extinguished fires with dirt, downed the last goblets of drink, and found rest in their cots. It is in the middle of the night, the general judges by the silence around him that’s only disturbed by the hoot of an owl somewhere. Along with the warm sun, early mornings also bring the sound of a bustling camp - its soldiers chatting and preparing for the day’s march across the country - but right now, all is still.

Marcus also deduces that it is way into the night because the moon hangs high and silent on the horizon, its pale and beautiful light shining into his tent. With sleep still clinging to him, he realizes that he has been woken up by a warm breeze catching the flaps of the tent, the entrance repeatedly opening and closing with a whipping sound.

His first instinct is to reach for his dagger, sure of the fact that he secured the entrance to his makeshift bedchambers before falling asleep, but the second he wraps his fingers around the hilt, he sees you standing there with the moonlight bathing you from behind in a bluish glow that makes you seem almost ethereal.

You approach his cot, and he lets his hand fall from the dagger and drop onto the chest of his tunic. You are so beautiful, radiant in the same nightgown that he saw you in the night before you parted ways and he went to war. It is a memory that keeps him going even through the hardest of days; the way you had kissed him so deeply, sprawled out beneath him. This was while you had looked at him pleadingly and with tears on your face that he tried to catch with his thumbs before they rolled down into your hair. The way he had made love to you is burned into his mind, keeping him warm when temperatures outside drop along the seaside. He promised you that he would return to you as soon as he could but here he is in your company much sooner than he anticipated, and he knows it cannot be real.

Your gown flows around you with each step you take, draping so perfectly along the curves of your body as if you’re the personification of Venus herself. He knows what the white fabric hides, even if it weren’t for the rounding of your breasts being outlined or the peaks of your nipples poking against the front. You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, leaning over him and smiling tenderly down at him.

“This is a dream,” he says quietly. He reaches out to curl his fingers into your dress, wondering if you’ll evaporate into thin air if he touches you. He doesn’t think he can handle it if you disappear from his grasp.

“If this is a dream, then I wish never to wake," you declare and the sound of the melody that is your voice has Marcus’ heart nearly leaping out of his chest. You stay with him as he tugs you down for a kiss, solid against him and nowhere like the mist surrounding the tents in the morning like he had feared, “Yet some say that we must be thinking of one another at the same time to be meeting like this.”

“I am always thinking of you. I miss you more than I can bear,” he says weakly, a lump having formed in his throat, scratchy from sleep. You rest your forehead against his, the both of you sighing softly in relief at being so close. Then you place a hand on his cheek, and Marcus feels a whole universe of emotions inside of himself, expanding so fast that he can’t breathe, that it threatens to overwhelm him.

“You have me,” you reassure gently, opening your eyes to look at him even as you kiss him softly on the lips. Your scent envelops him, jasmine flowers - his favorite - from the garden where he took his first stroll with you. And there his heart and mind go once more, feeling relief yet longing, happiness yet sadness.

“This war,” he whispers and his gaze is fleeting, “It feels meaningless if I cannot be with you, beloved wife. We are parts of the same soul, you and I. What good am I here if I am merely a puzzle missing its pieces?”

“Shh, look at me, my love,” you soothe and it’s like his body is draped in the warm blankets of your shared bed, hearing the sound of his home bustling with happiness. You brush your fingers across the stubble on his cheek. He leans into the touch, knows that his eyes are wide and pleading as he returns them to you. You scratch his beard again, “You are whole, Marcus Acacius, even here. You carry me with you, just as I carry you.”

“My clever wife, yet again you are right. It is my weary heart that speaks. Of course, you are always with me, always in my thoughts even when it feels like the skies will tumble down upon me and the world will end,” he replies, taking in the way you look to the version of him that dreams. He wonders if the picture before him will etch itself into his mind, so deeply that his thoughts will conjure up fresh images tomorrow during broad daylight.

“Those skies are skies we share, always under the same sun and moon,” you smile, and he sighs, closing his eyes as you trace his face with your fingers. You draw invisible lines across his features, gently over his cheekbones and carefully down the length of his nose, fingertips dancing across his eyelids with featherlight touches, “Do you remember nights spent under the stars? You love that spot close to the river back home.”

“Tell me of home," he asks of you, a bead of desperation rattling around in his chest, "Tell me of the river, the fields, and the stars, of the songs the birds sing at dawn."

“The river flows like it always has, my love. The fields stand golden and the wind makes it seem like they are one with the water surrounding them. Can you see it?” You sound like a lullaby.

Marcus nods, the sight is painted on the back of his eyelids. He knows each hue of blue and golden, each curve of the bending riverbanks, and he can almost feel his heart beating slower at the mental image. He finds peace in the idea that nothing has changed back where you are waiting for him, the familiarity more soothing than any draught or potion. For a moment, he is home with you and all is well.

You peck his lips while brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, “And the birds. Can you hear them? The way the larks greet each morning?”

“I hope the Fates are not so cruel as to keep us apart for much longer. I want to hear them again soon,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to find himself staring into yours. He reaches up to cup the back of your neck, feeling how warm you are despite not actually being here.

“Sleep,” you encourage gently.

“I can’t, not with you so near,” he whispers and draws you nearer to his mouth again. He captures your lips in a longing and deep kiss, a quiet urgency rising in his chest when you sigh the way he loves. As you thread your fingers through his graying hair, he reaches for your waist and guides you to sit on top of him.

Your dress pools around your thighs and him like the mountains and valleys he crosses each day. He pulls back to drink you in, committing you to memory as his eyes dance over the curves he had noticed beneath the fabric as you entered his tent.

"Then touch me," you let out a little breath of desperation, a fire having ignited in your eyes while you stare into his. He feels the flame within himself too.

One of his hands moves slowly up your bare arm, the other tracing the length of your spine on top of your dress until you shiver. He lets both hands grab at the straps of your gown, guiding them off your shoulders until your chest is bare to him. You lean down for another kiss but he grabs your soft shoulder to stop your advances, his thumb resting against your pulse point. He marvels at how real you feel, can feel your heartbeat underneath the tip of his finger as if you are truly here.

"Marcus," you plead him quietly and he doesn’t hesitate. He sits up slowly until your breasts touch his chest and then he finds your mouth again, his fountain of youth. He slips his hands underneath the skirt of your gown and feels that you are already ready to welcome him if he wants. He touches you there for only a moment but you still beautifully furrow your brow with pleasure from how much desire Cupid has sent through your veins. However, he decides that he has no time to prolong this moment with you because only Somnus will know when he’s going to wake up.

“Lift your arms,” he guides after hearing you make a feeble noise when he removes his digits from your slick core.

You do as he says and he lifts the waves of fabric over your head, throwing the discarded gown onto the ground with a smile on his face. In return, your hands find the hem of his tunic, sliding it up and over his head. The tunic joins your gown on the floor, the both of you finally touching each other’s naked bodies with soft chuckles. There’s something euphoric about simply being naked in each other’s arms before making love, something so vulnerable and private that it’s reserved only for each other.

Your palms roam over his broad, strong chest and your fingers thread through the coarse hairs there. His hands mirror yours but instead, they feel the softness of your skin that prickles his with warmth. He skims them over the swell of your breasts, the touch full of worship while he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

“My beautiful wife,” he murmurs while he showers you in kisses from neck to collarbone to the top of your breast.

“Make feel whole,” you moan and cradle his head, holding him against your chest while his mouth trails across the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t need to be commanded twice, already helping you to sink down on him to the very hilt of his length.

The connection has the both of you gasping and chuckling further in relief, none of you moving as you get used to having him so deep within you. He stares up at you as you’ve elevated yourself slightly to sit down on his cock, blown away by your beauty that’s enough to make him twitch inside of your pulsing heat.

"I love you immeasurably, my wife.”

"And I love you, my husband.”

You move against him for the first time and he groans low in his throat, already feeling the stirrings of pleasure. With his hands on your hips, the two of you slowly begin moving together, your bodies finding a rhythm that is instinctive and familiar. He finds that he doesn’t need to intervene in your sinful ministrations on top of him; he knows the pattern of your hips’ movements like the back of his hand, knows when to leave you to do as you please and when to help you. Right now, you are an expert in driving him to madness.

His hands are everywhere as you take what you need from him. He touches where he can reach - your thighs, your hips, your back - as if he cannot figure out where he wants to hold you the most. Eventually, your hands find his to anchor him, entwining your fingers together to ground him in his longing for you.

However, Marcus is not a man of restraint when it comes to you. He needs you in ways that make him yearn for you even when you are on top of him.

“Faster,” he brushes his lips against your jaw, kisses your chin when he was supposed to find your mouth. You hold his hands and oblige, the rolls of your hips quickening to a pace much faster than how you’ve been imitating the waves of the sea. Your skin is glistening in the moonlight coming through his tent, sparkling like you are a goddess descended from the heavens and into the arms of him, a mere mortal.

You’ve closed your eyes as you near your crescendo, your lips parting in a breathless moan while the world outside is lost to the both of you. He can feel you choking his length, tightening around him like a fist. In his belly, heat is tightening like a rope about to snap in two. He feels it within you too, both of you teetering on the edge of unmatchable pleasure. He wishes it was real and not in the realm of dreams, wishes that this was the moment he created a family with you and made you his entirely. There’s so much to look forward to in his return.

“Let go, my love,” he says in an almost commanding tone, “Let your general feel you.”

And you do. Your peak hits you like a bolt of lightning to the point where he has to keep up your pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours while you lose yourself in the sensations running through your veins. He drags your entwined hands to his chest, placing your palm on his pounding heart, and mirrors his own hand on your chest too. Your hearts beat in unison and he can’t take it anymore, can feel his control slipping from his grasp.

He comes with a quick intake of air and then a growl, his hips stuttering before he spills inside of you. His body tenses up for a moment before it relaxes thoroughly, chest heaving and head swimming with the intensity of it all. You say his name and he finds himself saying yours, repeating it like were they prayers for the Gods.

Eventually, your body slumps against him and he slips out of your spent heat. Your breaths are synchronized, even as they slowly start to calm down in your bliss. He holds you close to his chest, feeling you stick to him but he doesn’t care. He’ll take anything you have to give when his body and soul miss you so thoroughly.

“Sometimes I wonder if the Gods are punishing me for loving you so deeply,” he murmurs with a trail of kisses along your shoulder. A loud, satisfactory sigh leaves him when you slide your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“Your ability to love wholly and completely is yours alone. Do not let the Gods take credit for what belongs to your heart,” you whisper back to him, stealing a kiss when he looks up at you.

“Stay with me,” he begs of you, “Don’t ever go.”

“I will stay as long as the night prevails,” you reply gently, “But come dawn, I have to go.”

It is unbearable but it makes it more precious. He reaches to brush a strand of your hair from your forehead as it has fallen into your face during your intimacy. He smiles as he takes in the sight of you, how beautiful you look with heated cheeks.

“Tell me about home again,” he requests, “Please.”

And so you do.

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dreaminginsteadofsleeping42 · 2 years ago

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Okay I have to ask. I have experienced this at every concert I’ve been to and I would like to know if I am crazy because I have never seen anyone else talk about it before.

