#I feel a bit awkward tagging it with that last one

[chimcess]

Unparalleled || jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other tags: Idol!Jungkook, Photographer!Reader Word Count: 6.6k+ Genre:  One-shot, established relationship, PWP, long distance relationship AU, smut Synopsis: You had only met him once, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, and the fact that he was on the other side of the hotel door felt surreal. Or, after being in a long-distance relationship for over a year, you and Jungkook are finally meeting up. Warnings: This is literally just porn, there’s a plot but it’s just filth, soft-dom JK, he calls reader “baby,” oral (m&f), d*ck piercing, tatted jk, jk wears glasses (the entire time), dirty talk, desperate sex, couch sex, they barely made it inside tbh, protected sex (wrap it up babes), multiple positions, light begging, light body worship, light praise, some teasing, reader cums on his face, multiple orgasms, nipple play, nipple sucking, some nipple biting, hair pulling, aftercare cuddling, sweet ending, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I’m still getting used to writing smut, so I’m sorry if this is a bit awkward in some spots. Found this in my drafts, so I fixed it up a little bit and decided to post it. Thanks for reading.

Staring down at my fidgeting hands, I felt like the taxi was closing in on me, every tick of the clock amplifying the sense of claustrophobia. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity, dragging by as if time itself were taunting me. I stole another glance at my phone, re-reading Jungkook's last message like it was some sort of magic spell. 

Kookie: 324

It was surreal to think he was right here in California, just a short drive away, no oceans or time zones separating us. My leg bounced nervously beneath the table, the excitement swirling in my stomach like butterflies in a frenzy. Each moment felt charged with anticipation, a thrilling energy that made my heart race. I quickly typed out a response, adding a heart emoji before sending my location. Jungkook always said sharing my location made him feel closer to me, bridging the gap between our worlds, even with his whirlwind schedule that rarely left room for anything else. Being one of the biggest pop stars had a way of pulling a guy in a million directions.

I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled our first meeting. It was right after the lockdown ended, during his band’s visit to California for a concert and the Grammys. I still vividly remembered standing by the snack table, nervously clutching a half-empty cup of soda, when our eyes met for the first time. There was an electric spark in that moment, something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. His grin was infectious, his playful nature shining through, and my heart had skipped a beat at the sound of his laughter. It echoed in my mind like a melody I wanted to play on repeat.

A few months later, we had entered a long-distance relationship, navigating the challenges of his demanding career while trying to keep our connection alive. Late-night video calls, flirty texts, and the occasional surprise visit were our lifelines, but nothing could compare to the rush of being together in the same room. And now, the thought of finally seeing him in person again sent a rush of warmth through me, a blend of hope and nervous energy that was hard to contain.

As I waited, I replayed our conversations in my mind—each one a thread weaving our lives together despite the distance. We shared dreams, fears, and whispered secrets, laying the groundwork for something beautiful and profound. The thought of being in his presence again, of feeling his warmth and the comfort of his touch, made my heart race with excitement.

I glanced at the clock again, biting my lip in anticipation. Each minute stretched into hours, the seconds crawling by. Would he still feel the same? Would our chemistry translate into real life as effortlessly as it did through screens and messages? Doubts flitted through my mind, but I shook them off, focusing on the joy of the moment. Jungkook was just a heartbeat away, and soon, I would be in his arms. The very idea sent a shiver down my spine.

My phone buzzed, startling me out of my thoughts. I scrambled to open the notification, my heart racing. If Jungkook messaged, I had to respond quickly. Our conversations were a race against time, a way to squeeze moments of connection into his packed schedule. Phone calls were our only reliable lifeline, but the language barrier complicated things. We were both trying, though Jungkook's English was much better than my Korean.

Kookie: 나는 신나요

Giggling, I typed back a response.

Y/N: 나도

Kookie: Good job, 자기~

Nothing made Jungkook happier than seeing me try to improve my Korean. He always insisted it was adorable, his smile brightening every time I stumbled through a phrase. Yoongi was usually the more honest one, quick to point out my mispronunciations, but Jungkook wore that supportive boyfriend badge with pride, even if it meant telling me little white lies.

As the taxi pulled up to the hotel, my heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I thanked the driver, tipping generously as I stepped out into the warm night air. The moment I did, the fragrant scent of blooming jasmine wafted around me, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. I had only packed a small bag for our two-night stay, not knowing how much time we’d actually have together. Remembering that, I hurried up the steps, my footsteps echoing against the marble tiles.

