#starting to feel like this is going to be a one-time event... like it's not coming back...

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t throw it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[dragonsorceress22]

So, we *talked* about a lot of things but I haven't had a chance to try any of them yet, but here's some of what we talked about:

INCUP method:

I - Interest (if the thing in question isn't generating any interest in you, you're not gonna wanna do it - in the context of a hobby the interest is kinda already there I guess, but could also look like cutting a scene you're not excited to write - if it doesn't interest you maybe find a way to make it so the story doesn't need that scene so that you can write something you find more fun)

N - Novelty (if you're doing the same thing over and over, your brain might be like "I've already sucked all the good I can extract from this; I want something new and shiny" so you need to change something up to get yourself going again - maybe location, maybe you get yourself a scented candle and a fun beverage or a good soundtrack to make the action feel fresher)

C - Challenge (finding the right level of "this isn't so difficult as to be off-putting but it's difficult enough to hold my attention" which for writing could be like breaking a project down into smaller tasks or pieces and just focusing on one of those to start so you don't get overwhelmed)

U - Urgency (thissss is the one I KNOW always motivates me super well, but I don't know how to generate it outside of an official fandom event that has deadlines and an external Watcher keeping me in line. but damn I wish I did. I need to find a way to create a sense of urgency in me without an outside influence. I have not figured out how to do this.)

P - Play (I feel like this sort of circles back to interest. Make it fun! If you're not having fun (since this is in the context of a hobby) change it up!)

We did also identify something interesting - after analyzing the times that I was super productive creatively, we found that it was when I was under serious stress and generally miserable. Writing was literally keeping me afloat. But now I'm in a much kinder job, and none of my immediate family are actively dying, and I no longer have that dire need fueling me. WHICH IS GREAT. but like... dammit. lol

So we talked about needing to find other ways to generate that fuel WITHOUT being in dire straights. Which is when we started talking about the INCUP method and other stuff but then our session was over so 🤷

my homework is to try some stuff and circle back next time and see what worked and what didn't and blah blah it's a process lol

ANYWAY this has been your overshare for the day🙃

"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ 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 🥹👉👈

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[inthelow]

SMOKE SPRITE — jeon jungkook (3).

Pairing: fem! reader x jeon jungkook

Summary: you and Jungkook aren’t that close, you were supposedly dating his best friend… then why is he about to fuck you in the back of his car?

Genre/Warning: literally porn with a little plot; mentions of cheating but not really??; some cursing, dry humping; oral sex (fem receiving/cum eating)

author’s note: guys this was supposed to be a cute little blowjob drabble lmao, why am i making it a fanfic for you horny bitches?. You can find part one and part two.

Jungkook was fucked up.

He knew he was doing something wrong, really bad. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he couldn’t stop thinking about touching you again. He couldn’t stop thinking about making you feel good, make you cum. It was only two days ago that he had tasted you and he was loosing his mind. He hadn’t had any agreement with himself about you. He spent all day thinking that it was definitely wrong wanting you in that way, specially because of his friend who was crazy over you.

He’s supposed to be good. He’s supposed to forget about it and move on. He’s supposed to do so many things that didn’t include you. But he didn’t, he was lying in bed trying not to stroke his cock as he thought about you and those nights in his car. The night you gave him the best head of his life, the night he got to taste you. He was loosing his mind thinking how he could have you alone again. Planning an event with your friends, going to a bar or club. He even thought about throwing a party in his house. He was going absolutely crazy.

And the worst thing was that he knew you weren’t crazy about him. You were probably with Taehyung, going out and giggling like some high school girl. You were probably thinking about your next date with him. Or worse, you were probably fucking him. And he was probably making you feel good, he was probably touching you in ways Jungkook couldn’t right now— Oh, how he hated his mind sometimes.

But even more that day. Because he felt incredibly stupid and embarrassed. It’s been only two days, if he was that horny he knew he could just call someone up and any other girl would be available. Why was he suffering for you?. Why was he acting like a schoolboy about you?. Lying down in his bed, rock-hard, trying not to text… Should he?. Would you answer?. You would probably pretend nothing happened like the first time. Or you would probably say it was just some mistake you shouldn’t repeat—

Ring, Ring, Ring.

Jung-kook’s phone buzzed. He felt guilt creeping up into his skin when he saw the name of the contact. Taehyung.

“Hello?”

“What’s up, dude?” Taehyung’s voice was low and chill. “I saw a fucking spider on my pillow today—”

Taehyung started rambling about something Jungkook didn’t give a fuck about. It was normal for his friend to call him just to say random shit, specially on off days where they were just living their own boring life outside the performance of being idols.

And Jungkook loved Taehyung, he really did. He was one of his best friends. But the guilt and annoyance was something he couldn’t shake every time he talked with him. And he knew he was wrong for it. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling that way. He shouldn’t hate that his friend was the one that could have you loudly. He shouldn’t hate that Taehyung was the one that could have you anytime he wanted. And he definitely shouldn’t hate that feeling of being too late. Why was that now he was so suddenly burning for you?. It was attraction or just a sick obsession of having someone forbidden?. Why was he feeling that now? He knew you for a long time. Why was he now interested? Why now that you and Taehyung decided to see where things could go in the future?.

He felt like a sick fucker. Because even if he hated those feelings… He didn’t want to stop. He just wanted to keep going. He wanted to have you just for himself.

“Hey, I was thinking about throwing a party this weekend in a new bar Downtown. What do you think?” Jungkook said, interrupting whatever his friend was saying.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Great. I’ll see what I can do. Talk to you later?.”

“Uhm, actually— ” Taehyung hesitated. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“So— Y/n, right?” Jungkook blinked. “It’s been a while since we— you know.” Taehyung chuckled nervously. “I was thinking about finally asking her to be my girlfriend tonight.”

Oh.

Oh, okay.

Jungkook felt his blood freeze for a moment. His jaw clenched and his fingers pressed his phone harder. “Ah, I thought you guys were casual.”

“Yeah, we were. But I think I would like to make it official, you know?. I really like her” Taehyung sounded sincere. “Why? Do you think it’s a bad idea?.”

“No— I mean, she’s great.” It almost felt too forced to say it aloud. “If you really like her…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“I do.” He sighed, sounding more relaxed again. “I was just nervous and needed a boost. Thanks, man.”

“Of course” Jungkook was going to kill himself. “Good luck tonight.”

“Than—.”

Jungkook hang up before Taehyung could finish his sentence. He stood from his bed, walking around his room trying not to scream or punch something. Why was he so bothered about it?. Maybe this was great. Maybe he could finally pretend nothing happened between the two of you and move on.

But as he kept walking around with his jaw clenched, his thoughts making a mess of his mind— He realized maybe he couldn’t forget about you quite yet…

He cursed himself as he dial your number. One ring, two. At the third tone you answered.

“Hello?”

He blinked, his hands sweating “Hey, it’s Kook.”

“I know. I saw the name.” You chuckled. “What’s up?.”

Your voice was unbothered. Calm and slow. You sounded so sexy, Jungkook wanted to fuck you so bad from just that.

“Are you free right now?.”

“Uhm— not really.”

He sighed, trying to find something. “I just— there’s something I need to tell you in person.”

“Can’t it be tomorrow?” you asked, there was some noise in the background. Things were moving, you were getting ready.

“Not really” Jungkook said. The next phrase almost sounding like a pleading. “Are you in your house?. I can drive and make it fast.”

“Well, I’m supposed to leave in less than an hour…”

“Great. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Swear it’ll be fast.”

You paused. There was a silence where he got anxious. “Fine, but hurry up.”

“I’ll see you in twenty”

He didn’t let you say anything else. Hanging up before you could change your mind and grabbing his keys to run to your place. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do but he knew he had to see you before Taehyung.

When Jungkook arrived to your loft parking, you were already waiting for him there.

There weren’t many cars and you were fast to indicate him your parking number so he could stop the car. He watch you walked to him. Wearing a short skirt and stiletto boots. He wanted to roll his eyes and shot himself in the head hating the idea you were looking so pretty for another man. Thinking that if you say yes tonight Taehyung was going to be able to fuck you in that outfit… No, to fuck you any day, any time you wanted. Any time you felt needy.

God, he was mad.

You opened the car and took a seat. Smiling slightly at him and looking gorgeous as always. “Hey, what’s up?.”

He was supposed to invent a lie. He was supposed to say something about how he was feeling. He’s supposed to talk about something or invent something to why he was there. He’s supposed to say something… But he couldn’t. He felt like a horny teenager trying to do contain his hormones in front of the girl he had a crush on. So— Instead of saying something, anything at all —, he quickly moved closer to you and grabbed you by the back of your head to stamp his lips to yours.

He could feel your surprise. But he didn’t give you anytime to doubt, pushing you to the window - even though his tight hit the gear stick- and pushing his other hand to your cheek. At first your hands pressed his chest in order to push him away but he did not back down at any time, kissing you harder. And the true was, you didn’t put that much effort and strength either.

Jungkook kissed you with hunger, like he needed it. His lips grabbed your lower trying to open your mouth and, when you finally did, he slid his tongue to taste you. He missed that, being able to kiss you, to have something from you. Your hands grabbed his wrist and he backdown a little just to kissed you slower so you could feel his desire, his yearning. He wanted you to be able to feel how he wanted you. How bad he wanted to kiss you, to touch you, to make you feel good.

“I’ve missed you.” He said between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about you since last time. Every damn minute.”

“Wait, Jungkook—.”

He kissed you again, not being able to take a rejection. Not when he was kissing you like this. Not when he was burning for you, when his hands were itching to touch every part of your skin. His right hand touched your waist and the other one the back of your neck.

“Let me make you feel good…”

“I’m supposed to…” You sighed when he started kissing your jaw. “I’m supposed to met Taehyung later.”

He stoped, just for a second.

His teeth find your neck and he gave it a little bite. You tried to push him again - a little too effortless- before his tongue found your neck, trying to leave a mark. He sucked slowly before leaving small and soft kisses. Your back arched a little and he wanted to moan in your skin.

“Is that why you look so pretty?” He asked, trying not to sound jealous. “For him?.” He didn’t give you time to answer, his hand in your waist moving to your tummy. “Is that why you’re wearing this little skirt?.” He grabbed the hem of it, moving it slowly. “You want him to touch you?. Do you think he’s going to touch you like me?”

“Jungkook—”

Your voice wasn’t a pleading one, or whinny. It was a warning, like if the subject he was touching was dangerous. Like you weren’t supposed to talk about it. But he wasn’t having it. Because if he had to make Taehyung a loser fucker for you to let him touch you, he was going to do it. He was no saint, and he was definitely going to hell. Specially with that incredible and pathetic obsession he had for you.

His lips brushed yours. “What? Did he touch you better than me?” He asked without shame. “Tell me. And I’ll show you I can do better.”

His fingers slipped under your skirt. His thumb sliding from your thigh to your center. He did some pressure to spread your legs slightly before he could touch you. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clothed clit. You sighed and his mouth found your neck again.

“Wait. Tae—”

“Shut up.” He frowned, his mouth going up to yours again. “Do I have to put something in your mouth so you can shut the fuck about him?.”

His lips pressed against yours. Kissing you with fury and hunger, he wanted you to forget about him, that you would only be able to remember his name by making you scream it so loudly of pleasure. He wanted to make you cry and whine about him, about how he was the only one to make you feel this good. How he was the only one to make you break apart.

His thumb continued to move over your clit for a couple more seconds before pushing your underwear aside. He could feel your wetness on his fingers once he started to touch you further. His index finger collected your juices before he started rubbing your cunt faster, trying to make you feel better. You sighed and he inserted his finger, still playing with your clit. He could feel your warm and tightness. He bit your lip to not moan, fantasizing how it would feel to be inside you.

Shit. He was so hard. He was becoming desperate. He wanted you to feel the same as him, needy, crazy about his touch. He was going mad. Jungkook was falling apart of just thinking of being inside you. And you haven’t even touched him yet.

He kept pushing his finger in and out of you, playing with your clit with fury. You squirmed under his touch, legs trembling slightly. He could feel you getting close. His fingers were covered of your juices, your hole was getting tighter around his finger. You jolt and moan And then, he took his hand away from you. Your hips moved a little trying to find his hand. He pushed away from you, giving you a peck before going back to his seat, still facing you.

“What— What are you doing?.”

Your breathing was heavy, you frowned frustrated. Your cheeks were blushed and your eyes heavy. He looked at you with a little smirk. Jungkook took his two fingers soaked in your juices to his mouth before sucking them so he could taste you. His eyes rolled back slightly and he tried not to moan. His eyes darkened more than before. He was losing it.

Jungkook made a quick jump to move to the back seat. Taking a seat in the middle while spreading his legs and breathing heavily. He looked at you with desire, a hunger you had never seen in anyone before. His palms pressed against his thighs and he pulled his head back slightly without breaking eye contact.

“If you want me— come take me.”

You looked at him for a couple of seconds in silence. And the confidence he exude was making you horny. But Jungkook was actually about to break. The fake confidence was just a shield he put to make a move. He wanted for you to want him. Because if you were to open the door and leave, or reject him with words— he was going to cry for hours about it.

He swallowed hard when he saw you move to him. Jungkook felt a little lighter, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He didn't remove eye contact as you climbed on top of him, putting each leg on the side of his hip before pressing a button of the seat to make him fall backwards. Not all the way back, but enough so that he was leaning back slightly. His hands found your waist and yours tangled in his hair before kissing him hard.

And Jungkook lost every power he had.

He wished he had control, a little bit of power to make you feel like he was the one leading. But he wanted you so much, so fucking much. He wanted to make a mess out of you, he wanted to touch in the right places, The right places no one else could reach. He wanted you so bad he was willing to take anything you could give him. And he wished he had some shame, some backbone. Because when he felt you kiss him like you wanted him again, he could only moan in your mouth.