At live concerts, does anyone else find that the singer’s voice sounds way higher? Chipmunk esque? Then when you watch the videos back they sound normal? Like the sound makes it echo and this louder somehow? Am I just way too far up? Have I gone crazy? Please discuss.

#rep tour charli camila and taylor all sounded chipmunk-y #Shawn mendes and Alessia cara sounded less chipmunk-y but it was still there #Lorde was the best for that and she was in the smallest venue so I wondered if it was size #All these concerts were indoors too so I really thought it would be better in an outdoor stadium #And Gracie Abrams sounded like herself but then Muna came up and sounded super high pitched and Taylor the same #And then they all sound normal in the videos I take #I cannot make this make sense

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luveline · 1 year ago

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𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar.

You see both sides of him now.

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince.

“Hello,” you call back.

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?”

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!”

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step.

“Shit, you wanna see?”

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin.

“Another bat?” you ask.

“Not cool?”

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?”

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?”

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre.

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him.

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes.

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands.

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically.

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch.

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says.

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways.

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?”

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that.

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.”

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.”

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained.

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms.

“You okay?” he asks.

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move.

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?”

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.”

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long.

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.”

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.”

You pull your head up slowly.

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours.

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter.

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his.

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation.

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable.

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth.

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?”

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.”

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers.

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop.

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.”

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.”

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips.

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.”

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour.

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.”

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.”

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it.

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.”

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson lives

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celestiaras · 4 days ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ backstage bliss ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. mira x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ mira wants to thank you for all of your hard work and make up for the stress she’s caused you before the show ┊1.2k words

contains: smut!! dom mira & sub reader┊backstage sex, receiving oral, established secret relationship

➤ author's note: she’s so hot omfg i love stone top femmes

“come on, bobby! they’re going to show up soon, they always do, even if it’s last minute— stop stressing out so much, you’re going to start balding at this rate!”

despite your attempt at assuring him, you were starting to fear for your own hair at this rate. the fans were calling out for their idols, waving around their lightsticks, and becoming increasingly impatient by the second as the trio were late by a whopping four minutes. you would hate to disappoint them by sending them home without the wonderful experience of a huntrix concert, and you would hate even more to do all of the tedious work to ensure that everyone in the venue got their money back as well as a small piece of merch to make up for their troubles. your superior was calling them frantically to ask where the hell they were, and you were just mentally preparing yourself to step out and break the bad news to them.

just then, as if they were angels answering your prayers, they all fell from the skies like shooting stars and crashed onto the stage in an elegant manner, jumping straight into the performance seamlessly and saving the day. you would say you didn’t doubt them for a moment because you certainly did, but you felt like you were going to faint from relief.

of course, you couldn’t just yet because you wanted to see your lovely girlfriend moving along to the music being blasted out of the speakers, dancing like it’s what she was born to do and all she ever wanted to do. you couldn’t let yourself show too much of your admiration and attract attention to your clear romantic adoration for her though, trying your best to hide the dopey smile that would overcome you whenever you stared for too long, but god, you couldn’t believe that she was all yours just as you were entirely hers.

“i’m so sorry for worrying you, babe,” mira yelled out once the two of you were alone, running up behind you and almost knocking you over in an embrace. “i still can’t believe we fell for that, it’s like the demons are getting smarter or something…”

“you need to be more careful!” you scolded. “i don’t want anything bad to happen to you!” you remember when you used to be concerned for her when you first learned about her demon hunting secret, and while you had full faith in her skills now, the last part of her statement was starting to make you feel stressed out for her safety again.

“oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, we kicked their asses in less than five minutes,” she teased. “you really need to relax.”

“well, it’s difficult to relax when i have an idol girlfriend who’s constantly late to all of her events because she’s busy fighting creatures from the underworld!”

“hm… you��re right about that, i should probably make it up to you and help you destress…”

you felt your face get hot at the mischievous tone lacing her voice as her fingers fiddled with the hem of your skirt, “here? what if we get caught?”

“there’s no one here! come on now, i can tell you really need to blow off some steam. it’ll be fine, i promise.”

“okay… but you have to promise to be careful!”

“oh please, i’m nothing if not careful,” she snickered, pushing you to sit down on top of one of the speakers, and parting your thighs with your hands before hooking her fingers into your underwear and pulling it down to expose your lovely pussy to her awaiting brown eyes.

mira brought her face closer to your heat and wasted no time in dipping her tongue in, licking long, broad strokes against your folds and humming in delight at the taste of your sweetness. she watches you through her half-lidded lashes, drinking in your gorgeous facial expressions contorting in pleasure as she flicks the tip of her sharp tongue against your clit. “you’re so fucking pretty when you’re getting eaten out,” she cooed. she swears that the sight of you with your head thrown back and your mouth open in that adorable ‘o’ shape alone is enough to add five years to her lifespan each time, and she wants to see every single day for the rest of your lives together.

“fuckkkk, miraa,” you whined as your fingers found their way tangled with her pink locks, subconsciously pushing her closer to your heat, something you didn’t even think was possible.

she pressed her thumb against your weeping hole, tracing the outline and admiring how it twitched in need to be filled by her, “god, you’re so needy…”

“you were the one who wanted to do this,” you huffed, “i think that makes you the—”she cut you off by diving back in, eagerly lapping up your arousal seeping through, and turning your words into moans before you could finish.

she loses her mind when she’s on her knees for you like this, slurping up that little piece of heaven between your thighs and worshipping like a devoted follower at an altar, sucking on your pearly little clit like it’s candy, and using her hands to keep your legs apart instead of squeezing at her head.

you felt so self-conscious, not just because of her intense passion, but also because of the location that was so recognizable yet was anything but at the same time. you felt like someone would walk in at any moment because they forgot something or someone cleaning up after hours would come across what the two of you were doing, eyes darting around nervously to keep a lookout until you felt mira’s teeth against your core in a threatening manner.

“hey, eyes on me, baby,” she muttered, clearly displeased about your being distracted.

“‘m sorry, i can’t help it…”

“don’t think about any of that,” she told you, although you were more focused on the sight of the trail of spit connecting her lips to your cunt, “just close your eyes and focus on me, okay?”

you nodded and did as she ordered, obedient as ever, shutting off all of your senses aside from touch, feeling her tongue thrust in and out of you before lapping at your most sensitive area in a constant motion. the push and pull made you feel that familiar knot in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter with every passing second.

mira could feel it too, the way your nails started to dig into her scalp and your fingers tugging on her locks a little harder. she sped up her pace a little bit more as if she was possessed by raw desire, closing her lips around you and sucking hard, determined to make you finish and create a mess all over her lower face. even when you did finally orgasm, calling out her name with an arch of your back, she continued to leave little kitten licks all over as if she was trying to clean you up.

resting the side of her head against your inner thigh, she looked up at you with the most detestably loveable look, smirking at you, “see? i told you it would be fine.”

“god, you’re so insufferable!” you pouted, “we really could have been caught!”

“yeah, but we didn’t,” she shrugged. her voice lowered to a whisper, “besides, we both know that it would have turned you on even more if someone did.” the look on your face made her burst out in laughter before getting back up, “come on, let's get you cleaned up, the others are probably wondering where we are.”

request:

M-Mira eating out assistant manager reader before a show, perhaps 🥹👉👈

#📜. her works #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters smut #mira kpop demon hunters #mira kpop demon hunters x reader #mira kpop demon hunters smut #huntrix #huntrix x reader #huntrix smut #mira #mira x reader #mira smut

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explorevenus · 8 months ago

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my soul to keep ♡ vampire!leon kennedy x virgin!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: romantic vampire leon, virgin/innocent f!reader, leon turns reader into a vampire, some religious allegory, bloodplay (obviously), gravedigging, some gory descriptions but not a whole lot, one instance of overeating (reader's learning, leave her alone </3), manipulation kinda, praise, fingering, p in v, creampie

description: leon creeps into your village at night for a quick drink, only to find himself infatuated with an angel like you. it's a good thing he possesses the means to preserve you for himself.

a/n: yes this is the vampire leon fic i started like a year ago don't look at me <33 i'm just proud of myself for getting it finished before halloween this year AAAAAAAA

divider by @saradika-graphics !!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

The last time Leon remembered feeling this alive, well… he was still living, and that was a long time ago. When lonely and undead as long as Leon has been, it can be difficult to show restraint upon first contact with anything that evokes such emotion.

But he did, for a while. You were just too cute, he thought as he stood over your slumbering body that first night. It wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of, but a light hunting season for him meant starvation through the winter, and he didn’t have much choice but to go wandering into the nearby little village for a quick bite to eat.

Until he found you.

You looked like a cherub sleeping there in your plush little bed, buried beneath a quilt he could only assume you made yourself. Precious, fragile. You looked especially fragile.

And humans are so fragile, he thought. You smelled so sweet, it made his teeth ache just standing there staring at you without acting upon his festering need to sate his appetite, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to scare you, or worse, lose control of himself and kill you.

He wandered silently around your little cottage in hopes of learning more about you. It was tidy but lived in, well-kept in a way that made him think you were probably a good homemaker. Your old leather boots sat by the door, dirtied by years of garden work and general wear. There was a little handmade ceramic candle holder on your bedside table, the candle in it burned nearly down to the base, and he wondered if maybe you’d held onto it because the piece was sentimental to you. Carefully arranged bouquets of flowers were strung together and hung up above the cracked window, likely to dry them out and preserve them.

And suddenly he realized that maybe he would like to preserve a flower for himself.

He couldn’t allow himself to feed from anyone in your village that night. If word spread around about a vicious animal attack or some other form of brutality, it would only hinder his ability to ultimately get to you, and he couldn’t risk that. Weak and delirious and ravenously hungry as he was, Leon forced himself to bid you adieu and stalk off into the night, back to his crumbling old castle in the middle of the woods… but not before leaving you a gift.

His gift. The gift.

Your lips parted in a dreamy sigh as you slept, rolling over onto your back. He admired your face for a moment before he couldn’t take it anymore— if he didn’t leave now, you were going to become dinner, and he couldn’t have that. Hastily, he bit down on the meat of his palm and squeezed, watching as his old crimson blood bubbled up to the surface, and then he held it up over you.

Drip. Right between your rosy, plush lips. Even in your slumber your face scrunched up at the foreign taste, your heavy arm coming up to swipe at yourself like you were just trying to get your hair out of your eyes.

And just like that, he was gone, having taken his leave through the very same open window that gave him the idea.

He wasn’t a monster, of course. He kept an eye on you as you experienced the very same pain he felt decades ago.

The next day, you woke up later than usual feeling quite lousy. Your whole body was sore and weighty and, reasonably enough, you chalked it up to poor form while tending your garden the day before. It was an easy mistake to make from time to time, after all. But as the day dragged on, you only felt worse, so you retired to bed right after supper that evening.