The Sunset Hotel was unlike anything I’d imagined. I had envisioned a quiet, almost sleepy place, but instead, it was alive with activity. I couldn’t believe it was two in the morning; the lobby was bustling, a vibrant mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint notes of live music drifting from the bar area. The energy crackled in the air like electricity, and I felt an exhilarating rush. Yet, amidst the lively atmosphere, a wave of inadequacy washed over me. Just a few moments ago, in the taxi, I had almost forgotten about Jungkook’s status as one of the biggest pop stars in the world, but now, beneath the sparkling chandelier that cast shimmering patterns across the polished floor, it was impossible to ignore.

As I walked through the brightly lit lobby, I caught glimpses of elegantly dressed guests, their conversations animated, their laughter ringing out like musical notes. I felt like a fish out of water, dressed in a casual sundress while they flaunted designer attire. Who would have thought my years in the service industry—working late nights and juggling demanding customers—would lead me here, about to meet someone who could afford such luxury? The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

At the front desk, the staff shot me quick, assessing looks. Their eyes were sharp, as if measuring my worth in this lavish setting. One of the hosts greeted me with a forced smile that felt far too wide for comfort. “Welcome to the Sunset Hotel! How can I assist you tonight?” Their voice dripped with that practiced hospitality, but I could sense a subtle skepticism beneath the surface.

“Um, I’m here to check in,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I fished my phone out of my bag, ready to show them the reservation I’d made, but the host raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the computer screen as if evaluating my very presence.

“Name?” they asked, still wearing that unnaturally bright smile.

“Y/N,” I replied, and I held my breath as they typed it in. A brief moment of silence stretched between us, the bustling lobby fading into a distant murmur as I waited for their response. 

“Ah, yes! We have you right here,” they said finally, their tone shifting to one of mild surprise. “You’re the other half of 324, correct?” They looked at me again, and I could feel the weight of their judgment, as if I were a puzzle they were trying to fit into a larger picture.

“Right,” I said, attempting to keep my tone light. “Should just be for the weekend.” 

The host’s smile remained, but the glint in their eye suggested they were piecing together the details, perhaps even recognizing my connection to Jungkook. As they handed me the key card, I felt a rush of anxiety. What if they didn’t think I belonged here? What if Jungkook didn’t feel the same way about me once we were together?

I took the key, my fingers brushing against the cool surface, and turned to head toward the elevator. I was acutely aware of the looks I was receiving, a mix of curiosity and skepticism from both staff and guests alike. The air was thick with expectations, and I could almost hear the whispers in my mind, doubting whether I was truly worthy of this moment. But I pushed those thoughts aside. This was about Jungkook and me, our connection. And soon, I would be in his presence, feeling the warmth of his smile and the excitement of our reunion. 

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind me like a protective barrier from the outside world. As the car ascended, I clutched my bag, heart racing with every passing floor. This was it. In just a few moments, I would be face-to-face with the boy who had ignited something within me, and no amount of uncertainty could overshadow that truth.

I shifted from foot to foot in the cramped elevator, the anticipation eating away at me like a swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching my nerves thinner and thinner. I took out my phone, biting back a smile as I contemplated the moment. It was so surreal that I was just a few moments away from seeing Jungkook again after what felt like an eternity apart.

In a burst of excitement, I snapped a quick picture of the elevator doors opening, the sleek metallic finish reflecting the soft glow of the lobby lights. I sent it to Jungkook with a playful caption: *“Almost there!”* Watching the little blue ticks appear, I felt a rush of warmth, knowing he’d see it almost instantly.

Once inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the third floor with a mix of hope and trepidation. It only made sense that the 300s would be located on the third floor, right? Still, the absence of any signs directing me left me feeling a bit disoriented. The elevator hummed softly, its gentle movement barely easing the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.

The walls felt a bit too close, almost as if they were closing in on me, but I took a deep breath, willing myself to relax. I replayed the memories of our conversations, the laughter we shared, and the longing I felt every time we parted. The excitement pulsing through me was intoxicating, a vivid contrast to the anxious tension coiling in my chest.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand, jolting me out of my reverie. I glanced down, my heart skipping a beat as I saw Jungkook's name flashing on the screen. 

Kookie: I’m going to kiss you so much.

I couldn’t help but smile. I hoped kissing would be just the beginning of what would happen tonight. After a year of building up tension, I didn’t want to wait anymore. I wanted him.

Y/N: 또?

Kookie: I can’t think of it in English.