Your fingers slid down his body, rubbing his muscles gently until they reached his abs. Your lips moved to his jaw and then to his neck. Jungkook sighed with pleasure as your fingers slipped under his shirt to rub his defined abs before moving to unbuckle his belt with ease. He lifted his legs so he could help you pull down his pants. His cock was marked in his underwear. Pre-cum protruding slightly. Your fingers wrapped around it. He bit his lip to not moan again.

Your hand moved slowly up and down on his clothed cock. His tip twitched, now sticking out over his underwear. Red and pretty. Jungkook moved his hands to grip your thighs tightly, fingers leaving a mark. You pressed your thumb in his tip to moved his pre cum around it, slowly and sticky.

“Wait— I’ll come fast. I wanna be inside you.” Jungkook grabbed your wrist. You moved to looked at him. “I wanna feel you, pretty.”

You nodded. “Yeah?.”

“Yeah.” He nodded faster, his hands moving to put his underwear down “. I’ve been dreaming about you. How you feel. Fuck, fuck. I wanna make you feel so good. I wanna fuck you so good, pretty.”

But you laughed. A mean dry laugh that made him froze in place.

Your fingers gently grasped the hem of your skirt so you could pull it up to your hips. Your legs moved up to his waist, moving your underwear to the side. His cock was slapping against his abdomen, hard and begging to be touched.

“You think you’re gonna fuck me?.” You titled your head . “Just stay still.”

You sat on top of his cock, your flesh wrapping around the length of it. Your juices serving as a lubricant so you could begin to move slowly over him. Jungkook whined, grabbing your hips so he could touch your skin. Your hands found his chest, you leaned in slightly so you could see him.

Jungkook wanted to cry of pleasure. He couldn’t believe he was able to feel you this way finally. He bit his lower lip and tried to imagine other things to not come so fast. But it was so hard, the way you were moving on top of him. The way your eyes were getting lazy. The way he could feel your warm and wetness coating his cock. He swore everything with you was better, every little thing maximized by a hundred.

He wanted to see you cry in pleasure, cry for him. He felt so pathetic begging for a fuck. And he wished he had any shame by doing this but his hips only buckled up trying to get you closer to him. He was dying for you to come all over him. But he was dying to be inside you so much more.

“Please let me fuck you.” He begged. “I’ll be good, please. I swear I’ll be good for you— Fuck, shit… I’ll make you feel good…”

You stopped. And he wanted to kill himself.

“I said no. Take what I give you.”

He swallowed hard, admiring you above him. You didn’t move and he nodded quickly trying to make you go back to the motion of before.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He complained. “Just move, baby— Fuck… Please, please…”

He kept bucking his hips up into you with quiet mewls, biting his lip and slightly rolling his eyes. His breath becoming heavier. He just couldn't bring his hips to stop. He didn’t want to, he wanted to see you get off. He wanted to feel you come.

Jungkook moaned when you started moving again, slowly dragging your cunt against his aching cock. You grabbed his jaw to kiss him again and moan in his mouth. His fingers grabbed your hair to keep you in place, sliding his tongue in your mouth. You kept working on his swollen cock, moving back and forth to continue satisfying your clit.

He was losing his mind. His dick twitching, pre cum dripping in his abs, your cunt grinding hard against him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He could feel your flesh swallowing all his length, dripping over him, making a mess. He could feel the way your sticky cunt tighten around him, your clit palpitating hard. You moved a little so his tip could play with your clit, slowly and hard. You moaned in his mouth and Jungkook threw his head back to whined.

He felt pathetic. Tears forming in his eyes at the sensation. Feeling you trying to reach your high, feeling all. He swore he would do anything- cut his arms, lose all his money, not having sex ever again- if you just moved to put him inside you. If he could just feel your insides, if he could just fuck you. He wanted to beg more, but he knew he would probably make you mad and he didn’t want you to stop. Not now, not ever.

“Shit, so good.”

You whispered and he groaned. He’s so close, he could feel a knot in his tummy. His dick twitching, his eyes glassy with tears. You looked down to make eye contact. Your eyes lost in pleasure, your cheeks red and your lips swollen. And that make him lost it. He grabbed your jaw to kiss you hard before throwing his head back to grunt. He was coming. And so were you. You moved faster, he pressed your hips down to his.

He came hot into your folds, thick ropes of cum all over your cunt and his abdomen. And it was so good that he could cry. You moaned, dripping all over him. His cock sore and softening against your clit, cum dribbling onto your nub and painting your cunt with his load. It felt sticky and dirty.

Jungkook’s heart was pounding, his breathing unsteady. For a second, he felt everything moving slowly. Your hands gripping his shoulders, your body leaning against him as his fingers run down your back. For a second it's all too much. For a second he felt this is the right thing. This is how it should be. Just the two together, making each other feel good.

But he doesn’t want it to be over so soon. Specially no after you were the one taking control. Of course not after what is supposed to happen later. He has to show you he is good. He wants to show you that he can make you feel good. He wants to prove himself to you. He was sure he will do anything to make you see that he could be enough. It was hard to do that when you won’t let him do anything to you but he knew now what lines he could cross. And shame was something he didn’t have with you anymore.

Junkook grabbed your body hard and fast so he could lay you down on the seat. Moving so that he could kneel in the small space between the seats and in front of your legs. You looked down, confused and somewhat lost, still coming down from the high.

“What are you doing?.”

“I haven’t finish with you.”

Jungkook grabbed your legs to put you closer to his chest, your ass almost leaving the seat. He opened your legs without delicacy, taking your underwear down your ankles. His mouth salivating when he saw the rope of cum covering your folds. And he thought it’s perfect. This is perfect. He wants to see you covered in him forever. He wants to give you all he has to offer. He wants to see you fucked up and crying for him, covered in his cum— forever.

His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping up the mess he had uncovered like he didn’t care about anything else. His eyes rolled back at the taste, eating his own cum from your cunt. The first swipe was slow, tasting every bit of the slick coating your folds. He thinks it’s the perfect taste, the perfect meal. Both of you dripping from your pussy. The next was rougher, hungrier, tongue pressing deeper as he groaned into your heat. He wants nothing more than this.

He licks you clean, every part of your pussy getting clean with his tongue. Drinking all of it. and he’s sure this wouldn’t be the last time. Because there was no way he could spent another week not tasting you, not feeling your heat in his face. He couldn’t bare the thought of it. And he wants to cry of how good, of how dirty this is. How months ago he would hate doing this and now he was lost in eating you out tasting himself in you.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging slightly at the overstimulation before sprouting and throwing your head back to moan. Now he was eating you good. Now that you were cleaner than before he was moving his tongue to your clit and sucking hard. Your back arches and he swears that is the best view. Watching you break apart, open legs, back arched, trembling and moaning.

So Jungkook gets sloppy with it, getting more into it. He doesn’t care about how messy he gets. lips and chin completely covered of your juices but he loves it. He practically drowns himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And he knows you will soon but he prefers not to think about it. He prefers to pretend that you’re his now, spreading your legs only for him, making those sweet noises only for him.

You have to know. That in this moment, you’re his.

He presses your thighs hard and pulls slightly apart. Your head quickly moves to look at him, exasperated, looking for your ralease. Your eyes with tears and your lips red. Jungkook looked drunk, chin full of your juices and swollen lips.

“It’s only polite to look at me while I eat you out.” He licked his lips. “Don’t you think, pretty?.”

You swallow hard. Remembering the first night you had together and the words you said to him while sucking him off. He sinks his head back into your cunt, his eyes still glued to yours as he sucks on your clit. And it’s doesn’t take you too much to come undone. Not looking away a when you moaned and shake in his mouth. Not looking away when he drinks your juices, not looking away when he cleans the rest of it like a starved man.

And for a moment, he sees it. He’s ruining you too.

So he kisses you. Strong and slow. Making you taste the flavor of you both in his mouth. Staining you with your own juice. He thrusts his tongue into your mouth so he can make you taste everything. And he can't believe how you've ruined everything for him. What seemed dirty to him before, now made him horny. Anything you liked, anything he could try with you, it made him go feral. It made him want more. But only if it was with you.

It takes you both a few minutes to come back to reality. Still in the back of the car as you try to control your breathing back to normal. He was tracing your cheek slowly with his fingers while leaning in the seat trying to make the moment last a little longer. Both of you lying on your sides and facing each other.

“That was good, huh?.” He breaks the silence.

You snort and he smiles.

“It really was.”

He can feel his chest filling with pride. Eyes sparkling at the thought of making you his, hope making his way to his body. Maybe you will realize he could give you what you needed. Not Taehyung.

“You want to go upstairs? I can run a bath for you.”

As he finishes his phrase, he can feel the hope shatter. Your eyes dart to the side and he can feel the discomfort beginning to fill the air.

“Shit.” You cursed, sitting up and taking your phone out. “I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago…”

“Then stay.” Jungkook sat, looking at you a little egocentric. “Why do you wanna see him anyway?.”

You paused, Then— looked at him, this time less enchanted by what happened before. Mad, annoyed.

“Jungkook…”

“Yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes, rubbing his face with frustration. “Can I ask you… are you in love with him?.”

You frowned confused. “Why are you asking me that?.”

“You know why.”

There’s a silence. It felt weird, uncomfortable. You didn’t know what he was trying to do. And, to be honest, maybe he didn’t know either.

“Jungkook, there’s something between me and Taehyung.”

“Love?” he questioned. “I don’t think you will be doing all this if you love him.”

“What are you trying to do?” You snapped. “What do you think is gonna happen?. I will break things with him and run to you? His best friend.” You shook your head. “And then what? We’ll live happily ever after?— Do you know how fucked up that is?.”

“This is fucked up.” He argued, regretting immediately to say it out loud.

You pressed your lips together before nodding slowly. “Yeah, this is fucked up.”

“Come on— I was just… I don’t know, okay?” He groaned. “I don’t like seeing you with Taehyung.”

“You don’t get to decide who I am with.” you stated. “And you’re right. This is fucked up. I don’t know why I’m doing this. But it’s over…”

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“It’s better if we don’t see each other for some time, Jungkook.”

You left before he could say anything. And he cursed himself for being so stupid. Because he knew he wasn’t in love with you. And he knew he was being a jealous greedy fucker by bringing up Taehyung. He didn’t know what he was trying to do but definitely not pushing you away.

He punched the leather seat before making a sound of frustration. Why was he so obsessed with you?.

sometimes dry humping is better than sex but u guys wouldn’t get it 🤚🏻

this might have a few mistakes i’ll edit later bc i was lazy to edit it 😓 anyway this was supposed to be porn but now the plot thickens??? but did i eat or what???

i might forgot to add some to the taglist i’m sososososrrry 😓

@bhonbhon @nctma15 @songbyeonkim @mrspotatas @kae143 @ttanniett @emmie2308 @rrosiitas @kooklovesu @sublimeoperapatrolpickle @haru-jiminn @inhoswifee @hennessysthings @zzzdr @kookieouch @jk97bam @gcfseouls @suavaecitas-blog @gaby-93 @mysteriousgeminizone @wishicouldmeethoseok @topforsure @sugaholicddict93 @mortqlprojections @army7-013 @girlyminmin03 @gucci-soo @lachesismoonmist @laylay7ot @freakingsad @cherrysoulthreblogs @kissyfacekoo @bangzlut @mariporaqui @soju4shi @sigxx123 @melanymeeli @jjklvrapobangpo7 @gebsaxx @cherryminnie95

[charles-leclerizz]

driver diaries : collection #4 when you ask them to cum inside

models : CL16, CS55, MV1, LN4, OP81

VIP guest's in the front row : [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], [@dallaavv, @nichmeddar, @sisinever] IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

availability : dating ( all drivers )

designer's comments : so. you may wonder why I ask the masses for their opinion when I do my own thing anyway? Cause open defiance is my kink. My requests for this series AND generally are open. so stop by if you want ;)

Charles Leclerc 16 Tender. Breathless. Slightly stunned by how much he needs it.

Charles had you on the hotel couch, lights dim, hands all over you like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

You’d come straight from a sponsor event – he hadn’t bothered to even changed out of his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled, chest open at the collar. 

You were already half-undressed, knees over his thighs, his hands sliding under your top. He was supposed to be patient. Gentle. But that only lasted until you whispered, “You can fuck me, you know.” 

That’s when his restraint cracked. 

And now he was panting above you, hands gripping your hips like an anchor as he thrust into you slow and deep, voice broken, wrecked. 

“Tu me rends fou, bébé…”  You drive me crazy, baby. 

The couch cushions shifted beneath you with every push of his hips. He kept brushing your hair away from your face, as if he needed to see your eyes while he fucked you like this - no distractions. No walls. Just Charles looking like he’d never wanted anything more in his entire life. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, low and hoarse. “You feel so good.” 

He was buried raw inside you. Thick. Warm. So deep it made your legs twitch every time he rolled his hips just right. 

You could feel every part of him. Every desperate inch. 

And he couldn’t stop looking. 

Couldn’t stop groaning softly every time you clenched around him. 

He dipped his head, kissed your collarbone, breath trembling. 

“I don’t want to stop-” he whispered, voice cracking a little. “But I’m so close already.” 

You smiled, running your hand through his curls. “Then don’t stop.” 

He looked up - flushed, wide-eyed, like he hadn’t expected that. 

You kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“Finish inside me.” 

Charles froze. 

His breathing hitched. 

“You-” He blinked. “Quoi?” 

“I want you to come inside me,” you said again, soft but clear, brushing your lips against his. “Don’t pull out. Please.” 

The moan that left his throat was more like a whimper. 

Then he kissed you like he needed to feel every part of you at once. 