The day after that, you woke up in the early afternoon feeling awful. Your head was screaming with a migraine and your heart was beating slow and hard in your chest. You were sweating and shaking and could barely even open your eyes because the light hurt so bad. A friend stopped in to check on you after noticing how late of a start to the day you were getting, and almost as soon as she stepped in the door, she was rushing back out to the apothecary, begging the village healer to come check on you.

The village healer loaded you up with tricks and tinctures and anything she could think of to break your fever or at least ease your pain. Dried herbs and poppyseeds and fungus ground up in the mortar and pestle, the paste slathered under your nose, on the bottoms of your feet, steeped into tea that was too hot for you to drink. None of it worked. At a loss for advice to give, the village healer urged you to drink plenty of water and rest, and to quarantine yourself. Couldn’t risk passing whatever you had to the rest of the community.

You woke up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and didn’t even have time to throw your quilt aside as you doubled over the side of your bed and vomited. This continued for a few moments until you could barely breathe, tears dripping from your eyes as your face reddened with strain and you inwardly resented yourself, knowing you would have to drag your sick body out of bed to clean up the mess you’d just made. You struck a match and lit the candle at your bedside and hesitantly peered down to survey the damage, only to be met with the image of your beautiful wooden floors drenched in blood. Reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand yielded the same result.

As you stared at your own blood in horror, Leon stared at you in adoration from the other side of the window. For a moment your bleary eyes caught on the glass and he wondered if you saw him, but if you did, you didn’t react.

Even at a distance he could hear your heartbeat continuing to weaken. Soon enough you would be just like him, a beautiful preserved flower, and better yet, you couldn’t be harmed. You wouldn’t change, you wouldn’t grow, you wouldn’t die.

Although your village certainly thought you did. It was a dreary, overcast day when the village healer decided to stop in and check on you, only to find you completely lifeless and splattered with blood where you laid. She had to be the one to break it to your family that you had lost your battle with whatever illness plagued you. Leon watched from the shadows as your father lifted your limp, blood-soaked body from your bed and held you close, sobbing, hesitating to admit to himself that you were gone.

By the end of the afternoon, as the sun went down and the drizzling rain refused to let up, the entire village was standing over your grave, watching you get lowered into the soft, soggy ground.

Once everyone had paid their respects, Leon watched them all retreat to share a drink in your honor, hushed whispers revealing just how unsettled everyone was by your untimely demise. You were so young, they said, so bright and healthy and undeserving of your fate. They wondered what it meant for themselves, and only Leon knew it didn’t mean anything at all. Your illness wasn’t going to spread because he had what he wanted now, and that was you.

As soon as the final candle was blown out for the night, Leon took a shovel from your garden and began to dig, the metal piercing easily through the soaked earth until it revealed the handmade box you’d been laid to rest in. He popped the top off and looked at you, your arms still crossed delicately over your chest with a beaded rosary tucked beneath your palms, a pale flower in your hair. Your family didn’t need to know they’d be spending the rest of their lives praying over an empty coffin in the ground.

Leon scooped you up into his arms, cleaned up after himself and set off into the woods with you clutched to his chest like a princess.

It was a few days before you finally roused. Leon had barely taken his eyes off of you the entire time you slept, and admittedly, he was a bit grateful it had taken you so long, for your own sake. He watched over you and cared for you as the last of your body heat drained out and your fangs descended behind your lips. From what he remembered, that was the most painful part of the transformation, and you were lucky to have slept through the worst of it.

When your eyes finally shot open, he could barely contain his excitement. In one swift movement you sat up on the couch, bringing one hand up to clutch at your pounding head, the other massaging your sore jaw as your worried eyes darted around the room to drink in your surroundings. Then and only then did your gaze finally land on Leon.

The fright and confusion on your face were evident. He knew you would have a lot of questions, and he was prepared to answer them.

“There you are, darling,” he greeted you warmly, the first words he’d ever spoken to you. “How are you feeling?”

"W-Where am I?" You rasped, throat sore and shot from vomiting up blood the other day. Once your new condition fully set in, you would heal, but for now you were still a touch miserable. "Who are you?"

“I’m Leon,” he was gentle in introducing himself, taking your cold, shaking hand in his own so he could brush a polite kiss over your knuckles, “and this is your new home.”

You blinked slowly at him, brows furrowed as you mulled over what he meant, and you came up short. Tears welled up in your bloodshot eyes and you hesitated for a moment before asking him a question you were afraid to know the answer to; “Am I… Did I die?”

Leon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that at first. He imagined that question being posed much later in the conversation, so it sort of caught him off guard. He took a breath and then replied gently, “Something like that, yes.”

“Huh?”

“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispered, kneeling on the floor beside the couch so he could get on your level, his cold, pale fingers tracing gently over your lifeless skin. “You’re safe, your family is safe, your village is safe. I’m just here to take care of you, my beloved, to guide you in this tricky space between life and death. Do you trust me?”

Strangely enough, you did-- or, rather, you felt compelled to.

But that didn’t make the implications of your condition any easier on you. You were such a frightened little lamb, your cheeks hollowing and your eyes glowing like rubies and your skin tone taking on more and more of a pallid quality by the day as you refused to feed. He knew you would have some difficulty with this at first— after all, you were just far too sweet to kill anything— but he also knew you would only become weaker and more agitated if you continued to starve, and perhaps more grim, you would remain stuck in this odd limbo between death and vampirism.

He tried everything he could think of. You wouldn’t drink animal blood, from the body or in a glass, and you certainly refused human blood in either form too. Every time he broached the topic of sating your hunger you would cower away from him and shake your head, eyes screwed shut as you continued to deny the reality of your situation. Starvation brought forth only misery, that much Leon knew, misery and longing and weakness and worse, everything he didn’t want for you.

For two weeks you pushed back on the topic, insisting that if you couldn’t truly die, you would rather starve than take the life of another. As much as it pained him to see you this way, Leon appreciated that you could be so stubborn about your morals. He just wished it wouldn’t come at the cost of your own well-being.

He left you at the castle one night to go hunting himself. It wasn’t often he’d stumble into humans in these woods, especially during the winter, but he hoped he would get lucky for himself anyway. Leon burned a few hours stalking through the trees and all he had to show for it when he returned home was a few small animals that wouldn't last him more than two light meals, but it was better than nothing, he thought.

Then he stepped through the creaking castle doors and his nose perked up to the familiar rich scent of human blood-- thick and heady in the air, cloyingly sweet and indulgent. Intoxicated by it for the moment, it didn’t really dawn on him immediately what that meant… until he followed the scent from the foyer to the living room and found you.

You were on your knees in front of the fireplace, hunched over the writhing body of the village healer, her eyes wide and glassy as she choked out gurgled sounds of agony and clawed weakly at you to let her go. You didn’t even seem to notice Leon as he entered the room, a concerned grimace on his face, though it was accompanied by a tangible sense of relief that you were finally feeding.

“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, causing you to blink with confusion and look up at him through your lashes, the poor village healer’s carotid still clenched tightly between your teeth. “Easy now, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Your brows furrowed and you bit down a little bit harder, siphoning out a few final greedy gulps from the woman before dropping her from your grasp, your eyes still trained on Leon as her weak body flopped limply to the floor. His eyes softened with empathy as he looked you over, gore dribbling down your chin and the front of your white dress, your stomach puffy like an engorged tick. Now that you weren’t feeding anymore it would seem you made the same realization he had, the fog of desire clearing in your brain to make room for the shame and discomfort. With a soft whimper, you reached for him with both arms outstretched, but otherwise didn’t move.

Leon gave you a nod of understanding before scooping you up into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carried you out of the parlor. “My poor baby,” he sighed softly, “It gets easier, I promise. I’m so proud of you.”

He ran a hot bath for you and left you to soak for a while as he got to work cleaning up the mess you’d made. The village healer was barely clinging to what remained of her life, and while he was extremely tempted to nurse her back to health and keep her around to continue feeding on, he knew it would hurt you. He could already tell you hated yourself for victimizing her in the first place, the very same woman who’d tried so hard to save your life just weeks ago and who was responsible for ensuring the health of the entire village, which included your friends and family.

So he mopped up the blood, bottled what he could and wrapped her wounds to the best of his ability before compelling her to forget, dumping her just at the edge of the trees outside the village so someone would find her in the morning.

When he returned again, tired and dirtied from hauling an unconscious woman through the woods on your behalf, you were still relaxing in the tub. The water was tinted pink from all the blood and you still looked a bit swollen in the middle, but the color was returning to your skin and the expression on your face was one of such complete exhaustion that he wasn’t sure if you were actually conscious at first, until your gaze fluttered up to meet his.

Leon let out a deep, sweet sigh, sitting on the bench beside the porcelain clawfoot bath as he took your hand in his and whispered, “What am I going to do with you, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you said just as quietly, bottom lip quivering as you continued to drift back down from your blood-induced daze. “I d-didn’t want to h-hurt her…”

“Shh, shh, I know, darling,” his other hand came forward to pet gently through your wet hair. “She’s going to be alright, I made sure of that. But this can’t happen again, okay? I’ll help you get control of your urges, I promise, but you have to listen to me.”

You were nodding along as he spoke, clutching his hand and shivering in the hot bath. Even transformed you were still fragile. Leon wanted nothing more than to care for you like the fine china you were.

It was fun watching you learn how to walk, so to speak. You were like a baby deer, taking careful steps and looking back at him for reassurance after each one, like his guidance was all you could think to cling to. While your gingerly approach to things was incredibly endearing, he loved watching you grow to love your new abilities with an innocent sense of excitement that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not in himself or in anyone else, really.

You’d taken to exploring the rafters and the view of things from the ceiling, leaving the candles in your room unlit all night just so you could bask in how odd and cool it felt to see so well in the dark. It scared the moonlight out of him every time, when he would scour every inch of the castle in search of you just to find you perched criss-cross on the ceiling, lost in a lengthy novel in a pitch black room.

But he would never scold you, never tell you ‘no.’ In his mind that was a very important lesson for you to learn, one that would open you up to endless possibilities and happiness in an otherwise bleak state of consciousness.

So, when your small voice chimed in from the parlor ceiling one night and startled him more than he’d like to admit, and you asked him a deceptively simple question– “What now?”-- he knew exactly how he wanted to respond.

“Indulge,” he said just as simply, sitting calmly down on the chaise lounge to look up at you, hanging from the rafters by your knees. “Let me ask you this. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You took pause, humming in thought for a moment. All your life you were never much of a forward thinker because you didn't really have to be. You lived your little old life moment by moment, taking extra special care to appreciate the here and now. You had good friends, a loving family, a beautiful community, food on your plate and a warm bed to return home to every night. That didn’t leave you wanting for much.

Finally, you spoke shyly, "I guess I always wanted to fall in love."

It was so quiet, if he was still human, he wouldn’t have heard you. But he wasn’t, and he did. The corner of his lip tugged up into an endeared and somewhat amused expression, baring the sharp edge of his right canine.

Leon adjusted his posture, sinking back into the couch to gaze up at you, trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking between your legs where your upside-down position left your skirt flipped up nearly to your waist. He cleared his throat softly and cooed, “You poor thing, you’ve never loved before?”