Rolling my eyes, I groaned. That was his way of avoiding a question. I knew he understood, but it amused me more than anything. Slowly, my nerves eased, and I felt more confident about seeing him, even if we were hiding away in a hotel I could never afford, lying on expensive sheets while the world outside spun with sharp eyes and curious gazes.

As the elevator dinged softly, signaling my arrival at the third floor, I felt a surge of adrenaline. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing a dimly lit hallway lined with plush carpeting and framed art pieces that whispered of elegance. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps as I moved forward. The anticipation hung in the air like a charged atmosphere before a storm, and I could almost feel Jungkook’s presence drawing me closer.

I glanced at the room numbers, scanning for his. As I walked, I imagined what it would be like to finally be face-to-face with him. Would he look the same? Would that boyish grin still light up his face when he saw me? The thought sent my heart racing as I turned a corner, catching sight of the numbers I had been searching for. 

Room 324. My breath caught in my throat, and for a fleeting moment, I hesitated, overwhelmed by a wave of nerves. What if things were different now? What if he had changed? But I quickly shook off the doubts; this was Jungkook, the boy I had laughed and shared secrets with, the one who had kept my heart fluttering even from a distance.

With a firm resolve, I approached the door, my heart pounding in rhythm with my steps. I held my breath, the moment stretching out like a taut string ready to snap. Would he answer? Would he be excited to see me? I could hardly contain the anticipation, my heart racing as I waited for that door to swing open. The air crackled with anticipation, buzzing with the weight of what was about to happen. 

I raised my hand to knock, but before my knuckles could even touch the wood, the door swung open. And there he was—Jungkook.

He was everything I remembered: pitch-black hair tousled in a way that was both effortless and enticing, metal glinting in the light, thin, silver rimmed glasses, and a thin white t-shirt clinging to his muscular frame. It felt surreal, like stepping into a vivid dream, but this was no illusion. This was real, and it took my breath away.

"You," I whispered, the word slipping out like a gasp. 

His dark eyes widened in surprise, delight flickering across his features. My heart raced as I watched him take me in, his expression shifting from uncertainty to something deeper, more intimate. Had he been waiting for this moment as much as I had? Was he just as happy as I felt?

All my doubts faded when that eyebrow, heavy with steel, raised in appreciation instead of scorn. He stepped into the hallway, and my heart pounded wildly, the space between us charged with an unspoken promise.

"You," he echoed, his voice low and husky as he took my hand in his, guiding me back into his room. 

He kicked the door shut behind him. The air thickened as he moved closer, inches separating us, electric and intoxicating. I inhaled the scent of him—soap and laundry detergent—sending shivers down my spine. A soft whimper escaped my lips, desire pooling in my stomach like a spark waiting to ignite.

With an air of confidence, he advanced, and I leaned back, the weight of his presence drawing me in like gravity. I stopped when my back hit the couch, the world outside fading away as we paused, our breaths mingling in the charged silence. My fingers, betraying me, reached up to trace the row of piercings in his eyebrow, trailing down the line of his jaw to his lips. They were soft and rosy, a striking contrast to the rough stubble that scratched my palm.

In that moment, he darted his tongue out, the pointed tip brushing against my fingers, and I moaned softly, the sound echoing in the intimate space between us, igniting the fire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

And then he was on me.

He seized my hand, guiding it into the tousled mess of hair I had longed to touch. It was softer than I had imagined, and I lost myself in it. His mouth descended on mine, a fiery torrent of passion and urgency. My body responded instinctively, arching into him as our breaths mingled, his desire palpable against my stomach, the taste of longing lingering on his lips.

His palm traced a path down my arm, firm and possessive, sliding over my shoulder and back again. He tugged at the buttons of my cardigan, peeling the fabric away to reveal the inked skin beneath. I shivered at the roughness of his touch, a thrilling contrast to the softness of his kiss.

Breaking away, I pressed my mouth against the line of his jaw, trailing wet kisses toward the piercings in his ear, letting my tongue tease them as my breath washed hot against his skin.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” He whispered against my lips.

I panted, my fingers tangling tightly in his hair.

His hands tightened around my arms, pulling us together, the weight of our bodies colliding in a desperate embrace. “Every single day,” he swore, his voice rough yet melodic. He began a slow, deliberate exploration of my neck, the heat of his tongue tracing my pulse and making me shudder. “Every night that you called me, whispering sweet nothings in that voice. It drove me insane. I just wanted to hop on a plane and have you in my lap.”