“Putain,” he swore into your mouth. “Tu vas me tuer…” 

His thrusts got faster. Sloppier. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingertips pressing into your skin, his entire body stuttering toward the edge. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered. “I want to feel it.” 

That’s when he broke. 

He buried himself fully, holding your hips in place, and let go with a guttural moan - so soft, so desperate, so intimate. 

You felt him pulse inside you, warm and thick, the heat flooding your body as he came. 

His voice was all breath, all praise.  “Oui oui oui��� comme ça… oh mon dieu…” 

He collapsed against your chest, still inside you, shivering slightly. His nose brushed your neck; lips parted against your shoulder. 

He didn’t speak right away. 

Didn’t have to. 

His hands slid along your sides, slow, almost trembling. 

Then he kissed the centre of your chest. Your jaw. Your cheek. 

And finally, your lips. 

When he pulled back, eyes still half-lidded, voice gone low, he murmured: 

“Next time… let me say it first.” 

You tilted your head. “Say what?” 

He smiled. 

“That I want to be the only one who ever finishes in you.” 

Carlos Sainz 55 Possessive. Gritty. Emotional control slipping.

It started slow. 

You weren’t rushing. Neither of you ever did when you had the privacy, the time, the stillness. The kind of nights where Carlos kept the lights dim, fingers lazy as he kissed along the inside of your thigh. His voice low. His gaze intense. 

He’d already made you come once with his mouth - face buried in you, groaning every time your legs trembled around his shoulders. Then, fingers. Just two, fucking you open slow, making you gasp and buck until you were practically panting his name. 

And now he was above you - thick cock hard in his fist, tip flushed and already slick with precum as he stroked himself between your legs. 

"Estás tan jodidamente bonita,” he murmured. You're so fucking pretty. 

“Then stop teasing,” you whispered, breathless. 

He smirked, hand steady. “You want me inside?” 

You nodded, lips parted. He turned to rip open a condom, until you grabbed his bicep, squeezing. 

“Bare?” he asked, voice gone rough, eyes wide as he looked back at you. 

Your stomach flipped. You knew that tone. That edge. 

You nodded again. “Yes.” 

Carlos exhaled, nostrils flaring slightly. But he didn’t argue. He just pressed his tip against your entrance and slowly eased in - every inch stretching you open, heat blooming low in your belly as your nails gripped the sheets. 

The moan he let out when he bottomed out was low and ragged and real. 

“Fucking hell…” 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, needing more of him. He was thick, heavy, the stretch just this side of overwhelming. 

He didn’t move right away. 

Just leaned forward, kissed your jaw, your cheek, your mouth. 

“You always feel this good for me,” he said, voice almost reverent. 

You clenched around him. 

Carlos groaned. “You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last.” 

"Maybe I don't want you to." 

That got his attention. 

His head lifted. Eyes locked with yours. 

"¿Qué?" he asked, voice lower. A little strained. 

You looked up at him, feeling the rush of heat rise to your cheeks-but you didn’t back down. 

“I want you to finish inside me.” 

Carlos didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. 

Just breathed. 

Then he swore under his breath-“Joder”-and started moving. 

Deep, slow thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs. Every roll of his hips filled you completely, thick and hot, the friction making your whole-body arch beneath him. 

“Say it again,” he growled, fucking you harder now. 

“I want you to come inside me, Carlos.” 

His head dropped to your shoulder. He bit down lightly, groaning into your skin. 

“Estás loca… You’re trying to kill me.” 

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his back, nails digging into muscle. His pace picked up - sharp now, relentless. The bed creaked beneath you. Your name left his lips like a curse. 

“You like knowing I’ll be the only one that’s ever done this to you?” he gasped. “That I’ll be the only one to come inside you like this?” 

“Yes-fuck-yes-” 

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, blooming outward in waves, your back arching, mouth open as you came around him with a sharp cry. 

Carlos wasn’t far behind. 

You felt his rhythm break, his thrusts stutter. 

He groaned low, rough, needy. 

Then buried himself deep one last time. 

And came inside you. 

You felt the warmth flood you. Felt his body shake from it, his arms locked tight around your waist like he needed to hold on while he poured every drop into you. 

“Dámelo…” he whispered, breath gone. “Dámelo todo, mi vida…” 

You didn’t let him go. 

Not even when he stilled inside you, panting against your neck. 

Not when he kissed your shoulder like an apology and a prayer all in one. 

Not when he finally pulled back just enough to watch it leak from you, that soft, sinful look on his face like he could see the moment burned into his memory forever. 

He pressed his fingers gently to your inner thigh, then your hips. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, still inside you. Still pressed close. 

You nodded. 

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Because next time… I want you on top. And I want to feel you clench around me when I fill you again.” 

You were already smiling. 

Already wrecked. 

And already wondering how soon “next time” could be. 

Max Verstappen 1 Unhinged. Growling. Pure fucking instinct.

You knew the second you said it; Max was going to lose his mind. 

He already had you on your back, one of your thighs thrown over his shoulder, the other pinned down by his palm as he fucked into you deep and fast, growling your name like it was the only word he still remembered. 

His skin was slick with sweat, chain dangling over his throat. His eyes never left your face - locked on your fucked-out expression like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“You’re taking me so fucking well,” he grunted. “Look at you-already cockdrunk.” 

You whined, head falling back. “You fuck me like this and expect me not to be?” 

He smirked. Brief. Sharp. 

Then you said it, 

“Come inside me.” 

His whole body stopped. 

Like a full-body glitch. Breath caught. Muscles frozen mid-thrust. 

“…What?” 

You bit your lip, lifted your hips into his. 

“I want to feel it. Don’t pull out.” 

Max growled. 

There was no other word for it. Just a deep, animal sound torn from his chest. 

Then he dropped your thigh from his shoulder, shoved both your legs up, and folded your knees against your chest - locking you down, fucking deeper, pounding you into the mattress with a pace that made the headboard slam the wall. 

“Say it again,” he gritted through his teeth. 

“Finish inside me, Max.” 

His hand wrapped around your throat - not tight, just enough to feel it - and he stared down at you with wild eyes. 

“Fucking hell. You want me to come in you? Want me dripping out of you all night?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, nails clawing at his back. “Please-please, I need it-” 

“You’re not walking tomorrow.” 

He wrecked you after that. 

Not romantic. Not gentle. Just relentless, brutal thrusts and filthy muttering in your ear. 

“This pussy’s mine- fuck- look at you, begging for it-so desperate-” 

You were trembling, tears bubbling on your lashes from the overstimulation, the pressure, the stretch. 

He didn’t let up. You came first, screaming into his shoulder, clenching around him so tight he swore in Dutch, hips stuttering. 

And then he snapped. 

Max slammed in once, twice, and then let out a broken, breathless groan as he emptied himself inside you - cock twitching deep as he spilled into you with full-body shudders. 

“Fuck- fuck -yes -take it- take all of it-” 

He didn’t move right away. 

Just stayed there. Breathing hard. Forehead against yours. 

You felt him pulse with the aftershocks, felt the mess spreading between your legs already. 

And you whispered, dazed, “You really didn’t pull out.” 

Max chuckled-low, dangerous. 

“Too fucking late now.” 

A minute later, he pulled back slightly, spreading your legs with both hands to look. 

To watch it leak out of you. 

He stared at it, jaw tight. 

Then he used two fingers to push it back in, slow and possessive. 

“I meant what I said,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to yours. 

“You’re not walking tomorrow.” 

Lando Norris 4 Messy. Whiny. Loses his mind when you ask for it.

You were already close. So was he. 

It had been building from the second he got back from media duties - tension thick, eyes dark, voice low. He’d barely touched dinner. Barely touched you. Just kissed you once, slow and heavy, then pulled you into his lap and whispered, 

“Been thinking about this all day.” 

Now? You were underneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, hands fisted in his curls as he fucked you deep and slow - dragging every thrust out like he wanted to ruin you with it. 

Lando’s mouth was open against your throat, breath hot, his voice pure wreckage, 

“Feel so good-so tight-fuck, you take me so well, babe-” 

You were dizzy, aching, soaking wet - and he hadn’t even sped up yet. Just this perfect, devastating pressure. So deep you felt him in your stomach. 

“Lando-” you moaned. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” 

His voice was high. Breathless. Full of need. 

You pulled him closer, your lips brushing his ear. 

And then you whispered, 

“Come inside me.” 

Lando froze. 

Dead still. Balls deep. 

You felt him twitch inside you, like your words short-circuited his entire brain. 

“Wait-what?” he said, voice cracked. 

“I want you to come inside me,” you repeated, slower. “Please.” 

He let out the most pathetic little groan. 

“Fuck-don’t say that. I’m not gonna last-” 

“You don’t have to.” 

That’s when he snapped. 

He buried his face in your neck and thrust hard - deep, fast, chasing it now, no rhythm, no patience. 

His hands gripped your hips like he was holding on for dear life. 

“Oh my god-fuck-I’m gonna- babe, I’m gonna-” 

“Do it,” you gasped. “Please, Lando-” 

He moaned your name, high and broken, and slammed into you one final time. 

Then he came inside you. 

Warm. Messy. Full-body shudder. 

His whole body tensed, mouth open, eyebrows scrunched in complete disbelief as he emptied himself deep inside you, panting like he’d just finished a 90-minute quali lap. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “Holy fuck- I came inside you-” 

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing, smiling, kissing his flushed cheek. 

“I told you to,” you whispered. 

Lando pulled back just enough to look - saw the mess between your legs, the slick mix already starting to spill out, his cock still twitching from the aftershocks. 

He groaned again. 

Then grinned. 

“Jesus Christ… I’ve peaked.” 

Oscar Piastri 81 Silent. Intense. Ruined.

Oscar had always been good at holding back. 

Even when you were grinding against him on the couch, all breathy moans and slick skin, he was in control - one hand on your jaw, the other pressing down on your lower belly as he moved inside you with calculated precision. 

“Relax,” he whispered, voice low and quiet against your neck. “I’ve got you.” 

You loved that about him. The way he never raised his voice. The way he knew your body better than anyone. Every drag of his cock was deliberate. Controlled. He didn’t chase pleasure - he delivered it. 

And tonight? 

He was deep. 

So, so deep. 

Slow strokes that reached the end of you, hips slotted flush to yours, pelvis brushing your clit every time he rolled his hips forward. 

His hand was laced with yours behind your back. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you open, grounded. 

“Oscar,” you whimpered. 

“Yeah?” 

“Faster.” 

He didn’t obey. Just chuckled, soft and cruel. 

“You sure?” he murmured. “You already look so close.” 

“I want it.” 

He tilted his head, brown eyes dark and steady. 

“You want me to fuck you properly?” 

You nodded, already breathless. 

He did. 

Harder. Deeper. Just enough to make the sofa springs creak once. 

Your thighs shook. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, eyes locked on your face. “So fucking tight around me, baby.” 

And just as your second orgasm built - tight and coiling - you gasped it, 

“Finish inside me.” 

Oscar stilled. 

Eyes narrowing. Chest rising and falling against yours. 

“Say that again.” 

You tangled your fingers into his curls, tugging. “I want you to come inside me.” 

He exhaled, shaky and hard. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re serious.” 

You nodded. 

He kissed you once. Then twice. Slow, like he was trying to memorize you. 

And then? 

He fucked you like he meant it. 

Oscar wasn’t loud. He didn’t groan or curse or talk you through it like the others might. He just moved - deep, sharp thrusts that left you gasping, thighs trembling. 

The only sound was skin slapping and you're whimpering. 

And then- 

He slammed in one final time and stayed there. 

Pressed deep. Eyes on you. And came. 

Hard. 

His entire body tensed - cock twitching as he emptied inside you, lips parting but no sound escaping, like he was too overwhelmed to even speak. 

Just quiet, heavy breathing as he filled you. 

Your legs shook around his waist. His hand came up to your cheek. 

Still inside. 

Still full. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, finally. “I’ve never done that before.” 

You smiled, dazed. “Me neither.” 

Oscar leaned in, kissed your cheekbone, your nose. 

“Hope you know,” he said, “I’m going to be thinking about this every time I see you walk tomorrow.” 

You laughed. 

But the way he looked at you knew that he meant every word. 

[aventoru]

Hello 👋 im new to your blog and saw that one post, i really liked it XD, if not a bother, could i request like a simp reader of dan heng/phainon/aventurine/loucha ? Like the reader is such a big simp with them to the point of forfeiting all their mortal possession even if they're broke

Preferably the reader is married to them, this is also my first time requesting, and feel free to ignore no worries! That's all and wish you great luck and day! 🤩💞✨

when you go broke for them

ft. dan heng, phainon, aventurine, luocha

tags : unresponsible financial decisions, reader goes broke, excessive spending (help)

a/n : this was kind of fun to write considering i went a bit out of control in 2018 to collect bts merch...reader and i can be broke tgt LOL anyways enjoy reading!!