Your face burned and you avoided his eyes, stretching your arms out toward the floor just to give yourself something to do. “N-No,” you began, smoothing your skirt out over your thighs just to watch it ride up again. With a short huff of breath you pulled yourself back up into a normal sitting position on the rafters, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I just never had the chance.”

“What, not enough fish in your little pond?” He teased, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You laughed, appreciating the way he eased the tension, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “I mean, yeah, the dating pool made for a better puddle.”

“I figured as much.”

A comfortable silence blanketed over the parlor, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace. You swung your feet idly back and forth, watching the warm flame as you asked aloud, “So… What does it feel like, then?”

“What does what feel like?” He responded, but he knew what you meant. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Y’know…” You kicked your frilly socked feet, “Love?”

“Well, sweetheart, that’s quite a broad question,” Leon began, patting the space next to him in an attempt to beckon you down from the rafters, and to his delight, the gesture succeeded. You dropped gracefully to the ground and fixed your skirt before curling up beside him on the other side of the couch, your legs tucked up beneath you. You couldn’t possibly be more adorable if you tried.

As you situated yourself at his side, he continued, “There are many different kinds of love. You love your family, and you love your friends, but you don’t love your family in the same way you love your friends, and vice versa. Correct?"

He watched your expression for a moment to ensure you were following along, and surely enough, you were. Your posture was relaxed but you remained dutifully at attention, just like a good little doll should.

Leon felt a pang of pride when you nodded.

“It’s the same thing, just a different kind of love. I’m not sure I know how to describe it, really,” he said, tracing his fingertips along your knee casually. “But I could show you?”

“Show me?” Your head tilted with that innocent curiosity he loved so much about you, and his heart melted all over again. “Show me how?”

He said something lowly and it took you a second to register it because right after, he took your chin in his hand and drew you in for a kiss. Only after your lips collided did your brain recognize his words as, ‘Like this.’

With one hand cradling the back of your head and the other still tracing little shapes on your leg, Leon’s embrace felt all-consuming and overwhelmingly safe. Through it all, you really did trust him. Your fangs knocked together as he pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, making your head spin and your brows furrow in concentration. It felt incredible, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, but the nerves kept you tense and you couldn’t help but fear you were doing a poor job.

So you let him lead. You resigned yourself to the feeling of his cold lips on your own and his tongue exploring your waiting mouth, his broad hands keeping you pressed against him and feeling slowly up the length of your thigh. His touch made you shiver and tingle in unfamiliar but exhilarating ways and when he eventually pulled away, you were left panting for breath and wanting for more.

He watched your face in an attempt to gauge how you were feeling, and it was evident you enjoyed it. Leon felt a rush knowing he had effectively just turned a new leaf in your training.

You had finally learned to walk. Now it was time for you to sprint.

Leon brushed your hair away from your shoulder, baring your neck to him. He’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to sink his teeth into you. He wished he could have tasted you fresh, when you were still living, but he would settle for the alternative, and truthfully, it didn't even feel like settling. Especially not when your syrupy sweet blood hit his tongue and pulled a deep, guttural moan from the core of him, his pearlescent eyes rolling back in a display of momentarily mindless rapture. It was unexpectedly hot to see him react to you in such a way. No one had ever expressed such intense need for you, and you were so hung up on it that you barely noticed your thighs subtly shifting together.

But Leon was observant as ever, of course, the movement in no way making it past his keen attention-- you were too precious, too virginal for your own good. He wanted to ruin you, he wanted to tear you apart piece by piece and savor you like holy communion, to pump your undead heart with his own two hands until the end of time, his beautiful baby, his fragile little doll, his corpse bride, his darling and beloved consort.

You were both gasping for breath as he pulled away from your throat, remnants of your tart cherry blood smudged around his pallid lips. Blessed be the gift of undeath, Leon thought to himself, for it granted him the ability to feed from you without consequence-- and vice versa-- to strengthen your bond in the most intimate way imaginable time and time and time again. It still made you dizzy, of course, light and a bit tingly all over, but Leon didn't see that as a bad thing, and as it stood, you didn't seem to either.

He was just trying to come up with a smooth way to tempt you into tasting his own blood, but found himself pleasantly surprised by your initiative.

"Can I try?" You practically purred, your sweet voice all hushed and breathy as your dainty little hand crept up his shoulder, palm coming to rest at the leftmost side of his strong neck.

As you caressed the pad of your thumb over the icy expanse of his skin, you couldn't help but notice the faint, scarred over marks that were dotted about, barely-there dips and craters telling a story that suggested decades of indulgence like this, decades of past lovers, and your heart inexplicably clenched in your chest. Suddenly you were overtaken with the desire to leave your own mark there, much more prominent and recent than any of those faded old others.

Leon was quick to give you his consent, of course, and that was all it took for your mind to snap into a completely different mode of function. The highest points of your mouth were flooding with saliva and the lowest points were pooling with it, slicking your puffy lips as your tongue fell forward to drag a deep, wanton lick up the length of his cold carotid. Then, as anticipated, you helped yourself to a healthy bite of him.

And just like that, you had discovered a new infatuation, as he knew you would. You were bonding yourselves to one another in real time, creating a connection that not even true death could break.

You nearly went weak with how overwhelming it felt, like drinking down pure heaven, hardly even noticing you were moving for a moment as you crawled mindlessly into his lap to straddle him, grinding deep and slow. The pheromones in his sap made your head spin, bringing about the kind of spontaneous sensuality that you'd only ever felt after one too many glasses of mead, the kind that loosened your bones and tinged at your cheeks, the kind that called warmth to bloom at the pit of your stomach.

The flavor of him was coppery and rich, but balanced, a bit dull from undeath but otherwise magnificent. That it was faint only made you want for more.

"Easy, easy," Leon grunted quietly in your ear, reaching a hand up to card through your hair at the back of your head. "Don't drink too fast, little princess... just breathe..."

But it would seem you weren't really listening to him, and that needed to change. Thankfully, Leon knew just the way to grasp your attention.

Letting one arm slip between your two bodies, he wedged his hand down, down, down, until it dipped beneath your skirt to close his palm over the sticky cotton of your panties. That you were already leaking through the fabric like a busted faucet was perfect. You were an absolutely perfect little untouched virgin, and thanks to him, your body would remain that way forever, ripe for his plucking.

Bringing down some pressure on your clit with the base of his palm, testing your reaction, he reveled in the way you whimpered on his throat and unlatched to finally suck in a breath, rutting to meet his attention without a second thought, so easily captivated by such slight stimulation. He couldn't wait to show you more, but he'd need to work you open first. He didn't want your first time to be painful, after all.

Leon took you at the waist and moved to put you on your back, hovering above your spread out form on the chaise lounge and pinning you there in the most delicate way possible. Every bit of that attention to detail paid off.

"My precious doll... my most delicate princess," he sighed reverently, stooping low to breathe you in at the neck again, laving his tongue over the bite he'd left just moments ago. "This is what true love feels like, and I wish to share it with you for eternity..."

He let you ponder that as he continued, working you carefully out of your clothes, finding it cute how you seemed to shift and arch along with him to help him get you naked, like you just couldn't wait. In your pretty doe eyes, your undead life had just begun.

It was a bit strange at first, feeling his finger sink into you, but it wasn't long before Leon was seeking out your soft spots and doing an excellent job of it, no less. He curled and pumped one finger carefully in you until he was sure you were comfortable, until he felt any remaining tension in your muscles melt away, and then he introduced a second. You were so wet and so absorbed by the feeling of it all that you almost didn't notice at first, but that delicious stretch was impossible to miss.

"O-Oh," you quivered, head falling back against the plush velvet beneath you as you bucked into his hand.

With an appreciative hum, Leon allowed himself to become a little less careful with his ministrations, watching your reactions with interest as he worked you open on his fingers, his infatuation with you growing more and more with every moan and whine, every flutter of your silky walls.

"There you go, little one," he cooed, "you like that, don't you?"

Your response was barely more than an airy nod, but it delighted him anyway. How could it not? You were just too sweet for words, too cute to handle. You could've done or said anything in that moment and he would have adored it all the same.

Nipping playfully at your throat, fingers still pumping dutifully in and out of your drippy cunt, his lips trailed up to your ear so he could ask in a sultry whisper, "Think you can take more?"

The next several seconds were a blur of impassioned movement, each of you weaving around one another to shed the elder vampire of his own ensemble, revealing his carved marble frame piece-by-piece. You were amazed by the strength in his shoulders, how smooth and soft his skin was from being kept away from the sun for so long, the dark blonde trail of hair that disappeared below his belt, only for its path to be revealed upon the long-awaited removal of his trousers.

Leon's cock was painfully hard, tip flushed red and weeping with milky beads of precum as he freed himself from his confines at last. He felt the intense need to give it a few strokes with how pent up he was at this point, but he didn't see a point in wasting any time pleasuring himself when you were right there, skirt hiked up to your waist while you laid there panting and leaking your arousal all over his nice furniture. With a pout that pretty, it would be a disservice not to fuck you until you cried.

He angled your hips with one hand and lined himself up with the other, pushing in slowly. Your expression screwed tight for a short moment as the swollen head of him caught at your hole, an opportune moment of distraction for him to sink in deeper, stretching you out until he hit the root, drawing a shocked cry from your throat that gave way to a pleasured whine just as quickly as it came.

So he began to move, wanting to draw out that gorgeous sound for as long as you would allow him to hear it. Your cunt was so fucking tight, pulsing and squeezing around his shaft like you were made for it, made for him, delivered to him by fate so that he might just get to fuck you like this forever and ever, and in that moment, he knew he made the right choice in sharing his gift with you. For the first time in recent memory, the future felt bright.

"L... L-Leon..." You babbled, hooking one leg over his hip for purchase just to find out it allowed him to prod that much deeper. You went boneless at the feeling, finding strength only in your ability to claw at his shoulders for dear life, the faint scent of his blood lingering in the air and making your head spin. "Feels... g-good... so good... don't stop..."

He wouldn't dream of it.

Fingertips printing into your thighs, he pulled your legs up to rest over his shoulders instead, driving you down into the soft couch in a firm mating press. You were nose to nose, needy lips catching and fangs clacking between filthy words and gasps for breath as you felt his presence envelope you fully. Leon was in you, on you, around you...

Leon was your home now. Leon was where you laid to rest.

For the first time in your undead life, you felt your body licking with heat, temperature rising steadily at the pit of you and threatening to hit a fever pitch. Every inch of him lit you up from the inside.

"Oh, my baby," he groaned, letting go of you with one hand just to swipe his silvery blonde hair away from his face so he could gaze at you like a work of art. "You're getting close, aren't you? Squeezing me so tight like that..."

"Yeah," you whined, even though you weren't fully sure what it even felt like to be close. You weren't dumb, you knew what orgasms were, you'd just never had one yourself, and as such, you had no basis for comparison.

Leon aimed to fix that, to make damn sure you familiarized yourself with the feeling over the course of your shared eternity.

His thrusts picked up with renewed vigor, the legs of the old chaise lounge scratching against the hardwood floors with every push forward, and he didn't even care. Everything else about life felt so worthless in comparison to you, the new center of his universe. The whole entire house could collapse and he would still be content, so long as he had you.