“God, I wish you would have,” I gasped, feeling the bite of his teeth just below my collarbone, a thrilling blend of pain and pleasure that made me clench around nothing. “Why didn’t you?”

“You make me nervous,” he murmured, teasing aside the cup of my bra.

He took my nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the bud with reverence. I whined in pleasure, arching into him. Emboldened, he bit down.

“Self-conscious, huh?” I teased, winded and shaking from pleasure, even as my nails dug into his back, urging him closer. “I have a hard time believing that right now.”

He pulled back, capturing my face in his strong hands, kissing me fiercely as a low growl escaped him. “Believe it.”

We kissed with a fierce intensity that made me feel like I was on fire, the heat radiating off him, his glasses pressing against my face. He shifted to remove them, but I caught his wrists, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” I growled. “I like them.”

A primal sound erupted from his chest, desperate and raw. He lifted me effortlessly, settling me against the back of the couch, our bodies grinding together, my thighs aligning perfectly with the hard heat of his jeans. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure surging through me, my head falling back as I teetered on the brink of ecstasy, feeling weightless and electric, consumed by a desire that felt like it could set us both ablaze.

But he caught me. Just as I was about to tumble backward into dizzying, white-hot pleasure, his arms wrapped around me, firm and unyielding, pulling me against the solid expanse of his chest. My breath came in quick, frantic gasps, my heart racing like a wild animal as I clung to him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer.

“Careful, pretty girl,” he breathed into my ear, a soft murmur that sent shivers racing down my spine. I grasped at his back, fingers digging into the taut muscles, anchoring myself to him, afraid of being swept away in the tide of desire threatening to pull me under.

My hands roamed from his back, gliding over his shoulders and down his arms as he stroked his fingertips along my thighs, mapping a path from my knees to my hips and back again. His skin was warm, electric under my touch, and I traced the intricate black curls of ink adorning his pale flesh—an abstract tapestry resolving into a lion on one arm and a lamb on the other.

“You’re beautiful,” I gasped, the words spilling out before I could stop them, but he silenced me with another heated kiss. 

My fingers fumbled at the hem of his t-shirt, desperate to see what those curls of ink transformed into beneath the fabric. He shifted me closer, his grip on me unwavering, even as his hands momentarily released me to lift his arms above his head. Seizing the opportunity, I tugged at his shirt, peeling it away to reveal the canvas of his torso, the intricate lines of ink telling stories I longed to hear.

I barely had time to take in the intricate Sanskrit lines etched along his side and the lone kanji character hovering over his heart before he was lifting my shirt, pulling it over my head. For a heartbeat, I was enveloped in darkness, blinded by the fabric. My hands scrambled behind me, fumbling to unclasp my bra, and he kissed a heated trail along the bare skin of my shoulder as the straps slipped down my arms.

“I love this,” he murmured against my skin, his lips trailing softly across my collarbone, down my ribs, and back to my breast, igniting every nerve in my body. “And I love it all the more because of this.”

His tongue brushed over the small butterfly tattoo on my ribcage.

His fingers roamed lower, and when he pulled away, I let out a whimper of protest, longing for his touch. The light-headed sensation returned, reminding me just how long it had been since a man had touched me—since I’d felt filled.

I braced myself with one hand against the edge of the couch while the other tangled in his tousled hair, relishing its softness as it slipped through my fingers. His mouth found my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, tracing a tantalizing line toward my most sensitive spot. I gasped, an overwhelming hunger igniting deep within me. I had been yearning for this, for him, and the desperate need flooded my senses.

With deft fingers, he teased apart the button of my fly and drew down the zipper, revealing delicate black lace beneath. He licked and sucked his way to my hip, his hand lingering on my abdomen, thumb skirting under the edge of my underwear before descending lower, finally finding bare, glistening skin. When his fingers grazed my clit, pleasure surged through me, and I nearly cried out at its raw intensity.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping,” he cursed, his voice rough with desire as he buried his face against the joint of my hip and thigh.

“For you,” I groaned, my body arching instinctively. “I’ve been wet for months just thinking about you.”

A low growl escaped him, and in a blur of motion, he tore the hem of my jeans down, ripping them from my body until I was left in nothing but my panties. He pushed my naked thighs up and over his shoulders, positioning his head exactly where I craved him to be.

I struggled to contain my frantic breaths, fast and shallow, echoing my absolute need to feel his hands, his mouth, to be consumed by him entirely. He inhaled deeply, reverently, his nose brushing against the lace where my body met my thigh. The sensation sent shockwaves through me, rendering me breathless.