DAN HENG

he’s very concerned at your lack of financial responsibility

is always speechless when you pay for everything and buys anything he briefly glances at, after all he’s not used to being spoiled like this

“you deserve all the love in the world!!” you say as you give him a stack of treats your bought from the xianzhou luofu. he can only stare in shock.

will definitely reprimand you for your crazy spending habits and even pull out some info from the archive for you to read

at the end of the day, he makes sure to reassure you drill into your head that he doesn’t need all this material stuff and he still loves you even if you don’t spend money on him

“you don’t have to do all this for me” “i know, but i want to”

once you actually go broke broke, he decides to step in and put the reigns on your money

tells you he’s gonna handle all the finances from now on and you gladly hand it all over to him (he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened at your compliance)

eventually you tone down the gifts and he even spoils you sometimes, although you still go overboard for special events and anniversaries<3

PHAINON

he’s broke, so to have someone spend money and dote on him makes him feel special and super grateful

you love seeing the blush on his face every time you give him a cute keychain or small trinkets you’ve bought

also, you’re the first ever person to buy him FLOWERS (yes, FLOWERS) and he lowkey tears up omg

anyways, what he doesn’t know is that you’re slowly going broke due to your excessive spending on him, and you don’t tell him either because you know he’s going to be unhappy

he finds out eventually once you’re unable to afford present for him anymore

does reprimand you for spending so much on him while reassuring you that it’s okay to cut down on the gifts, just your love and company is enough for him anyway

you two spend time with each other, finding things to do that express your love without having to spend so much money

once you’re financially stable again, you do give him presents but only once in a while, and he’s learned to do the same for you

AVENTURINE

you two spoil each other; it’s a back and forth in your relationship, and you both love gift giving

you buy him jewelry, matching fits, amazing food and he buys you luxury goods and takes you on vacations

the only difference is that he’s got infinite money and you don’t…

so, you go broke eventually (💔) and now you feel bad because you don’t have anything left to give him

he’s slightly concerned by your spending habits but let’s be fair, his habits are probably worse since he has more money than he knows what to do with

his solution? he tells you to use his black card to buy him gifts 😭

you comply, because it was never about flexing or showing off money, it was always about seeing his face light up after receiving your surprise gifts

of course, you make sure to pay him back properly after your salary starts coming in again

and to avoid such a situation from repeating, he teaches you how to manage your finances (although, you don’t need to worry that much since he has SO MUCH money)

LUOCHA

i feel like he’s definitely the type to use luxury items, like you can feel the designer on him

he’s very subtle about his wealth, but you quickly find out once you date (and then marry) him

you’ve always had this unresistable urge to spoil him, so what better way than to shower him with designer goods?

he doesn’t say it out loud or express it very well but you can tell he’s happy (at first…)

eventually things get overwhelming since you keep giving him new gifts before he even touches the old ones

he does NOT want to know where you get the money to buy him such things

and he definitely becomes concerned because he knows how expensive these items are

when he asks interrogates you about it, you crack and admit that you’ve fully gone broke due to your uncontrollable love for him

he sighs and reprimands you firmly, making sure you understand how to be financially responsible

“if you keep doing this, i won’t accept your gifts and return them instead” “i understand…”

seeing how serious he was, you definitely tone it down from now on, and he buys you designer instead (so it’s a WIN-WIN!!)

general masterlist

[thenaluarchive]

✨🌟 Hello fellow Nalu shippers and Fairy Tail fans! 🌟✨

This is Mod @millennial-star-gazer (Sarah)**from @thenaluarchive here with a friendly reminder that **Nalu Week** officially starts **Tuesday, July 1st — that’s just 3 days away!**

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You can submit **as many different entries as you like** — separate posts or one big entry if that’s easier! It’s also perfectly okay if your entries cover more than one prompt. Remember, the prompts are suggestions to inspire you, and you’re welcome to include your own ideas too.

Just a reminder:

✨ Your entries should be **original**. Collaboration is encouraged if that’s what you like and feel inclined to do — but it’s also perfectly okay to enter solo! Please give proper credit to any collaborators, as well as to **Hiro Mashima**, the original writer and artist of the *Fairy Tail* manga/anime, and **Atsuo Ueda**, if possible.

Please make sure to **tag the official event blogs**, including ** ll the @nalu-nation & @thenaluarchive and add the appropriate tags as indicated in the original posts. For example, **#naluweek2025** should be one of the first few tags on your posts. Feel free to add any other relevant tags you want, including those that include this year's suggested prompts.

Here are a few more important reminders to keep things running smoothly:

✅ With the number of entries and everyone’s busy schedules, it may take some time to reblog everything. Feel free to **tag me ( @millennial-star-gazer) individually**, as well as the other mods at Nalu Nation (if they're comfortable with it).

✅ You can also reach out to me directly on social media and send me links to your entries! You can message me here on Tumblr, and there’s a list of my other socials (including a Linktree) in my bios — which includes all my links, including my Discord. Feel free to reach out there too!

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⚠️ Please remember to follow all event rules and guidelines. If your entries include heavy or mature content, content warnings or trigger warnings (in your post text and/or tags) are highly appreciated to help keep everyone safe and comfortable.

💬 **If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out to me or any of the mods (as long as they’re comfortable with that).**

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We’re so excited to see all your incredible Nalu love and creativity come to life! Let’s make this Nalu Week unforgettable together! 💖🔥🐉🍓

— Mod millennial-star-gazer / Sarah

Happy Nalu Week 2025! We are so so so very excited to create with you all! The only rules that we have for this event is that we will not be accepting any AI art or fanfic. We love and appreciate all art and writing but it must be completed by *YOU* the creator! So with that said please find the Promts attached and thank you to our beautiful banner artist @kaleilaart and thank you @thenaluarchive for helping us with this event!

If you want our team to reblog your fan work please use the #naluweek2025 tag! Please also be courteous and tag any hyq spoilers or any suggestive art appropriately. We are so excited to see what everyone creates! Happy nalu week!!

If you would like to join our discord server to talk about and check out fellow fans works in progress please join using the link below!

[slayerkitty]

The Unofficial TaUs Timeline

(as written to the best of our knowledge by @blu-eyed-demon and myself. Disclaimer: The dates and events are to the best of our recollection and memory. If they are not 100% accurate or in exact chronological order, please forgive us as the bulk of this was written until the wee hours one night on a whim and stuff started to run together.)

When things first started happening, I hadn't been dragged into this, but @blu-eyed-demon is a big BOC fan, so they were paying some attention.

Ta, Us, and 2J start attending events as a trio throughout Summer 2024

August 31st, 2024: BOC announces that Us' contract has expired, 2J's (his KP partner) would be ending Oct 31st, 2024.

Fall 2024, exact date unknown: Copper (Ta's partner from DFF), departs for the UK for school (unofficially splitting their pairing).

Fans start assuming that when 2J's contact ended, he and Us would maybe sign somewhere else as a pair - but practically the second 2J's contract ends, he joined the cast of Lover Merman and immediately started sailing his new ship.

(this is around when I came into the picture, @blu-eyed-demon messaged me and was like, "Ta and Us are doing things, it feels weird, you know more about BL branded pair marketing than I do, is this weird? YES, IT WAS WEIRD.)

Ta and Us' social media started to feature each other a lot at this point (road trips - they went to the Heart Burger restaurant!, photoshoots, and even meals in Us' car at Us' families coffee shop).

ChalarmJames posted a clip of a workshop, where James was lying his head on Chalarm's lap and then the camera pans over and the joke was that he was mocking Us, who had his head in Ta's lap! (still no idea WHY these four were workshopping together)

In another workshop around the same time, TaUs posted IG pics/clip of them drawing on each other's hands and feet (FEET!)

The BOC Halloween party had a drunken revelation about two of the actors confirming they were a couple - two pairs were speculated: PongTong or TaUs (it ended up being PongTong and we all saw how that went, yikes).

During this period there was a noticeable uptick in their skinship, closeness, and even sniff kisses.

More surprising IG stories followed: Ta and Us did a week long training with a real class of recruits at a police academy (STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS FOR EITHER AND IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE).

Love is Like a Bike press conference was announced in early November 2024, Ta and Us are confirmed to be attending the press conference.

The press conference to officially announce the cast was held on November 24th, 2024 and Ta was slated to play one half of a secondary pairing in the show… BUT NOT WITH US. While Us was in the show, Ta was actually paired with another actor named Nanon (I'm going to be so real, I do not remember this guy's name)

(At this point, I told @blu-eyed-demon I had no idea what the fuck TaUs were doing. If they had been paired for the Bike BL, then I would have said "oh, they were soft launching, makes sense". BUT THEY WEREN'T. So my other thought was "well, fuck me, maybe they're dating, idek?")

Heading into December 2024, Toey (Ta's sibling, who just made a movie with Fourth from GMMtv), started attending events with TaUs.

There was an awards show (I can't even begin to remember which one ooops), where the cast of the Bike BL attended. Ta took ONE pic with Nanon and spent the rest of the time with Us and Toey.

(This is the second and last time we saw Ta and Nanon interact publicly, EVER)

BOC's NYE countdown party brought more fun: Ta took one pic with Copper (who was home for the holidays) and spent the entire night with Us, WHO WASN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE THERE, HE CAME AS TA'S +1). They were caught sharing drinks, holding hands, hugging, and at least one sniff kiss.

They did a joint Chinese New Year photoshoot, where Ta was sitting on a throne and Us was perched on the arm next to him (it read very, very couple-y, imo).

Also for Chinese NY, they visited 9 temples together as part of Buddhist practices (accompanied by Toey).

On Valentine's Day 2025, they released a tiktok where they danced together to "How Deep is Your Love"

Us brought Ta a cake at Ta's birthday event in February 2025 (and Ta gave him a special cupcake of his own).

One of the road trips they had taken was filmed for Tong's (former KP castmate) you tube channel and dropped in March 2025. There was a "hickey" discussion back when it was filmed because pics of Ta had some questionable marks. Ta said it was from "playing airsoft." (Sure, Jan)

March 1st, 2025: Ta's contract ended with BOC. Ta, Us, and Toey all confirmed they were under the same management, Bright Venture Artists.

Either in March or April 2025, TaUs did their first joint interview. It was poorly subbed, but we were able to glean that they considered themselves a pair (unclear in what capacity) and they had future upcoming plans. They also promised that they would have a Big Announcement ‘sometime soon’ but couldn’t even give hints.

Other things learned during this interview: since DFF, Us does Ta's make up. He doesn't have a make up artist. Also, they use Guu/Mueng pronouns for themselves/each other (both of which are considered vulgar and offensive unless you are extremely close).

After Songkran, things went quiet. Love is Like a Bike had released schedules for workshopping, costume fitting, script read throughs but according to social media, nothing seemed to be happening. Everything was suddenly very hush-hush for no apparent reason. 

TaUs attended the KP reunion (via Jeff) together

May 14th, 2025: the Bike BL IG makes a huge casting announcement. Nanon was no longer with the show and his character would now be played by Us.

And that is the timeline of how TaUs became a branded pair in the most ass backwards way possible (and the six months of insanity, frustration, and cage rattling that @blu-eyed-demon and myself suffered during that time period.)

Tagging by request: @respectthepetty @babyangelsky @italianpersonwithashippersheart @benkaben @callipigio @lukaherehelp

And if anyone wants to see the tik tok compilation that @blu-eyed-demon put together, it's here: https://youtu.be/H2HftdRaqdg?si=x4Y6ac5mWp0lUu6d

[scannainscanrula]

shadowed corners (ii)

part one here

author's note: did not expect this to come as fast as it did but wow a preroll can work wonders! this is much sexier than part one so grma as always and enjoy warnings: horror elements, vampire violence, fingering, vibrators, masturbation (fem and masc), and grinding

PART TWO

You tap your toe nervously as the sun rises and you sit in the building that serves the dual departments of police, and fish and game. You feel colder than it is, as the morning sun is rising and illuminating the gray-white linoleum tile of the floor.

You hear your last name and stand up on shaky legs, walking to the counter.

“Just sign here, honey,” the older woman behind the counter tells you, pointing a manicured finger at the dotted line where you can sign the official report you filed with both departments. 

Chris, you learn, was not from this tiny coastal town. He’s actually from Santa Ana in California, and comes up here during the winters because nobody wants to do the lifeguarding job then. 

“You okay to head home?”

“The um… the fish and game officer drove me.”

“Are you far? I can give you a lift.”

You shake your head.

“No, thank you. I’m gonna walk. Try and… get some fresh air.”

“That’s a good idea. Here,” she starts, ripping a paper from a notepad and jotting down a phone number. “This is me, honey. I was a school counselor for a long time, if you think you need to talk.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out. 

You can’t understand how everyone today has been so kind and gentle with you. As you walk home slowly, the town is still hardly awake. You can remember Chris telling you about the other shark attacks, and how they devastated the town up the coast. Your heart hurts for any impact this event will have, emotional or economic.

And you just came here for a getaway.

You arrive back home and fumble for your keys, dropping them and sniffling when you lean down to pick them up. You unlock the door with shaky hands, opening and closing it to lean against the back of it. You feel your eyes get teary as you slide down the back of it, sitting on the floor. You cry there, knees close to your chest as you sob out your feelings. After a few minutes you sit up, exhaling deeply. You feel selfish and nauseous and above all, exhausted. You have to sleep. 

You approach the stairs, kicking your shoes off before you go up. You start up the stairs slowly, tossing your coat over the banister and your hat on the floor, peeling off your sweater and unhooking your bra in the back. You undo your jeans, shoving them down and stepping out of them. You maneuver your bra out from under your tank top and flop onto your bed, face in a pillow. At some point, you fall asleep.

Your body rocks in waves on a creaky bed in a derelict room. It’s so dark, only the billowing and shredded white curtains blowing in the soft breeze glow blue in the moonlight. You feel the familiar and addictive sensation of thick, rough fingers filling your cunt, and you moan. The red eyes stare at you in the darkness, murmuring still in words you don’t know. Only this time… you feel like you do know them.

“Mo ghrá,” the creature huffs through dripping fangs. 

My love. 

“Mo bhrídeog. Mo bhrídeog gnaíúil.”

My bride. My beautiful bride.

You don’t feel any fear, only adoration as clawed fingers brush up your bare thighs, skimming your side and tracing the outline of your breast, reaching up to frame your chin. You meet the red eyes and see the corner of the monster’s maw twitch. 

“An dtuigeann tú mé?” it speaks again. The voice chills you. It doesn’t sound like it comes from the mouth, but from the room itself, like the dark corners are speaking to you.

You nod, unable to form words. You do understand. The hand between your legs presses the heel of its palm against your clit, making you cry out. You feel oversensitive and under-stimulated, hips canting for more attention than the beast seems keen to give. 