And every time he remembered that he did have you, that you were here with him right now, squirming and rutting on his cock so beautifully, that he was all you had... it just drove him that much crazier, made him that much more determined to make your first time one you would never forget. He couldn't be happier to spend the entire rest of his endless life topping the last performance.

You were losing your grip, struggling to keep your eyes open and eventually sinking your itching fangs into what you could reach of his throat just to push yourself a little higher, a little closer. The flavor alone made you purr against his skin, jaw clenching tighter, and the delicious sting of it was pushing him forward too. Now his biggest concern wasn't just making sure you came, but making sure that you came first.

So he withheld, even as his balls drew up tight and ached to release, focusing instead on getting you there.

"Don't be shy, princess, I've got you," Leon moaned into your ear, "let it happen... just let it happen..."

Tears pricked at your eyes, the overabundance of stimulation rendering you down into a tearful little puddle, but it wasn't until he spoke up to encourage you that you realized you really were holding back, stalling yourself at the precipice like it was wrong to let go.

But it wasn't wrong. It was divine. It was indulgent.

Sucking back a mouthful of his blood, you unlatched from Leon's neck just to press your forehead against his own, your jaw stuck open in stilted whines and gasps for breath as that molten heat in your belly finally boiled over, and you discovered exactly what it was you were close to.

Your spine drew up into an arch, toes curling over his shoulders as you came on his length with a cry, thighs trembling with strain. Leon had never been baptized before, but it felt like he was just now. He'd never felt so close to God as he allowed himself to finish deep inside your perfect pussy.

You collapsed together in the afterglow, the parlor going quiet again as you both caught your breath and your bearings, a heaping pile of mess on velvet.

"Leon," you whispered, kissing some of the excess blood away from his cold skin as you innocently and earnestly admitted, "I... I think I love you."

He cracked a fond smile at this, if only because he knew you would catch up in time. After all, you still had much to learn, and he didn't want to overwhelm you more than he already had for one evening.

"I love you too, little one."

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #vampire leon kennedy #vampire leon #dividers by saradika-graphics

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holyblonded · 3 months ago

Text

sweet 16 | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: olga makes a big deal about a day you don’t even want to celebrate

notes: shout out frank ocean cause i was listening to white ferrari and it inspired me

You can’t remember a single birthday that felt like yours.

Well, except for your quinceañera, but that didn’t count. That day was a blur of discomfort and glitter, the kind of extravagance that felt too loud, too fake. Your parents had come back out of nowhere, like ghosts from a past you tried not to think about, throwing a massive party with people you didn’t know and music that wasn’t even your taste. They’d smiled and posed for photos, pocketed every envelope of birthday money, and then disappeared again, vanishing just as quickly as they came. That night, you stood in the middle of the dance floor, in heels that pinched and a dress that didn’t feel like you, surrounded by strangers and wondering why you didn’t feel happy.

After that, birthdays stopped meaning anything. They were just another day. Usually spent on the pitch, grinding. Because that was the only place that felt real to you.

But this year was different. This year, you were in Barcelona. And this year, you were with Olga.

Unfortunately for you, Olga loved birthdays. She didn’t just like them, she loved them. The kind of person who started planning months in advance, who believed every birthday was sacred, a blessing, a milestone meant to be celebrated to the fullest. And the fact that she’d missed your quince? That lit a fire under her.

Your sixteenth birthday was coming up fast, and Olga had decided it was her mission to make it unforgettable. Which, of course, you were very against.

“Olga, please,” you begged, following her into the kitchen where she was stirring something in a pot and scrolling through her iPad at the same time. “I don’t want a big thing. Just— just let me chill.”

“No,” she said flatly, not even looking up. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m serious! I don’t want a party.”

“And I’m serious,” she said, turning to face you with that stubborn glint in her eyes. “You’re getting one.”

You threw your head back and groaned. “I hate parties!”

“No you don’t,” she said, waving her spoon at you. “You hate weird parties. This one’s going to be amazing.”

“I don’t even know anyone here.”

“So? We’ll invite the girls from the team. Sydney, Vicky, Alexia’s friends—”

“I don’t want strangers at my party!”

“They’re not strangers. You see them more than anyone else.”

You huffed, trying another angle. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I already ordered your outfit.”

“My hair’s gonna get frizzy.”

“You have a whole drawer of products.”

“It’s too expensive.”

“I have the budget covered.”

You stared at her. “Are you seriously not gonna let me win one argument?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully.

Defeated, you slumped into a chair. “This is so unfair.”

“Life’s unfair, cumpleañera. Now, what kind of cake do you want?” (Birthday girl)

Eventually, you gave up. There was no stopping the force that was Olga on a mission. She went right back to planning, flipping through a binder of ideas like this was a wedding, not a sweet sixteen.

You wandered into the living room, dragging your feet, and dropped onto the couch with a dramatic flop. Alexia looked up from where she was lounging on the other end, casually flipping through a magazine. She arched a brow.

“She’s still on her party planner mode?” she asked.

“She won’t listen to me,” you muttered, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I just want a quiet day. Maybe some cake at home. That’s it.”

Alexia gave a little smile. “Olga doesn’t do ‘quiet.’ Not when it comes to people she loves.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “But it’s so much. She’s on the phone right now trying to rent out a rooftop venue.”

Alexia glanced toward the kitchen, where she could faintly hear Olga saying something about table arrangements and lighting setups.

“She means well,” Alexia said after a moment. “She just… does it all a little extra.”

You sighed and let your hands fall into your lap. “She’s doing more for this birthday than anyone ever has. I know I should be grateful. I am. It’s just, y’know, too much.”

Alexia nodded. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t feel overwhelming. But maybe… let her do this one. For her. For you.”

You were quiet for a long time, watching the ceiling like it might offer answers. Then you muttered, “Fine. But I’m not dancing.”

Alexia smirked. “We’ll see.”

The sun was just beginning to warm the training pitch, but you were already sweating. Passing drills. Touch drills. Finishing drills. A standard day at Barça Femení training, and you were trying to focus, really, but your head was somewhere else. Somewhere between dreading your sixteenth birthday and trying to figure out how to survive Olga’s nonstop planning spree.

You were paired with Sydney and Vicky today, the three of you jogging back to your station after a water break. Sydney nudged you with her elbow.

“You good?” she asked, squinting at you. “You’ve been sighing all morning.”

You kicked a loose piece of turf. “It’s nothing, just… my birthday’s coming up.”

Vicky blinked. “Wait, what? Your birthday?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sydney’s mouth dropped a little. “You didn’t say anything. When is it?”

“In a few days.”

“Dude!” Vicky said, half-offended. “We had no idea!”

You shrugged again, eyes on the grass. “I don’t really talk about it.”

“Why not?” Sydney asked gently.

You hesitated, then let out a long breath. “I don’t really do birthdays. Like, at all. They’re kinda… complicated.”

Both girls quieted, their attention sharpening like they knew this was important.

“Back home, it was just another day,” you said. “Usually I just went to a park, shot balls into a fence, got in a run. Kept it chill.”

“That actually sounds nice,” Vicky said softly.

“Yeah, it was. Simple. Peaceful.”

Sydney gave you a look, eyes kind. “So what’s going on now?”

You groaned. “Olga’s going all out. Like—party planner, venue, decorations. I told her no a million times but she’s not hearing me.”

“Have you told her why you don’t want it?”

“I’ve tried,” you muttered. “But try reasoning with Olga when she gets like this. She acts like birthdays are sacred.”

Vicky nodded. “Oh yeah, she gets that look in her eyes like she’s already imagined the whole thing. There’s no stopping her once she starts.”

“She’s got this binder, guys. A binder.”

Sydney and Vicky both broke into laughter. “Okay, okay,” Sydney said. “That’s intense.”

You managed a small smile, grateful they weren’t making fun or pushing. Just listening.

“Still,” Vicky said gently, “maybe she’d get it if you really opened up to her.”

“Maybe,” you muttered, though you didn’t sound convinced.

Before they could respond, a whistle blew, signaling the next switch in partners.

You barely had time to look up before Alexia was beside you, sliding an arm around your shoulders like it was decided. “Let’s go, pequeña.”

You shot a betrayed look at Vicky and Sydney, but they just gave you encouraging thumbs-ups. Traitors.

The two of you jogged to your new drill station, working on tight ball control and finishing. For the first few minutes, you stayed quiet, just focusing on the movements, the touches, the runs.

Then Alexia spoke. “So. Birthday stress?”

You kicked the ball a little too hard. “You heard?”

She gave you a look. Of course she heard. You hesitated, trying to stay vague. “It’s just… not really my thing.”

“Not your thing, or something else?”

You didn’t answer right away, but from the corner of your eye, you saw Vicky and Sydney watching. Vicky gave you a look—tell her. Sydney nodded like she agreed.

You sighed. “Look. I’ve never really celebrated a birthday, okay?”

Alexia paused. “Never?”

You shook your head. “The one time I did… my parents showed up out of nowhere. Threw this huge quince. I didn’t know half the people there. They made it a big thing, and then they took all the money I got, dipped again. Haven’t heard from them since.”

Alexia’s expression softened immediately.

“So after that,” you continued, voice lower, “I just… stuck to doing my own tradition. Shoot some balls, run some drills. I like that. It’s simple. Quiet.”

Alexia didn’t say anything for a moment, just nodded slowly.

“I get that,” she said finally. “I do. But for Olga… she missed a lot of your life. She’s trying to make up for it. In the only way she knows how.”

You shrugged. “Yeah. I get it. But it’s overwhelming. All the noise, the people, the decorations. It doesn’t feel like me.”

The drills wrapped up shortly after, and the whistle blew for lunch. You were already plotting your escape route toward the locker rooms when Alexia slung her arm over your shoulder, gently stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re strong for telling me that. I’ll talk to Olga for you.”

Your head shot up. “Wait, really?”

She smirked, amused by how quickly your mood flipped. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve got some influence.”

You beamed. “Thank you.”

Alexia rolled her eyes playfully. “Go on. Vicky and Sydney are probably already hoarding dessert.”

You jogged off toward your friends, already feeling lighter. Maybe this birthday wouldn’t be so bad after all, not because of a big party, but because people finally saw you

The living room was calm and quiet for once, filled only with the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clink of Alexia’s spoon against her teacup. She sat curled up at one end of the couch, phone in hand, legs tucked beneath her, her face relaxed in a rare moment of stillness. Her eyes flicked now and then toward Olga, who sat beside her, laptop perched on her thighs, posture tense, brows knitted in fierce concentration as she scrolled through an online catalog of evening dresses.

“Do you think she’d like red?” Olga asked out of the blue, shifting her body slightly to angle the screen toward Alexia.

On the screen was an extravagant, designer gown. It shimmered with every scroll of the mouse— floor length, with a dramatic slit, glimmering stones across the bodice. It looked more like something meant for a gala or a film premiere than a sixteenth birthday party. Alexia blinked once, eyes scanning the price before flicking up to meet Olga’s face. She reached out and gently closed the laptop with a quiet click.