He wrapped one hand around my leg while the other snaked behind me, gripping my ass firmly, anchoring me as he pulled the soaked fabric aside, exposing my bare skin to his hungry gaze. His thumb descended onto my clit, and I gasped, waves of need crashing over me as pleasure radiated from his touch. I cried out, the sound escaping me like a prayer, my body arching toward him, desperate for more.

And then he kissed me, his mouth capturing my clit with an intensity that sent me spiraling.

The moans clawing their way from my chest were unrecognizable, a desperate symphony of need as I became a writhing mass of pure, unadulterated hunger. Unlatching himself, his thumb worked expertly at my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. His tongue darted out, teasing the edges of my entrance before plunging inside, and I felt the pressure building, the storm that had been gathering finally reaching its peak until I exploded, my thighs clenching around his face as my body ignited into a searing inferno.

I teetered on the edge of ecstasy, and then I actually fell over, the world spiraling away.

When I regained awareness, I was sprawled across the back of the couch, my neck twisted awkwardly, the top of my head grazing the seat cushion. My arms draped limply above me while my thighs remained anchored to his shoulders. He gazed down at me, a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction etched across his face, his mouth glistening—a testament to our fervor.

With a wicked smirk, he wiped his mouth with his forearm, leaving me in my awkward state as he peeled my panties down my body, rendering me completely exposed and unable to rise. His finger glided along my opening, my body still thrumming with aftershocks from one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever experienced. When he dipped gently inside, I gasped.

“Is this what you want, Y/N? My hands inside you?” 

I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of emotions; I craved this intimacy with him more than anything, yet it felt like just a fragment of the whole picture. The sensation of his fingers deep within me was intoxicating, but beneath that, there lingered a yearning for more—more than just his hands. I ached for him—his body hovering over mine, the heat radiating from him as I traced the ink etched across his skin, my tongue teasing the silver piercings that adorned him.

“Yes. No. God, I want you,” I gasped, my voice a mixture of longing and desperation.

He raised a pierced eyebrow, still kneeling before me, his fingers buried deep inside me. “Want your cock.”

“You want this dick?” he asked, his tone both teasing and serious.

“Yes,” I panted, the word slipping out as both a plea and a command.

“Where?” 

I knew exactly where I wanted him; the desire burned brightly within me. “Everywhere. My hand. My mouth. My pussy. Just… everywhere.” 

A low growl escaped him, reverberating through my body, raw and hungry. But just as quickly, his fingers slipped away, leaving me aching and empty. He gripped my hips, securing me against him and the back of the couch, rising to slide my slick core against the hard line of his body. The urgency of his arousal pressed against me, igniting a fire within. 

He leaned down, gathering me into his arms, kissing me with such fervor that I felt dizzy, his hardness grinding against me—a promise of what was to come.

I pushed him away gently, his expression shifting to one of confusion, but all I needed was a moment to slide off the couch and drop to my knees. He groaned as I ran my nose along the thick outline of him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in response to my teasing. With trembling hands, I tugged his pants and boxers down, revealing him—long, thick, and glistening with anticipation.

The chrome piercing at the tip caught the light, gleaming enticingly. 

Looking up, I found him hovering above me, his body bared save for those damn glasses. His intense gaze locked onto mine, a silent plea reflected in his brown eyes. “Y/N,” I breathed, letting my warm breath wash over the tip of him. He groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, urging me forward.

“God, I want to feel your mouth on me,” he implored, igniting a wild hunger within me. 

I opened my mouth, eager and wet, my lips closing around the head of him, my tongue tracing the underside, the cool metal against warm flesh sending shivers down my spine. 

“Y/N.”

I pulled away before I could take him too deep, trailing my mouth down his length, savoring every moment as I buried my nose into the soft hair at the base of him. He was practically whimpering, and I couldn’t resist the urge to pump him twice with my hand, the slickness gliding over him before I took him into my mouth, relaxing my throat to envelop him. Yet even with all my efforts, I couldn’t fit him completely, and I rubbed my thighs together, craving the moment he would finally fill me.

I moved my mouth up and down his length, achingly slow, feeling the tension coiling within him, his hips twitching, restrained. He wanted to thrust, to take control, but I held him back, guiding his movements while keeping him still. I could sense his legs trembling, teetering on the edge, so I pulled off, leaving him panting, his length throbbing, a testament to our shared desire.

Kissing the sharp bone of his hip, I pulled his pants the rest of the way down as he kicked off his shoes, the fabric sliding away like a whisper in the night. Just as I was about to toss the jeans aside, he stopped me, his voice low and husky. “Back pocket.”