Not that it isn’t looming over you, its free hand tracing every part of your body. It offers a thumb for you to suck as it touches your face lightly. It pulls the hand back, tracing down the opposite side. Brushing that wet thumb over your already pert nipple and looking up at you when you gasp. It squeezes your breast, pinching your nipple and examining you like you’re the first woman it’s ever seen. But that can’t be true, because the fingers inside your cunt have their claws retracted, and are driving in-out, in-out with expert speed and precision. When they curl upwards, they lift you with them, making you whimper as your hips rise. This creature is so strong, it can lift you with the two broad fingers in your cunt?

You jolt awake, your phone ringing and buzzing on the bed next to you. No time to think about how sick in the head you are, having a sex nightmare the day a guy you like got eaten by a fucking shark.

You pick it up and see your agent calling you.

“Hello?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Um… I’m so sorry, if you’re looking to talk contracts I just… this place I’m staying in had a really brutal shark attack this morning-”

“Oh my God.”

“The guy was um… was dead when they found him. And, fuck, um, I… I was the one who f-found the body.”

“Holy shit, kid. Are you okay?”

“Um, I will be. Just um… forward anything to the publisher in the meantime, please?”

“Yeah, of course. Shit. I’m so sorry, I know you went out there to relax. Do you want me to find you another place?”

“Maybe. I-I’m gonna rest for today and I’ll… I’ll circle back on that idea.”

“Okay. You get some rest. Please.”

“I will.”

“Right. Call me back.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Feel better, kid.” She hangs up and you sigh. Sitting up reveals that you’ve soaked through not only your underwear but the topsheet that had bundled between your legs that you were no doubt humping while you dreamt about a monster finger-fucking you. God, you really are sick. You text your therapist, asking if she can schedule anything sooner than your next appointment or if she has a moment to talk.

Hi Stevie do you have a moment to talk? I’m totally in crisis mode and I really need to talk it over with a professional

Absolutely. I have a free slot right now if you need.

You press the call button.

She greets you warmly with your name.

“Hi,” you answer weakly.

“What’s going on?”

“Um… the town I’m in I… there was a shark attack last night, and I-I found a dead body on the beach.”

“Oh my God,” she answers. 

“And I… I knew him. W-we were actually supposed to go on like, a first date last night but he stood me up and now I’m thinking that he was… already dead?”

You’re word vomiting, and she uses her calmest voice to say your name until you stop. You breathe weakly and she leads you through a calming exercise.

“I want to hear you say that this wasn’t your fault.”

“It… it wasn’t my fault. I know. I’m just… he was a lifeguard. Like… why would he go out in the water that late at night?”

“Okay, right now, what isn’t going to help you is trying to understand what someone you knew for one day was going through or their thought process. I know you’re really empathetic, it’s one of the things I really admire about you as a patient. But you are not responsible for understanding why this happened. Understand?”

“I understand.”

You pause.

“When I went home and tried to sleep I had another one of the nightmares.”

“They’re still a problem?”

You nod, but you realise she can’t see you.

“Y-yes. Yeah. Um, I had another the other night, so… the coast hasn’t gotten rid of them.”

“I’m not a nineteenth century doctor, I didn’t expect sea air to suddenly fix all your problems.”

You chuckle at that, and sniffle.

“But this one was so much worse.”

“Scarier or…?”

“More um… more sexual?” you say cautiously.

Stevie specialises in sex therapy, which you’ve been eternally grateful for when dealing with these nightmares.

“Sexually violent?”

“No, it was… it felt good. Like, really good. Like… ‘new crush sex dream’ good. I was so aroused. I think I came, actually.”

“Huh.”

“And it called me… a bride?”

You hear her hum thoughtfully as she sighs.

“Do you think any of that has to do with your upcoming bridesmaid duties?”

You have two friends who are getting married, and you were asked to be a bridesmaid. It just seems to be that season in life, where people you know are getting married left and right. It made you feel a little uneasy about the progression of your love life alongside your career.

“Why the fuck would my subconscious be worried about that now?” you snap, angrier than you want to sound.

“The mind is a very strange little computer. Certain keywords can trigger emotions that logically have nothing to do with one another.”

You huff, trying to calm down.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, please. I’m going to email you some grief processing material. And I want you to keep documenting these dreams so we can really analyse them at our next session. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“And as for the arousal, you are going to be so much worse if you don’t address it, so please, please just… ride out the feeling.”

“Okay.”

“And I am so sorry, but I have to get to my next patient.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Stevie.”

“Hey, no worries. Please feel free to text me anything else, and I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“See you Saturday. Thank you.”

“Bye now.”

“Bye.”

You set your phone down and sigh, sitting at your desk. You look at your reflection in the little mirror on the vanity of the bedroom. You need a bowl, a shower, and lunch. In that order. You open the drawer and take out both the scent-proof bag and the vibrator as you pack yourself a bowl, lighting up and smoking on the cute balcony outside your bedroom. You look at the dark, unforgiving ocean and your stomach turns. You finish, sufficiently numb and floaty, and take the vibrator to the shower with you. 

You decide to have a bath instead. You sink into the warm water and look at the vibrator at the edge of the porcelain tub. Ride out the feeling. You scroll through audio tracks, looking for something that suits your needs. Soft dom boyfriend roleplay. No. Boss stuff? You’ll just think about your publisher, and as much as you love her Miranda Priestly energy, that is not the vibe. You cringe at a lifeguard story and quickly scroll past it. You just decide to close your eyes and pick one at random, putting it on top of your towel and snatching up the vibrator. 

You listen closely to the exposition and your eyes shoot open.

“I was just making sure you got home safe, babygirl. Don’t you wanna let me in for being so kind?” 

You peek over at your phone and see the page opened. The audio is called “Just Around the Corner” and you see your pen name and SC mentioned in the description. 

It always comes back to Milo, you think as you listen intently, eyes closed happily. You so ride it out. You ride it out three times before you’re shaking so hard the water is sloshing over the side of the tub. Your hand is gripping the side of the tub as you lean forward on your knees, following the narrative of the story. Your hand moves the vibe at a pace that would bruise your cervix– if this was the girth and length you imagined Milo to be– but the three-incher coaxes another orgasm out of you despite its size. You spasm as you frantically try to shut it off, wincing softly. You sit back on your knees, twitching and sore. It’s a good sore, though. 

At your desk you fill out two pages of your dream journal, trying to be as descriptive as possible. Stevie said it was a good thing you wrote erotica, because you always wrote them in a tantalizing way, even when the sex appeal was vague.

You press your thighs together and remember your writing notebook. You think you should rip out the page where you wrote HOT LIFEGUARD. Would that be insensitive? Stevie would call it protecting your peace. You search for it and find it’s not at the desk. You search your room, then the pockets of your winter coat and nothing. 

You definitely took it on your little tantrum stomp last night, and you know you felt it in your pocket by the lighthouse tower.

“Shit.”

It’s either on the beach or up by the lighthouse. The beach is closed and the absolute last thing you need is Remmick seeing you creeping around his lighthouse. You can go tonight, you guess. You just hope it doesn’t rain. You had the makings of a really good book in there. 

Since you can’t enter the beach just yet, you have another bowl and drift off watching a public access nature show on the TV. The dulcet Mainer tones have you sleepy and you fall asleep drooling on the arm of the sofa. You have a dreamless but strangely hot and sweaty sleep, and wake up when the moon is high. Perfect.

You rise and dress, picking darker colours so you can sneak on the beach carefully. Your phone flashlight should do, you think as you climb down the ladder and into the alcove. The tide is rising, so you better make this quick unless you want to come back the long way. 

You follow the paths between the lifeguard towers, searching for your notebook. It’ll be easy to spot, especially with the few holographic stickers on the cover. 

“You missin’ somethin’?”

You squeak and flinch, almost dropping your phone. Remmick walks over to you, holding out your notebook.

“You found it?”

“Yeah. Figured I’d just take it on my run with me, case I saw you.”

He grins, toothy and white. His teeth aren’t particularly white, but they are animal-like.

“And I saw you.”

“Thanks.”

“I heard about this mornin’,” he says when you grasp the book in your hands.

“Yeah.”

“That’s just awful. I’m so sorry.”

You stand there for a moment. His hands rest on his hips as he leans against Tower Three.

“You uh… you want some company?”

You think about it for a second.

“Yeah. I do, actually.”

“Mine or yours?”

You want the comfort of your sofa right now, but you also know that your sanctuary is important. You never let boys into your room the first night, content to share your cozy sofa. But this isn’t a date. He’s literally going to have to leave at some point to go and run the lighthouse.

As if reading your mind, he stands up, pushing himself off of the tower.

“It’s my night off, y’know.”

You blink at him.

“Did that sound forward?”

“A little.”

“Did you like it?”

“A little,” you answer honestly.

How is this guy real?

“Um, the back way to my place is probably sealed off. I think the tide is too high.”

I'm too high too, you think.

He thinks for a moment and he squints at you.

“Shit, you stayin’ in that cottage over there?” he says, pointing. “There’s another way to get in, you don’t mind gettin’ a little dirty.”

You’re floored. Does he know how he sounds?

“C’mon.”

Remmick takes you up the rocky cliff, which is easy enough to climb. You falter at one point and you feel your knee and shin scrape open on the crags.

“Shit!”

He looks back at you and takes your hand, pulling you up another rock so he can help you up by the waist. Unnecessary, but those hands feel right at home on your waist. They’re big and they grip you protectively. 

You don’t know that he’s holding on for dear life, attempting to steady his breathing as the delicious copper tang of you fills the air around him. You are bleeding, the blood pooling and starting to run down your leg.

“Y’alright?”

"Yeah, I’ll clean it inside.”

You step over to your back porch, opening the sliding door you left unlocked. Dummy, he thinks. Anything could get in like that. Not him, though. It has his cold heart beating fast. He likes being nervous, it’s something to feel. He hasn’t felt anything but hunger in a long time, and eating your lifeguard loverboy was a really special treat. 

Chris stumbles down the beach, cross faded on shitty New Hampshire flower and five too many Buds. He feels like a frat boy again. He left his phone in the lifeguard tower, and he’s on his way back to grab it.

He doesn’t know what’s just under the tower. Among the discarded inflatables and trash people throw down there is Remmick. 

Hungry, horny, ruthless Remmick.

As the lifeguard looks on the floor by the chair, Remmick takes his chance to strike. 

He hooks his claws up on the platform and raises himself up, digging his talons into Chris’ arm and tossing him off of the tower. He lands with a sick cracking sound, right on his arm.

“What the fuck?! You broke my arm!”

“Don’t get loud now, Chrissy, you don’t want anyone to hear.”

Remmick stalks him down, chasing him into the water and grabbing him by the neck. The other man is taller, but Remmick is everything else. Stronger, faster, and ready to fucking kill this lifeguard.

“Now, I don’t want you in my fellowship. Fact is, I don’t want you in this town, kid.”

Remmick holds him below the water as the lifeguard kicks and thrashes, drowning. 

“Shh, shh. That’s it. What were you any good for anyhow? Tepid conversation over shitty drinks and a second rate fuck on her sofa? As if you deserve that pussy. I’m puttin’ in the work, buddy.”

Chris stops twitching below the water and Remmick pulls up dead weight. He has to work fast before the blood cools, dead man’s blood is no good for a thing like him. He goes to work gnawing at his arm around the elbow, drinking up that hot, irony blood as he thinks about you. You were so disappointed about this meal bag standing you up.

“Shit, look at you now,” he laughs to the body cruelly. “You just meat, s’all. Ain’t nothin’ else.”

He spits out a chunk of muscle and smirks.

“Pathetic.”

You watch him linger at the doorway, looking around in your house.

“Should I take off my shoes?” 

It’s a lie that works sometimes, a perfect little prompt to be let in.

“It’s not my place,” you shrug. 

He hesitates again and you tilt your head at him.

“You coming in or what?” you joke.

He tries to hide the clench of his stomach. He wants to. But you still have to say it.

“Remmick, I’m fucking bleeding, can you just come in, please?”

Your please has him swallowing hard. He chuckles as he passes the threshold. Close call. He leans against the opening into the kitchen hand on the wall. You produce a bottle of isopropyl alcohol and wet a paper towel, cleaning your little scrapes. You wince and he grips the doorframe tightly, his nails digging into the white paint.

You are such a fucking treat, He knows you’ll taste so good. He knows what you like now, the words to say and places to squeeze a little harder. You finally let him in so nice in your dreams, finally understood him. His pretty little bride. You’ll look so good in a pool of blood.

“Do you want a drink?” you ask, spreading some antibiotic on your leg and applying two bandages.

“I’m fine.”

You want more boxed wine, but you’re still a little wobbly from that second bowl, so you pour yourself some water in a cup, not your bottle. 

Remmick follows you to the sofa and sees a book on your desk.

“This yours?”

“That’s my firstborn,” you joke.

He holds up Ivory Fortress, your first title. A mafia romance with a tall, dark, and psycho mafia fixer who falls for a pianist for the New York Philharmonic. Once, while waiting for the subway, you saw a girl lugging a keyboard in the station. She glanced at her phone and looked around, and suddenly the biggest guy you’ve ever seen appeared. He picked up the keyboard like it was nothing and greeted her with a hey, baby. You whipped out your phone and drafted a concept in the time it took between two stations. 

“This is a pen name, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s mostly for safety.”

“Right.”

Safety, he thinks. You’re about the furthest thing from safe after letting him in, but you remain cool. He knows he’s plucking the right cords. He just has to play your pretty song well enough and you’ll let him croon his way to your bedroom to ring wedding bells in your mind.

He’s starting to feel desperate as you shrug off your coat and peel off your sweater, left bare to him in a tiny little tank top. The visible bit of your tummy has him biting back a groan as you sit down.

“You can sit, y’know.”