“Lex,” Olga frowned, confused and a little offended. “I wasn’t finished.”

“You need to be,” Alexia said, her tone soft but firm.

Olga sat back slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She doesn’t want this, Olga.”

Olga let out a small breath of disbelief, shaking her head. “Yes, she does. She just doesn’t know it yet. She acts like she doesn’t care, but that’s just her thing. She would’ve told me if she really didn’t want it.”

“She did tell you,” Alexia replied, steady and calm. “You just didn’t listen.”

That silenced Olga.

She looked at Alexia, her mouth parted like she was going to argue, but the older woman’s tone kept her still. Alexia sat forward slightly, setting her mug on the coffee table.

“She told me at training today. Me, Sydney, and Vicky. She said birthdays feel… hollow to her. Like they’ve never belonged to her, like they were never really about her.”

Olga’s brows pulled together as Alexia continued.

“She’s never had a real birthday. Not one she wanted. Her parents threw her a quince, yeah—but it wasn’t for her. They invited strangers, made a big show, took the birthday money and disappeared. She hasn’t heard from them since. That’s the memory that really stuck.”

Olga’s face began to shift, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes filled. “No…”

“She told me she’s spent every birthday on a football pitch. Just another day. Just training, grinding. Trying to be the best. And she was fine with that, Olga. It made her feel in control, like it was hers again.”

Olga wiped at her face quickly, as if the tears were a mistake. “Why didn’t she say anything to me?”

“She did, cariño,” Alexia said gently, reaching over to rest a hand on her arm. “She tried. But you were so excited, already calling vendors, talking about decorations. She didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

“I thought—” Olga’s voice cracked, and she shook her head as more tears slipped free. “I thought I was doing something good. I thought this would make up for everything she didn’t get. I just wanted her to feel… special.”

“She knows you wanted that,” Alexia reassured. “But this party doesn’t feel special to her. It feels overwhelming. Like a performance she doesn’t want to give.”

“I missed so much,” Olga whispered. “I lost contact with her for so long. If I had known, if I’d seen what was happening to her, I would’ve—”

“You’re here now,” Alexia said, voice firm but kind. “And you love her. But loving her means listening, too. Loving her means showing her that she doesn’t have to prove anything to deserve kindness.”

Olga sank into the couch, eyes glazed, heart heavy with guilt. “She’s just a kid. My baby sister. She shouldn’t have to explain why she doesn’t want a party. She shouldn’t feel like she owes anyone a smile just because it’s her birthday.”

“No,” Alexia agreed. “But that’s the world she grew up in. That’s what she learned. And now we have to unlearn it for her.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Olga finally reached over and opened the laptop again, not to keep browsing, but to close every tab she had open. She shut the device slowly, let it rest on the coffee table, and pulled a blanket into her lap. Her hands were shaking just a little.

Across the city, you were sprawled on a grassy patch at random quiet park, surrounded by Sydney, Vicky, Ona, Jana, Patri, Pina, and Salma. You were laughing mid-story, eyes lit up for once, as you described a ridiculous training moment with exaggerated flair. You had no idea what was happening back home. You had no idea someone had finally heard you.

For the first time in years, you weren’t dreading your birthday. You were just being sixteen. And you were safe.

The front door slammed shut behind you as you kicked off your sneakers with the lazy force of someone who’d spent all day on their feet.

“I’m back!” you called, voice echoing through the apartment. “And I swear to God if someone finished the cereal—”

You didn’t even finish the sentence before you heard footsteps, fast ones, and suddenly Olga was there, arms wrapped tight around you like she thought you were about to disappear.

You froze. Like actually froze.

Your arms stayed at your sides, stiff and confused, your body tense. Olga didn’t say anything at first, just held you like she was trying to squeeze every ounce of guilt out of herself. And slowly, cautiously, your muscles relaxed. Your arms came up and curled around her, kind of awkward, kind of unsure. But they were there. You let her hold you.

“…Okay, what’s wrong?” you mumbled into her shoulder, voice wary. “Did someone die? Did I die? Are we in the afterlife?”

Olga gave a wet laugh that turned almost immediately into a sniffle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her eyes were glossy and red-rimmed. “I’m so, so sorry. For not listening. For not hearing you. And for… for not being there sooner. For not saving you when you needed someone.”

You blinked. “Okay, uh… wow. Where’s this coming from?”

“I should’ve known what was happening,” she whispered. “I should’ve found you earlier.”

You frowned, a little overwhelmed, but you reached up and brushed a curl off your forehead. “Olga,” you said, voice quieter now, “you’re here now. That’s what matters. You did save me.”

That sentence just broke her. Like fully broke her.

Her face crumpled, and she let out a soft sob as she pulled you back into a hug, crying now for real. Not soft movie tears. Full-on weeping into your shoulder. Her body shook with it, and your eyes widened as you stood frozen in her arms.

“Uhhhh,” you said, patting her back like she was a malfunctioning printer. “Alexia?”

From the kitchen, Alexia let out a very unhelpful laugh, where she sat perched at the island with a glass of tea.

“Alexia, help me!” you pleaded, your voice somewhere between desperate and traumatized. “She’s leaking! What do I do?!”

Alexia set her tea down, still grinning. “You comfort her.”

“I don’t know how to do that!”

“Just hold her,” Alexia said, smug. “Tell her it’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not a Care Bear, Lex! I don’t do emotions like this!”

Olga was still clinging to you, sniffling into your shirt, while you stared at Alexia like she’d just told you to perform surgery.

Alexia leaned forward, eyes dancing. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. The overly affectionate big sister who wants to hug the world, and the emotionally stunted gremlin who thinks feelings are contagious.”

“I do not—” you started, but then Olga let out another sob and your arms immediately tightened around her.

You sighed. “Okay, fine. Feelings aren’t contagious. But they’re definitely… wet. Why is crying so wet?”

“Because it’s healthy,” Alexia said, smug as ever.

You rolled your eyes and looked down at Olga, who was still in the thick of it. Her face buried in your hoodie now, her fingers gripping tight like she was afraid you’d vanish if she let go.

You softened a little. “I mean it,” you murmured, rubbing her back a little more naturally now. “You saved me, Mana. Maybe not then. But you did now. So don’t cry over something that’s already fixed, okay?” (Sister)

Olga pulled back just enough to see your face, her own streaked with tears, and nodded. Her lips wobbled into a smile. “Okay.”

You let out a breath. “Okay good. Because I don’t know what I’d do if you started snotting on my hoodie. This thing is vintage.”

Alexia burst out laughing almost spilling her tea.

Olga laughed through her tears, finally stepping back, and you caught her wiping her face with her sleeves, still kind of a mess but a little steadier.

Alexia raised her glass of tea. “To sisterhood. One hugs too much, the other panics at mild human contact.”

You flipped her off without even looking. But when Olga looped her pinky through yours a second later, you didn’t pull away.

You woke up before the sun even touched the skyline.

There was something about birthdays that made your chest feel heavy the moment you opened your eyes. Not because you were excited, not because it was special. Just… because it always felt like something was missing. And maybe that something used to be people. But now? You weren’t even sure anymore. It was like your body remembered something your heart didn’t know how to name.

So instead of waiting around for the feeling to settle into sadness, instead of letting your thoughts spiral the way they usually did on days like this, you got up. Quietly. Carefully. Slipped out from under the blanket. Pulled on your hoodie, tugged it low over your face. Tied your sneakers tight. And then you left, keys in your pocket, phone on silent, the world still asleep around you.

Barcelona’s streets were still half-dreaming. Everything was bathed in blue-gray light, the kind that made the buildings look softer, the roads smoother, like the city had taken a breath and held it. You liked it like that, when the world was slow, when nothing demanded anything from you, when you didn’t have to brace yourself.

You walked quietly, hands in your pockets, head down as your feet carried you to the place that always made you feel a little more grounded.

Your café. The one tucked into the corner of an old street, just out of the way enough to be quiet, just cozy enough to feel like it could belong to you and no one else. With the ivy that curled around the windows and the little mismatched chairs on the terrace. The one that reminded you of home, before things got bad. Or maybe it just reminded you of the idea of home. What it could’ve been.

You pushed the door open. The soft jingle of the bell above the door felt like it greeted you personally.

“Lavender hojicha latte,” you murmured to the barista.

They smiled at you, soft, familiar. “Azulita, right?”

You blinked. Word had gotten around.

You hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “Yeah.”

“I saw you play at the last game again

Atletico. Great job.”

Latte in hand, you made your way to the park just a few streets over. The one no one else ever seemed to use. The goalposts were rusted and crooked. The grass was patchy. But it was yours. You set your bag down, took out your ball, and started shooting.

There were no drills. No cones. No schedule. Just you, the ball, and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

It was instinct. Therapy. Religion.

You didn’t think about anything, just moved. Your touches were light. Your strikes were clean. Every shot hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud. And for a little while, there was nothing else in the world but the ball and the sky and the ache in your legs.

By the time you stopped, your hoodie was stuck to your back with sweat, and the sun was high overhead. You checked your phone for the first time all morning.

12:04 PM.

“Damn,” you muttered, more amused than anything.

You packed your stuff and walked home slowly, almost lazily, letting the wind cool you off. When you stepped into the apartment, it was quiet. Peaceful. Still.

You dropped your bag by the door, kicked your shoes off into a corner, peeled off your hoodie and tossed it onto a chair. Then you collapsed onto the couch face-first, arms flopping dramatically to the sides.

Just for a minute, you told yourself. That minute turned into a full nap.

You didn’t stir until you felt fingers brushing your hair back gently and someone whispering your name like they were scared to wake you.

“Azulita…” Olga’s voice.

You groaned sleepily but didn’t move. Then came a hand on your back, rubbing in slow, steady circles. Alexia. You didn’t even have to look to know.

You let out a soft breath. Your body relaxed into the touch before your mind even caught up. “Mmmph… what time is it?” you asked, voice raspy with sleep.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm, blinking against the soft light coming through the curtains. When your vision finally cleared, you stilled.

Olga and Alexia stood in front of you, side by side, both smiling, both holding a small cake between them.

“Happy birthday,” Alexia said, her voice warm.

You stared. The cake wasn’t big. It wasn’t extravagant. Chocolate frosting, a handful of rainbow sprinkles, homemade. One candle burning slowly in the middle.

But what undid you completely were the words piped in careful cursive across the top:

“Happy Birthday to my Little Blue.”

Your breath hitched. That name. Blue. It was the kind of nickname that only meant something when it came from her. From Olga. From the days before it all went sideways. When you were just a messy little kid clinging to her big sister’s arm, trusting her with everything. When she would whisper “my little Blue” into your hair as she braided it. When she was all you had, and then, she wasn’t.

You blinked fast, but the tears welled anyway. “This is…” you tried to say, voice cracking. “This is my first birthday cake.”

Olga stepped forward, her eyes soft. “Then it had to be the right one.”

You looked between them, at Alexia’s kind eyes and Olga’s trembling smile. Your chest felt tight in a different way now, not because something was missing. But because something was finally there.