“Right.”

You squint at him.

“Do you need permission to do everything?” you half-joke, watching him stiffly sit on your sofa. “Actually, you sound like a perfect man.”

“Do I?”

“Oh my God, in the city you would not believe how many fucking… alpha male podcaster manosphere freaks there are who literally will scoff at the idea of consent.”

He doesn’t know half of the words you just said, but he nods anyway.

“Do you like podcasts?”

“I like music,” he offers, hoping those are similar things. 

“Well, yeah. Everybody likes music. Like what?”

“I got some records at my place.”

“You’re into vinyl?”

Are there other ways to listen to music? He nods again, dumbfounded by your words. Maybe it’s just how long it's been or the place he chose to hole up in, but you’re the most modern woman Remmick has ever met. 

“Was this your first time… with a shark attack?”

“Yeah. I mean, they’re so rare, I thought?”

Not wherever he is.

“More common on the East Coast,” he lies.

“Where are you from?” you ask him, curious about his accent.

“This is North Carolina you’re hearin’,” he answers, artfully lying.

A little part of him wishes he could say Ireland. He wants you to be one mind already, so he can show you Killary Fjord and Connemara.

You hum in realisation, you know the sound of the state, more or less. 

“Were you here with the ones up the coast happened?”

“Nah. I was still down south,” he lies. 

Lifeguard Loverboy was a fucking motormouth, as he is discovering. 

You both talk for a little bit longer, and eventually he can relax a little bit at the smell of your blood and your heartbeat in your leg. Your legs are crossed, your bandages one bouncing as you tap your other foot on the floor. It’s a charming little tic, but he wants to rip off your bandages and lick his way up until he can part your legs and finally fucking eat. He’s so hungry, and he’s feeling stupid about it. 

He says something to make you laugh, and you lean over and touch his thigh as you do. 

“Oh, shit,” you laugh, sighing. You notice your hand. “Oh, shit. Sorry. That was uncool.”

“N-no. It’s fine.”

You catch the stammer in his voice and lean in, smirking at him.

“Are you nervous, Remmick?”

“Be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t.”

You pat his knee.

“Do you ever get lonely up there?”

“Sometimes. There’s another guy, so we switch off every couple days.”

“But you’re just like… nocturnal, right?”

“Sorry?”

“I just mean, um… in college I worked night shifts at the front desk of this hotel in New York, and… even on my days off I’d still wake up at like, five PM.”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

You lean in further, too close for comfort now.

“You tryin’ t’count my freckles?” he mutters, shifting in place.

“I’m trying to make you squirm.”

His girl, thinking with her pussy even after she found his bloody work. 

“You ain’t makin’ me squirm, darlin’,” he husks, glancing from your lips to your eyes.

You hover there for a moment, breathing in each other’s air. You lean in– carefully, tentatively– his head tilts to the side slowly when he realises what you’re doing. You kiss, your lips meeting briefly before you pull back. His eyes are closed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you like that?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t respond. He just kisses you again, cupping your face with his hand. It’s deep and sloppy, sloppier than you’d like. You squirm back and a thick strand of spit connects your mouths. He quickly wipes at his mouth and covers it, looking away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, his fangs out behind his hand.

“No, it’s okay. Do you wanna… maybe try again?” you offer gently, a hand on his thigh. 

You see a stiff tent in his shorts, even through the compression layer.

“No, I-I… I should go,” he babbles.

“Are you sure?” 

Your hand slides closer to his cock and he makes a choked whimpering sound. 

“Has it been a while?”

“Y-yeah,” he admits, lowering his hand as he finally manages to get his fangs back up.

His legs are spread wide, one hand planted on his thigh as he catches his breath. He scrubs a hand down his face and looks at you. His face is sweet and needy.

There’s a nagging voice telling you you’re insane for making out with the town weirdo three days after meeting him, but something else wants this. Something deep and old.

You climb into his lap, bracketing his thighs with your own. 

“You’re cold.”

“It’s cold in Maine in the winter, baby.”

You raise a brow at that pet name and trail your hand up his chest, up his neck, lifting his chin with your thumb.

“You are so cute,” you coo, admiring him.

Remmick doesn’t even know what to do with himself. Any other woman he’d have them undressed in the bed already, but you? He’s like a puppy, lost and confused.

“It’s really been a while, huh?” you tease him, scooting up to sit on that bulge in his pants. 

He can’t hold back the groan at your words and movement. Everything about your notebook made you seem like another type of girl. Like one who was looking for a dark man to be the boss. But you’re the boss now.

Your hand trails back down and lingers at his taut stomach, your pinky finger teasing the waistband of his shorts. He curls a hand in your hair and pushes you down to kiss you again, not caring if he drools. He feels you rocking on him, a hand on his chest. His other hand grips your thigh and slides around to hold you up by the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Oh, shit,” you breath, grinding down on him. “Y-you’re so hard…”

“S’all you, darlin’. Shit, fuckin’... playin’ all nice ‘n sweet when you dirty as fuck.”

“You’re drooling,” you tease him, kissing his neck.

“Only cause I know this pussy’s droolin’ for me, baby,” he murmurs, nipping at your ear.

He feels you stiffen and laugh nervously. 

“Yeah, there’s no way you get to meet her your first time here.”

“Even if I ask real nice?”

You sit back.

“Um… I-I’m sorry, I-” you start.

“You wanna stop?”

“Yeah.”

He nods and you climb off of his lap, sitting next to him.

“Sorry.”

“You’ve had a pretty fuckin’ bad day, so…”

“Yeah.”

You sit in that awkward silence for a moment, both shifting around as your respective arousal wanes.

“Are you working tomorrow?” you ask him softly, tracing a shape in the palm of his hand.

“Nah.”

“You wanna come over and watch a movie or something?”

“I can do that.”

You sigh and stand up, stretching your back.

“I think I should get to bed.”

He nods, standing slowly.

“Right.”

“Goodnight, Remmick.”

“You sleep well, okay?”

“Thanks.”

He exits and you cover your face, growling.

“Fuck!”

You had him right there and you still fucked it up.

Remmick snarls to himself as he climbs down the cliff, jogging back to the lighthouse. He had you right there. He could smell you, feel how wet you were through those stupid yoga pants. 

After hunting, he climbs up the rock and sand stairs, going to his small room. He lives like a monk in a small and simple room with boarded up windows. The other man, an older man named Jones, thinks that Remmick is on drugs or drinks too much. He sleeps all day and when he is awake, he’s completely wired, and always complaining of stomach pains. He has a haggard look about him like someone who’s whacked out and looking for their next fix.

In his bed in only his boxers, Remmick can think of the smell of your house. Home cooked food, the blood on your knee, and your wet cunt tensing up around nothing. He snarls and slides his hand down his stomach, gripping himself tightly at the base. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, turning over to hug his pillow tightly. 

He fucks into his hand, imagining the girl from his dreams each night. The bride in white cotton, the willing bride who opens her legs sweetly. The bride who can’t speak, who’s just learning to understand him. His thumb rubs over the tip, making him twitch at the roughness of his own hand. He brings his hand up to collect his drool and darts his hand down again, twisting it in a tight grip and imagining your cunt. That slick, tight, fuck, fuck, fuck feeling that has his hips stuttering as he bites into his pillow. He grunts, whining and hiccuping as he slows himself, bringing his cock to the edge and pulling his hand away. 

“Ah-h-hah…” he breathes out, face in the mattress. He sees that his teeth have ripped the pillowcase and his drool has soaked into the interior. He takes a shaking breath and strokes himself again, wincing at the oversensitivity. 

“Mo bhrídeog. Mo bhrídeog gnaíúil,” he chants, canting his hips again and again until he spills over his hand and makes a mess of the fabric.

His pretty bride. Not much longer now.

[kiame-sama]

It's been as hot as hell these past few days in America. My AC units are having to go on seperate plugs just because they're getting overworked and overheated. I've heard that some people's AC is shutting off entirely.

How do the boys react to an overheated Darling or kiddies? I feel like Jamil would love the humidity and all, but someone like Ace or Deuce would be unable to function in this weather.

Also, for those who have pets, keep an eye on them during this weather! Don't leave them alone outside without supervision! There's been reports of animals being left out and dying! Take care of yourself and your animals, please and thank you!

Warnings; yandere behavior, Human= Reader, gender neutral reader, multiple yandere monsters, Monster TWST AU,

Rollo is panicking and unsure how to help. He can only heat things up, not cool them down. He will try to find a shaded area for you and will be willing to fan you, but he lets out constant heat, so he may overwhelm and warm you on accident.

Jamil LOVES the heat. He enjoys laying in the sun and warming his scales under the light. Dry heat or wet heat, he doesn't care, it feels nice to him either way. if he notices you are uncomfortable or heating up too much, he can actually lay his coils on top of you or wrap you in them. Because he is Naga, his body is naturally colder than most other species, so being under his scales while he moves them every few minutes would actually mean he constantly has a cold spot to help cool you down while you in turn warm him up. He can even find something to fan you with using his tail.

The Dragon can easily shield you with his wings as well as use his magic to create a breeze for you to keep you cool on the unbearably hot days. Malleus is unbothered by the heat most of the time and is happy to do what he needs to so you are comfortable, but if he genuinely thinks you are overheating or in extreme discomfort from the heat, he will begin to get upset. Malleus' sorrow beings about a blizzard, so you may long for the heat once he actually gets in his emotions. For the most part, Malleus is good at keeping you cool before it gets to that point.

Idia is technically considered to be as cold as the grave despite his flame hair. As a creature from Tartarus- the Land of the Dead- Idia is cold enough to chill others to the bone. He isn't often one to soak up the sunlight, more a creature of shadows and darkness. If you are too warm and hug onto the Shinigami, you may actually start to shiver because of how cold Idia can be to the touch. Lay on top of him wrapped in a blanket and he will keep you at a nice chilly temp. You may even long for your heated blanket if you snuggle Idia long enough. He is quite cold and that chill can be felt by touching him.

Kida is an Air Nymph and can easily create a breeze to cool you down. Due to his natural affinity for air, if you mention to him that you are feeling too warm, he will happily make a chilly breeze that cools you down in the heat of the day. Let him know if the wind is too cold and he will adjust as needed.

Neige is eager to try and keep you comfortable, going as far as fanning you with his wings to help you cool off. Neige will happily do whatever he can to make sure you are comfortable and cool on event he hottest of days. Do you need a cold drink? He can get that for you! Do you need shade? Well, he can happily use his wings to shield you. Just communicate with him and he will do what he can to keep you comfortable and at peace.

If it is getting too warm for you to stay comfortable, go swimming with him. He can hold you right along the waterline on his back, letting you longue across his equine figure as he swims lazy circles through the water. If you really want, he can cast a spell so you can safely submerge completely under the water and chill out in the lake with him. He will ensure you are comfortable and safe regardless while you spend time in the lake with him.

Sounds like you could use some time beneath the waves with him. Azul promises that you will be comfortable and safe while you are by his side. He will give you a potion that allows you to breathe under the water and he will happily swim with you while the two of you escape the heat of the day. Just let him know and he will move his schedule around to accommodate your needs.

[freak-accident419]

'i wish you were a girl'

Rhett Abbott x Reader

Summary: Rhett comes to you for help. You always had this weird relationship with him—a weird in-between of platonic and romantic. However, Rhett had a reputation to hold, meaning you could never go too far with him. The worst part, however, is that he truly likes you as much as you do.

Word Count: 1.1k

Content: (drabble-ish), non-woman!reader, male!reader, non-binary!reader, genderqueer!reader, inspired by 'as you are' film, influenced by 'brokeback mountain' film, are they lovers? worse, closeted Rhett Abbott, forbidden love, no happy ending (feel free to request a 2nd part), kissing, comfort, cuddling, events canon to the show, this is my pride month fic xx

-

Rhett Abbott was straight.

At least that's what the default assumption was in Wabang, Wyoming.

It was a western, conservative territory. Otherwise, there was an unspoken "don't ask, don't tell" etiquette among townsfolk. It wasn't too much of a burden to be queer, considering there was an out lesbian as the Deputy Sheriff. But that didn't mean Joy Hawk hadn't faced any hardships at all because of it.

Rhett Abbott was raised to be a "real man." He instantly got fixated on the concept of bull riding in his childhood and he was always teased by his elders whenever there was a girl his age right next to him.

There was nothing wrong with being queer. Rhett was taught to be respectful and kind, and that's what the Abbott family was all about. But if Rhett was queer? It was never a conversation. He was "too masculine, too much of a ladies' man" to be, so there were no concerns there.

Surely enough, that statement would soon be challenged once you came into the picture.

You were Rhett's close friend, knowing him for a few years now. It all started with you helping him shotgun a Miller Lite at a lively bonfire party. He fucked up with the first can and wound up spilling it all over the ground. As you witnessed his pathetic endeavor, you decided to assist him with a new can, puncturing the hole for him. Obviously, you both got drunk that evening, but Rhett seemed to be more hammered than you. The friends he came with were nowhere to be seen, so you stayed with him the entire time, driving him home once you finally sobered up. Ever since that night, you never left his side.

But that was years ago. Now, you had a much deeper connection, one that was more unconventional than anything. Don't take this the wrong way, it was beautiful. But it also wasn't comprehensible. It reached places farther than just friendship, yet it didn't quite meet the criteria for a real, romantic relationship either.

There was one thing for certain, however. Rhett Abbott simply couldn't be with you. It was well known—rather, well assumed—that he was straight.

So he didn't question this very moment; his head on your lap as you stroke his brown locks. Apparently, Rhett got into serious trouble. He wasn't specific about it as he blabbered to you in a panic, but he also knew you weren't the kind to pry. You would just do things for him without asking.

"Will you be my alibi for last night?" You could hear the urgency over the phone just through his anxious inflection.

He needed you. "Yeah. Sure."

And so, he came to your place in pursuit of solace. And you provided. After all, that's what friends were for.

Rhett lightly shifted his position on the couch, continuing to revel in your touch. His blue eyes bore into the wooden wall across from him, feeling the stress from his brother's actions slowly fading away.

He knew he shouldn't feel anything for you. He knew it wasn't right, to fall for his close friend. He knew it wasn't right to fall for someone like you.

"You okay?"

But he couldn't help it.

"What?" Rhett huffs in alert, slightly turning his head to face you.

Your hand that was in his hair lightly pushed him back in position to convey he had nothing to worry about. "You've been quiet," you mumble, gentle fingers continuing its ministrations, "something else bothering you?"

The man on your lap sighs deeply. "Everything's just so fucked up," he mutters bitterly, almost nuzzling your thigh with the slight stir of his nose.

Rhett was six feet tall, weighing around 150 pounds. He would frequently work on the ranch, having his fair share of chores. He would get into bar fights and he rode bulls for a living. But none of that mattered right now; he felt like the smallest person on earth as long as he was in your arms.

"Thank you for doing this," he mumbles, shutting his eyes briefly in exhaustion, "I know it's very... inconvenient."

"Yeah, well," you scoff softly, "you should know by now that I'm used to your troublemaking tendencies."

He let out a quiet chuckle in response, inhaling deeply in order to ground himself.

"Mm. Yeah," he sighs, before a bittersweet thought crossed his mind. "What would I do without you?"

Rhett sat up, untangling from your arms. He was beside you on the couch, searching your eyes with a hint of desperation. He needed to be close to you.

He felt like a magnet. It felt like you were falling—an excruciatingly slow fall towards him. You weren't sure what came over you, because your face moved closer and closer to his until your lips touched.

He kissed back.

You were kissing Rhett. And Rhett was kissing back.

Your hands were limp as your mouth moved with his, feeling his gentle, moist lips meshed with yours. He was lost in the sensation, exploring the foreign territory of intimacy with you. He kissed you deeply, his tongue already parting your mouth to taste you. Yet, while it felt like a millennium, the kiss concluded promptly.

Rhett sank back into his spot on the couch, and the two of you just stayed there motionless, processing what had just happened.

It's always been deemed so wrong, but it felt so right. He wasn't supposed to kiss a platonic friend. He wasn't supposed to kiss someone who wasn't a woman. He wasn't supposed to kiss you. No matter how much his body seemed to crave it.

Women were his forte, and that was the end of it. From childish crushes on girls in grade school, to hopeless yearning for Maria Olivares in high school, he's always liked women. And sure, his cowboy peers may have looked fairly attractive to him. And maybe that librarian always seemed to have a pretty smile on their face. But it didn't mean anything. There was no way it could have been sexual attraction. Rhett Abbott was straight. He had to be.

After all, everybody expects the bull-wrangling, church-going Abbott offspring to be a well-respected, good old fashioned role model of a man.

Rhett gulped, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and regret as his next words would break the long streak of silence.

"I wish you were a girl," he murmured.

He wasn't looking at you, as his eyes were glued to the floor—glassy and scintillating.

You expected this of him. You knew it in your heart that you loved each other. But Rhett was stubborn and he had a reputation to hold. He never wanted to risk being a disappointment. Even if that meant hurting you.

"I'm sorry," he utters.

You always knew it was never going to work out.

"Me too."

You just didn't expect it to be this painful.

[silentcaps]

Before you they never…

tags: hurt/comfort, soft, relationship

cast: albedo, venti, noelle, rosaria, xinyan, tartaglia x reader

side b: baizhu, beidou, bennett, diluc, kazuha, mona

ALBEDO

Before your relationship, he never asked anyone to pose for him. Albedo used to paint landscapes, standing on snowy mountain slopes, leaving rough sketches in his notebook next to his lab notes.

But he wants to draw you all the time now. Against a sunset or a night lake, busy or resting on the bed, dressed or not. Albedo admires you like an artist does a muse he's been searching for.

And it’s not about appearance. He catches how you bite your lip when you’re thinking. How you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous. How you fix your hair out of habit, even when it’s not in your eyes. He sketches those little things too. In a separate album, carefully, like he’s documenting them.

And sometimes he asks, “I need to draw you again.” But you can see it in his eyes — he doesn’t need to. He just wants to create with you.

VENTI

Before your relationship, he never wanted to stay. And now Venti catches himself thinking that freedom doesn’t feel as easy to breathe in as it used to. Without you, he can’t breathe at all.

He starts staying the night — falling asleep on the hard couch and saying it’s comfortable. Tries to make breakfast. Picks wildflowers and brings them to you. Settles in with you.

At first, it scares him, and Venti disappears into bars. Alcohol always used to help, but now it tastes bitter. He could’ve thought you cast a spell on him, but this wanderer trusts you more than he trusts himself.

Venti doesn’t know if this will work out — he knows his own nature. But for the first time, he’s not afraid to try. And he doesn’t run.

NOELLE

Before your relationship, Noelle only knew love from books. In them, people confessed right away, fights vanished within a chapter, and the characters understood each other without a word.

Real life turned out differently. You argued — sometimes even shouted. Learned to listen, to give in, to forgive. In those moments, Noelle looked away, and it seemed like she wanted to give up. To go back to the fairy tale where love didn’t hurt.

But she still kept your gifts in a neat little box. She even saved small things: a dried flower from the first bouquet, a theater ticket, notes scribbled on scraps of paper.

And in her journal, she wrote:

“I don’t know how it’s supposed to be. In books, it’s different. But if we’re together — I’ll manage.”

ROSARIA

Before your relationship, Rosaria had never prayed for someone else out of her own free will. Her faith had always been hollow — nothing more than a habit drilled into her by elders.

Now, when you set off on a journey, she kneels in the cold temple. In a whisper, almost angrily, she begs Barbatos to keep you safe.

“Let them come back. I won’t ask for anything else.”

She hates how her clenched fists tremble. Hates that there’s someone she’s afraid to lose.

But if she stops praying — there’ll be nothing left but panic.

XINYAN

Before your relationship, Xinyan had never dedicated a song to anyone.

Not because she didn’t write — quite the opposite. She had dozens of drafts and lines scribbled on scraps of paper. But every time, at the last minute, she threw them out. No one was supposed to know who’d made a home in her heart.

But now — she stayed up all night, finishing the chords, wrote the guitar riff herself, poured every feeling into the lyrics. She’d worked on it so hard.

And now she’s looking at you from the stage — finds you instantly in the crowd, just by your eyes and silhouette, could never mistake you for anyone else — and sings, no smile on her face, with raw honesty in her voice:

“Baby, what are you doing? You know you can always come to me.”

TARTAGLIA

Before your relationship, he’d never introduced anyone to his family. Sure, Tartaglia had had girlfriends, but it never got that far. So your arrival in their home is a real event.

His mother sets the table, his father puts on his best clothes, the younger ones calm down. They’re more nervous than you are, and Tartaglia — he’s just happy.

He introduces everyone by name. Wraps an arm around your shoulders, serves you food himself, pointing out the juiciest piece on the plate. Gives a full tour of the childhood bedroom. Offers you a toy he carved from wood.

Then his family pulls you into conversation, and to your surprise, you learn that before your relationship, there were many things Tartaglia “never did.”

He never let anyone talk while fishing. Never wrapped someone in his scarf during a snowstorm. Never taught anyone how to shoot or fence. And never shared so much of himself with anyone.

[galatikid]

We have to get comfortable and trust one another in casual spaces before proceeding to more difficult and nuanced actions. Through these spaces we see strategy develop, if well coordinated and regularly occurring such events act as an entry for those who are not sure where to go or how to start. Confronting a disheartening reality becomes easier when you have such spaces and events to remind you of what a future could look like, a future to build into. When engaging in these events are you vocalizing your discontent of lack of actions? Are you inviting new faces to further plans of proactivity and communication? Reaching out to event organizers to offer resources and insight for what you feel is missing? Small events are capable of building into greater ones; these are how we gather to consume an elephant as alone we can only take a bite at a time. When everything comes crashing down these kinds of events will act as both net and foundation for what comes next.

saw a flyer for an event branded as "destroying empire" and its... a few live performances and coloring.

there is lots of value to building community ties and helping people soothe their nervous systems and all that. but it sure seems like we...only ever do that shit. and not the other shit that would you know destroy the empire. i cant fault anybody for not having the capacity to do the stuff that would destroy the empire, im not doing it (and when i am trying to do it, im not posting about it because that's not how it's done). it kind of requires a level of community investment in one another and infrastructure and training that just is not present in most spaces. but man. its a bleak/laughable feeling seeing this kind of thing sometimes. all this fucking anti colonial bluster and for what. i dont think we are gonna color and somatic exercise our way out of this one fellas. the dissonance of it all is pretty rough

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter twenty-eight, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rest of the bloodbath + teaming up, rafe and y/n are separated, catching fire events idk, peeta wtf

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

you haven’t killed anyone yet.

your fingers are aching from gripping the hilt of the sword too long, the wet leather slipping in your grasp as you haul it behind you. your thighs burn as you move, muscles screaming it’s too big, this damn place. it’s too open and yet too closed.

you slide to a stop near a splattered patch of blood you don’t look too long at. the sword clatters to the stone, left behind in a decision you don’t even think about. you don’t need it. you’re quicker with daggers, more accurate. two are strapped to your thigh, another in your hand, one more hidden at your ankle.

you don’t want to fight, not until it’s necessary.

you start running again. your shoes slap against the wet rock, water flicking up at your ankles as you sprint toward the next spoke. everything’s noise. you duck low when you hear a blade sing near your head, and then you’re slipping behind another jagged ridge of stone and praying you don’t get caught.

you keep moving until you hear your own voice shout before you even realize you’re doing it, “finnick!”

he turns at the sound. he’s a few yards ahead, looking over his shoulder, wet hair plastered to his forehead, trident clenched tight in his grip.

he hears you, but he doesn’t come to you. your steps slow as you reach them. you see katniss now, bow raised and trembling in her hands. mags is there too, her shoulders hunched and small.

finnick doesn’t speak. he just tosses a brief nod to you before diving into the water, arms slicing in fast strokes.

you step closer to mags, your hand resting gently on her back. her shoulder is trembling slightly beneath your fingers. she doesn’t look at you, but you feel the squeeze of her arm move just enough, like she’s saying go on, do what you have to do, so you do.

you break off from her, moving to katniss’s side just in time to see the water stilling, only the faintest ripples now. katniss lowers her bow.

your eyes dart to where finnick just dove. you don’t see anyone anymore. not peeta, not the tribute who pulled him under, nothing but water.

your dagger slips a little in your hand. “is he—?” you whisper to yourself. your eyes dart left to where peeta was, then down to the water, but you can’t see anything past the surface.

you shift closer, breath catching in your throat. your legs are tense, your knees bending. you’re debating whether to jump in, whether to help.

a cannon fires.

you freeze, and your heart lurches violently, slamming against your ribs. katniss exhales and drops her bow to her side. her face stays blank, but her eyes are wide, searching, desperate.

you look again, search for ripples, for bubbles, for anything to tell you which one of them died, but there’s nothing.

you don’t say anything. none of you do. because if peeta’s gone, if he’s the one who just died, everything could change.

but no one moves. you don’t know if they’re holding their breath too or if it’s just you.

you don't have to look at her to know the panic within her. it’s in every inhale that turns into a gasp, in the way she tightens her grip on her bow like it’ll save her from what’s already happened. you don’t know her well, not personally, not like you do rafe, but you know fear. and that’s literally what she sounds like right now.

your hand stretches out before you even realize what you're doing, reaching instinctively for mags on your other side. she doesn’t flinch when your fingers wrap gently around her arm. it grounds you. maybe it grounds her too.

you all watch as someone floats to the surface.

at first, you can’t see their face. it’s just a back but it turns your blood cold. the fabric clings to their skin as their body floats facedown, swaying in the water like a ghost.

no one says a word.

katniss gasps again beside you. your fingers dig into the fabric of mags’s sleeve.

whoever it is, whoever won the fight, hasn’t revealed themselves.

you don’t know if you’re hoping to see peeta resurface or if you’re just terrified of what happens if he doesn’t. your hand finds the hilt of your dagger again, not because you think someone’s going to come for you right now, but because you need something else to hold.

because if you already lost peeta, if you already lost a piece of this plan, you don’t know what that means. for any of you.

in the distance, finnick’s still swimming. he hasn’t stopped since he dove in, and for a second you don’t even think he registered the cannon.

it isn’t until he slows that you realize he’s seen it too, that the fighting is over. he stops, treading water now, gaze locked ahead.

you grip mags tighter. the body is still bobbing.

then just when your heartbeat threatens to crack your ribs, another head bursts through the surface. he gasps, flailing.

you jolt, a breath catching in your throat as peeta sputters and spits out water, his hands swiping blindly through the current like he doesn’t know where he is, who’s around him, or which way is he needs to swim now.

relief hits you so hard you nearly drop your blade.

mags exhales beside you, and though she doesn’t say anything, you feel the pressure of her relax under your fingers.

he’s okay. he’s alive.

for now.

you squint at the other body, the one still floating, and finally you recognize him. the male from district ten, you think. just a bit bigger than peeta, stronger-looking, but not quick enough. the capitol probably had some hopes for him.

his cannon already fired and you feel no guilt. you can’t anyway. not for him. not for anyone who tries to take down peeta, or katniss, or finnick, or johanna, and especially rafe.

your eyes flick toward the cornucopia. you mean to look at peeta again, maybe to make sure he gets out of the water okay, maybe to call out to him, but when you glance past katniss, you realize she’s not looking at him anymore.