Love. Safety. A home you never thought you’d have.

You looked down at the candle, flickering gently, and tried to breathe through the lump in your throat.

“Make a wish, Blue,” Olga whispered.

Your eyes stung. You closed them. And you didn’t even hesitate.

“I wish you never leave me,” you whispered, so soft only they could hear.

Then you blew out the candle. Silence fell over the room— gentle, sacred. Like even the air knew not to disturb it.

Olga was already crying again, the way she always did when her heart got too full. Alexia gently handed the cake off to set it down, then wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her, holding her like she always did.

And you just sat there, stunned. Small. Full of something you didn’t even have a name for.

This wasn’t some big party. There were no cameras, no balloons. No forced smiles. Just a cake. A nickname. A wish you meant with everything in you.

And for the first time in your life, your birthday didn’t feel like a bruise waiting to happen. It felt like a promise. Like a beginning. Like home.

#woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #olga rios x reader #·˚ ༘ something blue

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jesuistrestriste · 2 months ago

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hey sage.. so i’ve been thinking about nerdy scientist!art.. i need someone to hear my plea

venus ! ! ! art is canonically really smart so yea. i see this. he was definitely pretty nerdy in high school and it followed him into his college years..

cw (18+) : nerdy!art, mutual touching, coming in pants,

nerdy!art who approaches you after your guys’ organic chemistry class to offer you tutoring services, claiming that he’s heard you talk to others about how you’re struggling with the topics. he smiles all sweet, backpack slung over one shoulder, blonde ringlets hanging in front of his forehead. it’s hard to resist his kindness. you agree.

you meet him in his dorm room a few days later on the weekend and are met with the smell of him wafting through the space. the light scent of sandalwood shampoo and fresh clothes and open books. he ushers you in and beckons you over to his bed, getting out his laptop and beginning to walk you through his notes. he’s incredibly attentive, too—always checking in to make sure you understand what he’s explaining, and always calling out the confused expression that spreads over your face silently when you’re lost. he laughs and shakes his head, “ask me anything, i’m like a human textbook. it’s actually kinda sad.”

after a few hours though, it gets dark. the two of you are left—still studying—in his room, with a singular desk lamp on in the corner. his thigh brushes your own; an accident. but it’s not a mistake when you turn to meet his eyes for the millionth time and you suddenly feel the need to repay him for his time and effort. you kiss him, and he instantly goes boneless against you. he parts his lips instinctually to give you full access to his mouth, his tongue soft and slick and waiting for yours. the moan that spills from his chest when you kiss him harder is lewd, almost egregiously so, but it doesn’t slow him down or embarrass him. he’s too caught up in the feeling of hot ache bursting in his lower stomach, his erection definitely tenting his sweatpants. fingers creep over your thigh, pulling you closer. then he breaks the kiss to mumble into the corner of your mouth, “oh my god, can i touch you? you’re so warm, fuck—“

he feels like he could finish right then and there. when you respond by crashing your mouth into his neck, he slides his hand down the front of your bottoms to seek out your arousal. moans when he finds it with his fingertips and begins gently caressing you with slow, stuttered circles of his digits. your hand finds his bulge and then it’s nearly over—

“fuck!” he whimpers, curling forward, “fuck, fuck, i’m sorry, im gonna come if you touch me like that..”

but you don’t care. you don’t want to stop. what does it matter if he finishes fast? it’s flattering. you wonder if he’s a virgin.

your touch wraps around his clothed length and gives it four slow tugs before he’s choking on a wet whine and grasping at your shirt with his free hand, his fingertips halting on your sex. you feel his cock throb with the thrums of his orgasm, and you smirk as you kiss his jaw. he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle the resulting groan.

“sorry.. so sorry..” the words come out breathless and flustered into your frame, his entire body still twitching as he comes down, “i don’t usually—.. hngh.. —that fast.. god..”

you shrug. you tell him it’s no big deal, and how you’re chill with it. you make sure to emphasize how hot it is that he’s sensitive. he lets out a shaky sigh.

“i selfishly hope that you don’t do super well on the quiz,” he whispers, “so you can come back here next week and.. and we can do this all over again..”

you lathe your tongue over his pulse. he shudders like he’s being shocked; tense and erratic.

—

you get a few questions wrong—on purpose—on the knowledge check so that you can present the low grade to him afterwards. he smiles nervously and leans in, “come with me back to mine? i just made a new set of flashcards..”

it only takes five minutes of being back in his dorm before you’re all over each other; your hand in his hair, his hips pressed to yours, his moans filling your head.

best tutor ever.

#venus oh my god i realized halfway thru writing this that i was simply writing nerdy!art instead of nerdy SCIENTIST!art and i apologize #i am thinking of writing another blurb about the scientist version of him #i hope this suffices <3 #sage’s asks #💌 - mutuals #venus<33 #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #🌸 - ask prompts #nerdy!art

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anghimalaaynasapuso · 4 months ago

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Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

so he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

#📌 simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #📥 mail

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songbirdseung · 30 days ago

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𝑭𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑹 oh no, his favorite person is at home sick with a high fever while he has to be stuck at work. although, that won't stop him from taking care of you.

Jungwon was known for a few things, like consistency, quiet determination, and a heart so full of love it almost spilled over.

He had this calm energy, this constant presence that was always dependable, always steady. You never had to wonder if he’d show up. He always did.

And you were the same for him. His light. His grace. His balance. The one thing that made the whirlwind of his world feel manageable.

But today wasn’t like every other day.

But now, you were stuck in bed with a high temperature, coughing, sneezing, all that "fun" stuff. when you were supposed to be backstage of his show, waiting with that proud smile he loved so much. The one that made his nerves disappear the moment he caught your eyes.

You were stuck in bed, buried beneath layers of blankets, face flushed with fever, head pounding, nose stuffy, and lungs aching with every cough. Everything hurt. Your limbs felt like lead. And your heart? That hurt too, knowing you wouldn’t be there for him tonight.

You should’ve been there. You always were.

Back at the venue, Jungwon was already dressed, mic on, hair styled, but his eyes kept darting to the dressing room door. He couldn’t sit still. Fidgeting with his sleeves, with the hem of his shirt, with his phone screen, his chat log with you still open. No reply yet.

“Jungwon, relax and sit down,” Jay said gently, tugging at his sleeve. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

But Jungwon barely heard him. His eyes kept flicking to the door.

“She’s not here yet, hyung. It’s not like her.” His voice was quiet, but tight.

Everyone tried to reassure him, staff, members, stylists. Maybe it was traffic. Maybe her phone died. Maybe she was already on her way in through another entrance.

But he couldn’t focus. Not on the stage. Not on rehearsals. Not on the fans waiting just outside the curtain.

His phone. The door. The clock.

Repeat.

Time was ticking. The show was starting in thirty minutes, and he still hadn’t heard from you. Then the manager walked in.

He paused in front of Jungwon, expression unreadable, like he was weighing something carefully.

Jungwon stood instantly. “Hyung? Is she okay?”

The manager hesitated. Just for a second. Then nodded. “Yeah, she’s fine. Said she couldn’t make it. Something came up. But she’s okay.”

The lie wasn’t harsh. It was gentle, soft-edged. Crafted with the exact tone you’d begged the manager to use when you called earlier. Because you knew. You knew Jungwon wouldn’t be able to focus if he found out you were sick. And you didn’t want to be the reason he lost even an ounce of joy from the stage he loved so much.

So he did what you asked.

And Jungwon, reluctantly, believed him.

He went on stage. Performed. Smiled. Interacted with fans. He gave his all because that’s what he does. That’s what you love about him.

But when the confetti settled, when the lights dimmed and the after-show cheers turned into quiet congratulations and celebration…

The happiness didn’t stick.

Not once he walked through the front door of your shared space, already reaching for his phone to call you. Not once he kicked off his shoes, humming under his breath, only to freeze when he turned the corner and saw you.

There you were, bundled up in bed. Skin pale, cheeks too warm. Blankets tangled from tossing and turning. Sweat clinging to your hairline. Eyes barely open. Lips dry. Weak coughs rattling your chest.

You didn’t even register he was home.

But he was already moving.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was the only thing louder than his footsteps. He crossed the room in a heartbeat, falling to his knees by your side.

“Y/n,” he breathed, brushing hair from your forehead. His voice cracked. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parting but no words came out.

“I thought you were okay- I was told-” His hands trembled as he touched you, checking your forehead, your hands, your flushed cheeks. “You’re burning up.”

You tried to shake your head, but it felt too heavy. “Didn’t… want you to worry,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed again.

“Of course I’m going to worry.” His voice softened but cracked again. “You’re everything to me. You think I’d enjoy any part of today knowing you were like this?”

He was already up, grabbing a cool cloth, water, medicine from the cabinet. He moved quickly, focused, but his heart was racing. He helped you sit up just enough to sip water, to take the fever meds, then gently wiped your face with the cloth, his brows drawn together in concern.

“I should’ve come home sooner,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You reached for his hand, your grip weak but there. “You were amazing today… I watched online…”

His eyes met yours again, glassy with something close to tears. “Don’t do that again. Don’t hide from me. If you’re hurting, I want to know. I need to know.”

You nodded softly, and he leaned in to kiss your temple. “I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t.

Jungwon sat beside you, curled up with your hand in his, whispering little things as your breathing slowed. Every now and then he’d touch your hair, your shoulder, just to reassure himself you were still right there.

He didn’t go out to celebrate with the others. He celebrated by holding you through the night. Because to him, this—you, safe in his arms—was what really mattered.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #jungwon enhypen #yang jungwon x you #enhypen jungwon #yang jungwon imagines

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lovesickhughes · 4 months ago

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15 minutes | jack hughes

a/n: so i love sabrina's new deluxe album, and it really holds true: put me in a room with jack hughes and i can do a lot in 15 minutes. it's all i need. anyway, ENJOYYYYY. i wrote this in one sitting, not proofread very well so i apologize in advance. SEND IN REQUESTS I WOULD LOVE TO WRITE ANY IDEAS U HAVE 🩵

summary: i can do a lot in 15 minutes, only gonna take 2 to make you finish!

warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT– mdni [18+]. rough sex, jack hitting it from behind 🤭, p in v, praise kink, unprotected sex (PLEASE remember to always practice safe sex). if i missed anything please lmk!

wordcount: 2.8k

。·:*:･ﾟ★,。·:*:･ﾟ☆

Tonight was another one of those nights where your skin itched, and it craved to elicit some spark under Jack's tail.

Maybe it was the atmosphere, the dimly lit conference hall that was rented out by the team that was decorated with black and red decorations, the drinks buzzing through everyone's veins and the romantic music that carried throughout the space, or maybe it was simply the way Jack looked in his suit.

From the moment Jack soothed down the fabric of his blazer, your eyes trailed from his head to feet, soaking in his appearance and salivating at the sight of your handsome boyfriend.

It was moments like these where you were reminded how Jack had you completely wrapped around his finger, drowning in a puddle of your drool over how effortlessly Jack could pull off any look. From hockey gear, to fancy suits, or even when you found him in bed, with nothing on; there was nothing Jack couldn't pull off.