her chest rises and falls too fast to be calm, but her eyes are locked forward, intense, focused. you follow her gaze, and your stomach sinks.

there are four of them.

they’re grouped up near the cornucopia, standing tall, plotting together.

gloss and cashmere, you recognize them first. but this time, they aren’t alone. they’re flanked by two others: victors you’ve seen before but never spoken to directly. district nine.

gloss must’ve recruited them. or maybe they approached him, knowing you and rafe wouldn’t be part of the pack this year. same with finnick since he has mags here, not that he would have agreed anyway.

it was supposed to be different. the careers always band together in the beginning. you were supposed to play that role. you and rafe were the golden pair, the capitol’s favorites. but not this year.

this year, you made yourselves unavailable. and clearly, someone took your place.

you glance at katniss again, but she’s already backing away like she knows they’ve been spotted too long. you step closer to her without thinking, keeping mags in your reach.

you don’t know if gloss saw you, you don’t know if cashmere recognizes you from this far, but it’s only a matter of time.

you shift your weight. the sun is hot overhead, but it feels fake. everything does, even the air.

you just need to find rafe, to know where he is. you need to see him with your own eyes before this day gets any worse and someone else’s cannon fires.

but for now, you’ll just stick with this group and hope the others are okay.

eventually you’re not sure how long you’ve been running anymore. your limbs are numb, your breathing erratic, and the jungle feels like it’s closing in on you from every angle. your sweat clings to your skin, mixing with the saltwater that still hasn’t dried since the bloodbath.

leaves whip across your face while vines try to snare your ankles. your boots slam against the uneven floor as you leap over a large root, hand up to swat a curtain of ferns out of your way.

you don’t slow until you’re sure no one’s following. and even then, it’s only when you find a patch of open space, just wide enough for all of you to stop without stepping on top of each other.

you crouch low, hands on your knees, gasping. katniss and peeta come in behind you, breathless too. finnick follows a few beats later, carrying mags on his back. he barely looks winded.

your entire body feels wet, still from the lake, the sweat, the heat. the humidity sticks to you like glue. your hair’s stuck to your forehead and neck, strands curling up from the moisture, wild around your face. you curse under your breath, slicking the mess back behind your ears with shaky fingers.

you almost feel dizzy, unsteady, and you reach over without looking and press your hand to finnick’s arm just to balance yourself as you crouch. it’s just instinct, but when you lift your head, you notice katniss watching. her eyes flick down to where your fingers are still curled around finnick’s bicep.

you raise your brows a little at her. you know that look. you need to let her know you and finnick don’t have a thing, that he’s still with annie.

“the thorns in my spine?” you say, voice hoarse as you straighten just enough to meet her gaze, “they fucked up my back. it’s never let me crouch the same since.”

her expression doesn’t change. she says nothing, so you look away, jaw clenched, the discomfort in your back throbbing dully now that you’ve mentioned it. stupid of you. why say anything? you hate talking about it. not because of the trauma behind it, just now that it’s on your mind you feel it even more so.

you don’t want sympathy anyway. you want to move.

“we need fresh water,” peeta mutters, still catching his breath.

you nod distantly. you don’t even have the energy to respond. you’re locked in, focused. you have to be.

a moment later, a cannon fires.

then another.

and another.

you barely blink.

“guess we’re not holding hands anymore,” finnick says after a beat, glancing behind him, then toward katniss and peeta. a corner of his mouth tugs up as he probably thinks about caesar’s interview a day ago.

katniss looks serious. “you think that’s funny?”

finnick he leans closer, his voice calm. “every time that cannon goes off, it’s like music to my ears,” he says, raising his hand and pointing behind him toward the sky, then lowers his hand, “i don’t care about any of them.”

“good to hear,” katniss says, reaching back and unsheathing a machete from where it’s strapped beside her arrows. it’s almost like a small threat in itself.

finnick doesn’t move. “want to face the career pack alone?” he asks evenly. “what would haymitch say?”

you lift your head just in time to see her glare hard enough to cut through him. “haymitch isn’t here,” she replies.

“guys,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. you’re still staring at the floor, tired of the tension already.

peeta glances between them, then exhales, pushing himself up to stand. “let’s keep moving.”

katniss doesn’t say anything. she holds the machete for another second before offering it to him. peeta takes it silently.

the rest of you follow. finnick gently helps mags back up onto his back, and then without a word, he offers you a hand too.

you hesitate, then take it, just long enough to let him pull you up. you let go as soon as you’re upright and take a step back, brushing your palms over your thighs and glancing around the jungle. every sound sets your nerves on fire.

you stare out at the trees before you keep walking.

you’re not even sure how long you’ve been in the jungle anymore. time stretches thin here, you forget that there’s no clock to check for time. and you can hardly tell where the sun is coming from to determine it either, not that you could if you tried, anyway.

peeta leads now, his machete swinging in arcs as he clears the way. you’re thankful for the path, even if your shoes are dragging with every step.

you’re behind him, finnick and mags are behind you, then it’s katniss keeping watch in the back. the formation makes you feel safe in theory, but it doesn’t stop your thoughts from running ahead of you. far ahead, to rafe.

you still don’t know where he is. you haven’t seen him since this morning, and death recap hasn’t run yet. the thought of knowing you could only find out he died through watching his face in the sky gnaws at you like a second heartbeat in your ribs.

he’s fine. you keep telling yourself that. he has to be.

he’s trained for this. he knows how to survive. and if he’s not with allies, then he’s alone, and you hate the idea of that even more, but he’s still alive. you know he is. you’d feel it if he wasn’t.

you keep your head down and press forward, pushing a branch out of your face, smacking a bug off your shoulder. you’re sweating like hell, your boots squelching through soft earth, and it still feels better than being dead.

you stomp forward. it’s all instinct now.

until suddenly, everything flips. a sharp yell cuts through the air like a shot. katniss.

“peeta, no!”

your head jerks up just in time to see the arc of his machete catch the faint glint of something overhead. it’s too thin to notice, too quiet to hear. and then there’s a sound, not quite a boom but more like a flash of energy, that buzzes in your teeth and claws down your spine.

it’s electricity.

before you even have time to react, peeta’s body flies back, launched like a fucking ragdoll, his weapon clattering out of his hand as he crashes into you, knocking the air clean out of your lungs.

your back hits finnick and mags behind you, and hard. then the wind leaves your chest, and you’re rolling on your side, then on your stomach, coughing and trying to breathe, trying to blink through the blinding green and yellow blur of jungle all around you.

you spit onto the ground, wipe your mouth, then look up, heart hammering in your ears.

“peeta?” katniss’s voice is shaky, too scared.

you twist toward her, eyes darting. he’s on the ground, still, and he’s not moving. katniss is already crawling across the few feet between them, practically throwing herself at him. she grabs his face, her hands trembling.

“peeta,” she says again, this time like she’s begging, but his eyes are shut. his arms are limp.

you can’t tell if he’s breathing, if this is one of those cannon moments. another peeta death scare, but this can’t be it.

katniss keeps whispering his name over and over while you lay there, chest heaving, hands clawing around a few leaves on the ground. behind you, finnick makes sure mags is okay where she is, eyes flitting between katniss and the direction they just came from.

you can tell he’s thinking the same thing: forcefields maybe, but not any that just act like a dull wall. this entire place is wired to kill, and they’re not even trying to hide it.

“he’s not breathing,” katniss warns. her hands are shaking against his face. “he’s not breathing! peeta!”

your heart drops. you don’t even have time to process before finnick is moving all the way around katniss and to the other side of peeta’s body. he nudges katniss to the side with more urgency than force, but it doesn’t matter. she snaps, recovering and grabbing for her bow, already reaching back for an arrow.

but before she can even nock it, your hand is there. you grip the front of the bow and stop her from raising it. she sees finnick in the same second and realizes he’s not attacking or hurting peeta, but that he’s helping.

he’s already lowering his face to peeta’s, breathing air into him. his movements are smooth and practiced, like he’s done this before. he probably has. you stay there, next to mags, whose hand you grab silently, just to anchor yourself to something.

katniss lowers the bow again. she doesn’t say anything else but she crawls forward.

finnick leans over peeta’s chest, starts pressing in a steady rhythm. “come on,” he mutters under his breath. “come on!”

katniss leans over peeta’s face, brushing her fingers over his jaw, her voice trembling. “please wake up,” she whispers. “peeta, please—”

you can barely breathe watching it. it’s surreal, like something out of a nightmare you can’t move through. the thudding in your head matches the beat of finnick’s hands pounding against peeta’s chest.

mags squeezes your hand. you glance at her briefly. she doesn’t speak. she just gives you a look like, i know.

finnick drops his head down again, ear to peeta’s chest. you see his jaw tighten. he shakes his head once, quick, and goes back in. another round of compressions, then mouth-to-mouth again.

katniss can’t stop crying. she’s in full panic mode, sobbing, and the tears are constant as she brushes her fingers through his hair. it’s unbearable. it goes on for what feels like forever until peeta gasps awake.

his chest rises fast. he coughs, his eyes still closed, but he’s alive.

you feel relief hit your spine as katniss lets out a noise that doesn’t have a name, but it’s part-laugh, part-sob. she leans over him, close to him, whispering something only he can hear.

finnick backs up slowly. he doesn’t look proud. he just breathes, wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then turns to mags, crouching to check her over quietly.

you’re still watching katniss and peeta when you feel finnick’s eyes on you. you glance over. he’s already looking at you and you hold his stare for a moment.

you’ve spent months with him and the others just mocking what passes for love when it’s broadcasted on a screen, when it’s sold to an audience, when it’s made into a weapon, mostly because of what you and rafe had already gone through.

but watching katniss and peeta now?

it doesn’t feel fake. it doesn’t look fake, and finnick sees that too.

he raises one brow just slightly. not in challenge, just enough to say, maybe we were wrong. you don’t smile, but your lips twitch. it’s this silent, mutual truce passes between you and finnick, a nonverbal conversation that says: this feels real.

he gives a small nod but nothing more is said. you turn back to the couple on the ground. katniss cradling peeta’s face, peeta’s chest still rising like he doesn’t know what happened. and for now, that’s enough.

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[ranticore]

how did you start writing books that had themes? i’ve been writing since i was 7 years old and i’ve always wanted to write a whole book one day, but i don’t feel like i write with enough intention for any of my stories to keep my interest long enough to write a novel. i love building worlds and characters, and i often understand the themes that i want to explore in a given piece, but i always feel like worldbuilding gets in the way of actually writing a plot or having something to say, or that i’m too interested in stuff that doesn’t matter as opposed to actually telling a story. that or i feel like my stuff is too derivative.

So I did the same as you from a very early age, a lot of writing that was kind of directionless, lacking overarching structures. I don't want to say it was immature but in the way of kids playing imagination games, it just kinda.. went on and on with no resolution just pure interaction where any random thing could happen because it seemed like the next step. But for that kind of writing, "the next step" was based off the one directly previous to it. To make the jump to what you describe as books with themes, "the next step" can't be based off the one directly previous to it. "The next step" has to be the extension of every single previous step, including the very first, because the entire story is built from the ground up to be a single unified whole.

I think the jump from the directionless writing to writing A Novel (with all attendant structural conventions - different to fanfic, tv writing, screenplays etc) is that the novel is approached holistically with every single event considered at the same time, instead of each little part examined as a discrete unit that links to the next at the end of the chapter/scene/etc.

What I did was write my entire series out - all three books - in rough draft format, changing it and retconning it freely as I went. the continuity in these drafts sucked and the themes are all over the place but when I was finished with these three book drafts I had every tool at my disposal. at the end of my book 3 rough draft I had worked out all my themes and my events sequence etc. which meant that when I went on to start writing what would become the final draft of stbh (complete rewrites from the ground up, no reusing rough draft prose), I knew from the very beginning exactly how the story would end and it gave me so much freedom and space to approach the full story as a whole, add foreshadowing that wasn't there before, coded hints to how the last book would end (nobody's spotted them yet... as far as I know), and so on

As for themes vs worldbuilding, and what details matter more, ultimately it's for you to decide what you want to focus on. But you also need to understand when a particular element needs to be cut to serve the narrative. If it's something you really really need to include, then you need to restructure the narrative around it (the rough draft -> rewritten first draft method helps a lot with this). There's plenty of plotlines I really liked which I axed in the end because, cool as they were, they broke the causal chain and therefore had to go.

When choosing themes you can approach it not as "what do I like" but "what do I want to say". This should clarify a lot of things. Sometimes what you want to say is "wouldn't that be fucked up or what", it isn't always some deep commentary on the world. For the imimata story I went at it with the initial core of "I am talking about dehumanisation, abuse, and celebrity culture". So I have to wrap my worldbuilding around that, rather than start without direction. The fact that the situation for imimata is so dire is a result of this theme. And so on.

Finally for worldbuilding it is possible to overdo it. I personally get turned off a story very quickly if I'm hit with eighteen walls of exposition and detail unrelated to characters, because I only want one thing and it's disgusting (character interaction), so I'm happy with a very loose canon setting. Not everyone's the same. When you do reveal world building details, link them to your theme. Let's say in Inver my theme was poverty and I want to talk about my worldbuilding around diets. I narrate that through a character who grew up in poverty reminiscing about having to go collect whelks in the bay mud. That teaches us about the physical geography of the city, what the view out to sea looks like, the coastal habitats, the types of food gathered by the poor, and also something about that character as well. Additionally, you might know one billion facts and figures about your setting but do your characters have that knowledge?

Also your own interests vs others' - write for yourself first or you'll be miserable. And if it's derivative or not - idk I mean I just avoid pulling inspiration without twisting it into what I want (and I also avoid pulling inspiration from ppl on my tumblr dash because that's how things get stale). I am a contrary bitch first and foremost and I approach a lot of stuff like "everyone's doing this? well I'm doing the opposite" ... ymmv