So as you stood next to Jack, perfectly tucked into his side as he talked to a few of his teammates and their families, a glass of liquor in his one hand while the other was occupied around your waist, his hand on the small of your back. The small gesture, and being so close to him, sent a buzz through your veins, your body temperature slowly increasing with anticipation as Jack never seemed to have you out of his reach.

From the moment you arrived, his hands were on you and you loved it. If anything, it was your favourite thing about him; how he always seemed to know all the right places to touch you, sending warmth through your body, and sparking butterflies to flutter in your stomach. Whether it was his hand being intertwined with yours as you walked through the venue, or when you stood at the bar and his hand rubbed up and down against the fabric of your dress that splayed down your back, you itched beneath your skin to get some sort of release that was pent up as the night progressed.

So as you were stood at one of the small, round tables that reached your ribs, sipping lightly on a glass of wine you had ordered from the bar, you politely listened to the conversation Jack was having amongst his teammates and friends.

And although you desperately attempted to pay attention to the conversation, your mind couldn't help but wonder to what you couldn't seem to get out of your head: the things you could and wanted to do to Jack.

It almost felt illegal to you, for Jack to look as amazing as he did, and you felt your mouth grow wet as you watched him intently— the way his face moved as his expressions changed as he spoke and listened, how his hand would every so often raise to take a sip of his drink or run a hand through his brown curls, or how his hand that was placed on your side, would every so often rub against your skin and his thumb would circle on your hip, creating a warmth to flood between your legs.

The night had passed by relatively quickly, and by the time you were finished with your third drink of the night, you noticed people began to slowly make their way home. However, there was still a decent group of teammates and their wives and girlfriends, circled around the small bar table, laughing and exchanging stories.

Although you were interested in what everyone had to say, you were clearly more interested in getting your hands on Jack, not knowing how much more you could withstand the sensation that rose between your legs, making your skin hot.

You reached to place your hand against Jack's chest, grabbing his attention, and he looks down to meet your eager eyes, his cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol coursing through his veins.

He leans down to speak into your ear, the loud environment causing Jack's voice to sound small amidst everyone else. "What's up, baby? You okay?" He asked softly, turning his body to face yours, his hand still around your waist, now rubbing delicately against your skin.

You smiled softly at his attentiveness, "I'm good, yeah," you reassure him, nodding your head before biting your tongue to hold back what your mind is begging you to say.

Jack knows you like the back of his hand; he knows all the ins and outs of you, your likes and dislikes and all your little quirks that make you, so when he sees you hesitate to continue talking, he tilts his head down, his gaze deepening with yours, silently encouraging to continue.

You press yourself upward to meet Jack's ear, making sure no one else heard what was on your mind, and what you could be confessing to Jack— your cheeks growing warm as you reached a hand up to the nape of his neck, twirling his brown curls with your fingers against the nape of his neck.

"I need you, like— right now." You giggled, feeling a little embarrassed at your confession, and you stood back, watching Jack's face twitch as he processed your words. You could see him shutter at your words, swallowing thickly, knowing your words immediately were sent to his core, making his cock twitch beneath his pants.

He sheepishly grinned at you, pulling you into his embrace and hugging you, but while wrapping your own arms around his neck, you couldn't help but feel Jack's growing bulge press against your abdomen, making the heat that filled your cheeks spread to the rest of your body, sending an unrecognizable sensation through your veins.

Jack chuckled lowly as he planted a few quick pecks to your forehead, holding you tightly against his body.

"Babe, you can't just say that to me." He said as he leaned back to look down at you through hooded eyes, and you gave him a soft pout of your lips, looking up at Jack with doe eyes, trying your best to seduce him into breaking down his facade and giving into the temptation you were offering.

"Why not? I mean, we can be quick— I really won't be long." You said through a grin that spread through your face, both of you knowing exactly what you meant.

Jack's eyebrows rose. "Oh really, you think so?" He pressed. When it came to who could tease the other and make them a completely flustered mess, it was an ongoing competition between the two of you, and Jack made it his mission to win, leaving you hot and bothered by his words and seductive actions.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, trying to contain your excitement and eagerness as Jack looked around to his surroundings before shaking his head and taking your hand with his own, straightening his stance.

He turned to his teammates and their significant others and announced your departure for the night, and although a few attempted to protest Jack and you leaving, they bade their goodbyes, and you began to walk urgently through the venue to the exit.

In the meantime, your hand had slipped to reach for your phone, quickly pulling up the app to order an Uber, and Jack stood behind you, both of his hands tightly gripping your hips as you were pressed up against his chest.

You lean into his embrace, tilting your head back to meet Jack's eyes, smiling and planting a kiss on his jawline before turning in his arms to get a better look.

"Y'know, we didn't have to go home, I'm sure we could've found a secluded bathroom or somethin'," you shrugged, knowing well enough that Jack would find any way to get his hands on you properly, without having to worry about being caught.

He grinned, eyes squinting as his hands that were placed on your hips, gave your skin a quick squeeze, "C'mon, babe. You cant just tease me like that and give me barely anything." He chuckled and his gaze averted to the car that was pulling up, matching the description on your phone. "And plus, when you look like this, there's no way I'm not gonna have all of you."

Your eyebrows raised in shock at Jack's remarks, following his steps towards the Uber and sliding into the backseat and you couldn't help to contain your smile that spread on your face, knowing you would be in for a treat when you get home.

The Uber ride back to Jack and your shared apartment seemed to pass by within a blink of the eye, and before you knew it, you were stumbling through the door, making sure it closed behind you as Jack was hot on your tail as you made your way to the bedroom.

When you entered your shared bedroom, Jack's hands that were previously on your hips, guiding you to your bedroom, now found themselves at your shoulder, fumbling with the top of your dress, attempting to slide it off of your body.

As soon as your dress was peeled from your body, Jack softly pushed your body forward, your hands coming out in front of you to catch yourself against the plush mattress, and you peered over your shoulder, watching as Jack discarded his own clothes, stepping out his boxers and revealing his swollen cock, that sprung upwards once it was free from his clothes.

Jack pumped his cock a few times, spitting into his own hand to make sure his cock was primed before he aligned himself behind you, your knees now pushed onto the mattress as you weighed on all fours, anticipating Jack to slide into you with ease.

When you felt the pressure of Jack's hips against yours and his cock filling you, stretching you out in all the best ways, you both let out a moan of relief at the feeling, letting Jack sit for just a moment and letting you adjust before he began moving his hips in a forward motion, filling you out completely until he bottomed out.

"Fuck, baby, you look so good like this," Jack groaned, his hand finding your hip to steady himself as his thrusts began to pick up in pace.

You hummed, "Mhm, just for you, only you, Jack." You nodded in reassurance, knowing the praise went straight to Jack's ego.

His thrusts immediately sped up at the sound of your remarks, and soon the sound of skin slapping against each other filled the room, your moans following each blissful thrust as Jack pounded into you. Holding your weight on your elbows, your hands gripped the sheets beneath you in pleasure as the sounds of Jack's cock sliding in and out of you made you even more wet than you already were.

"Fuck, Y/n, you're fuckin' perfect, takin' me so well," Jack groaned, his hands roaming up your back and kneading at the skin of your shoulder and neck. "Think you can tease me in front of my teammates- being a desperate little slut, wanting this cock so bad." He jutted through each breath as he hit your sweet spot, making you moan loudly as your head fell into your chest in pleasure.

"Jack, please- keep going, fuck," You encouraged as the air in your throat seemed to get caught in your throat.

As Jack continued to pound into you, your knees slid to the sides, spreading your legs further, and in an attempt to readjust your body, Jack hiked your one leg up towards your hip, stretching you to reach even deeper into your pussy that swallowed him so perfectly.

The sight of you sprawled out on your mattress, a moaning, hot mess as Jack thrusted deep inside of you, was enough to make Jack come undone only by looking at you. But the sounds that came from your throat is what threw him over the edge, his thrusts faltering as he came closer and closer to his climax.

Even you, in sync with Jack's motions, could feel the tightness beginning to form in your lower half, the shocks of Jack's thrusts spreading euphoric sensations through your skin only furthering your approach to coming undone on Jack's cock.

But what you didn't expect, was for Jack to lean forward, his teeth sinking into your shoulder lightly, and his free hand slipping underneath your abdomen and sinking down to your dripping pussy, his fingers finding your sensitive clit and beginning to rub it in all the right ways that pushed you even furhter.

His thrusts slowed, but with every thrust, he'd hit so deep into your core that the shock of pleasure erupted through your entire body, your mouth hung open, air getting caught in your throat, leaving you unable to formulate words.

"I can feel you're getting close, baby, your perfect little pussy clenching me so good, fuckin' made for my cock." Jack whispered into your ear, making you whine in response.

"Jack, I'm so close." You whined, your head falling into your arms that were sprawled in front of you, and you felt Jack's hand speed up in its circular motion against your clit, his thrusts slowly beginning to speed up as you reached your peak.

When Jack's hand and thrusts came to an abrupt halt, you turned your head to see what Jack was doing, but before you had a moment to realize he was readjusting himself to hit even deeper into you than imagined, the feeling of Jack's fingers rubbing your clit and thrusting into you, was enough for the knot to come loose in your lower stomach, as heat flooded your body, euphoria and bliss taking over your senses and you loudly moan out in pleasure, calling Jack's name repeatedly.

He continued to thrust into you, more delicately as he reached his own orgasm, before spilling into you and coming to a rest, letting his cum fill your hole to the brim. And when he pulled out of you slowly, you couldn't help but let out a small whimper at the empty feeling.

Jack then leaned over your limp body, exhaustion now falling over you as you came down from your high. He placed a delicate kiss on your shoulder, trailing up to your temple. "I'll be right back. Let's get you cleaned up, 'kay?" Jack said softly, and you nodded in response, a soft smiling rising on your face at Jack's tender aftercare.

After he slipped into the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth, he came back, delicately cleaning you up, making sure to be soft around your sensitive core, and you turned your head to watch him, noticing the grin on his face that you knew was because he felt his ego boost at the sight of you completely wrecked by him.

Not long after, you found yourselves tangled under the sheets, tucked into Jack's side as he trailed his hand up and down the side of your arm.

"You seem really proud of yourself, J, what's up with that?" You looked up to meet his gaze while your head rested on his chest.

"Well," He said as a matter of a factly, "you said it wouldn't take long for us." He pressed, "But you said that in a way that meant I wouldn't last," He continued, making your brows furrow in skepticism.

"Okay, and... what are you trying to get at?" You dragged out, searching his features to see what he was up to. His tongue toyed with the inside of his cheek, smiling sheepishly to himself, before looking back down at you.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe just the fact that you were the one to be begging for me to make you finish, pretty quickly too might I add." He said with raised eyebrows, confidence lacing through his voice.

You threw your head back in laughter, "And that should be a good thing."

"Don't worry, it definitely is," Jack reassured before leaning forward and flipping your bodies so you were underneath his broad frame, your night ending with a few more rounds to see who really could finish faster than the other.

#jack hughes #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you

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