Curiosity piqued, I glanced up at him through narrowed eyes and retrieved the little foil package from his back pocket. I noticed at least two more tucked away, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had remarkable recovery time or if he was planning a very long weekend with me. Both notions sent a thrilling rush coursing through me

I held the condom up between two of my fingers. Jungkook snatched the package from me, tearing it open with a deft motion, rolling it over his cock from tip to base. He pressed his sheathed length against my hip, our bodies brushing together with a desperation that left me breathless.

“Turn,” he commanded, gently pushing at my shoulder. I obeyed, and his hands shoved me down, bending me from the waist, positioning my elbows on the back of the couch. When he was satisfied with my submission, he settled his hands firmly on my shoulder blades, a searing presence that felt as though it might melt through my skin, branding me with his touch.

His hands glided down my sides, over my ribs and hips, finally settling on my ass, rubbing it appreciatively. The edges of his fingers grazed my lips, parting them, and I jerked backward, feeling the heat of his cock resting against my back.

“Wider, baby,” he cooed, his fingers sliding over my trembling thighs. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation, and obeyed, spreading my legs for him. His knees bent between mine, the tip of his cock gliding tantalizingly from my clit to my entrance, brushing against me but not penetrating.

“Please, Jungkook,” I panted, desperation clawing at my throat as I felt myself teetering on the edge of begging.

Even he found himself pleading. “Please let me inside you,” he whispered, his length teasingly tracing my wet flesh, dipping slightly to part my lips but not filling the aching void within me.

“Yes,” I groaned, finally feeling the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, slipping into me inch by glorious inch. Nothing had ever felt this intense. “Fuck, yes,” I moaned, his grip hot and possessive at my hip while the other hand cradled the back of my neck, steadying me.

It was maddening not being able to move, even though all I wanted was to rock back and pull him deeper. 

My body stretched as he pushed forward, achingly slow until he was fully seated within me, his hips flush against my backside. I gasped as he filled me completely. The sensation was electrifying, and I felt him rock back slightly before surging forward again, the combination of his length and the hot tip of metal against my walls making my eyes roll.

“Please,” I urged, my mantra of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck me’ spiraling from my lips as he finally began to thrust with abandon, our bodies locked in a passionate dance. 

He tightened his grip on my hip, the other hand sliding to the middle of my back, pushing down. I could feel his movements becoming erratic, less steady—so close to coming inside me.

But I didn’t want it to end like this. Not after all this time. 

“No, stop,” I breathed, the words barely escaping my lips before he froze, a pained sound erupting from him like a wounded animal.

“Please, Jesus, Y/N, you can’t—”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, squeezing him tightly inside me. The resulting moan from his throat sent a jolt of electricity through my body. The rejection and frustration etched across his face twisted my heart. “After all this time missing you,” I whispered, locking eyes with him, “I need to see you. I need to see you come.”

In an instant, he withdrew, turning my body roughly until I felt the couch pressing against me once more. Supporting my back with one hand, he parted my thighs with fierce urgency, stepping into them and plunging back inside me. I screamed, the sound echoing through the empty corners of the room.

His face was close to mine as he began to move again, quick, short thrusts finding a new rhythm. Our sweaty brows collided, the metal hoops of his piercings scratching my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His name spilled from my lips as we captured each other in another fiery kiss, a moment so intense I thought I could lose myself entirely in the swirl of our bodies, his ink swirling around us like dark tendrils of smoke.

His patience began to fray as he kissed me harder, his body pressing into mine with more urgency. I felt the fiery bloom of pleasure building again, hot and electric, and I craved him hard and fast—a deep connection stripped of all restraint.

He must have sensed my need, too, as he quickened his pace. “Hold on, baby,” he instructed, and I complied, wrapping my arms and legs around him tightly. I let him brace himself against the back of the couch as he drove into me, his pubic bone hitting my clit with each thrust, the metal piercing hitting deep within me making me mewl.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Fuck,” he moans, the raw desperation in his voice igniting something primal within me. 

His face contorts in a beautiful, twisted expression of pleasure, each thrust deeper, harder, as if he’s trying to etch this moment into my very soul. The intensity of his words washes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me into a realm of oblivion. My body pulses in rhythm with his, a white-hot light flashing behind my closed eyes, merging with the vision of him—so fully present in my arms, lost in the sheer ecstasy we’ve created together.

As the world around us faded, time seemed to suspend, leaving only the two of us in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. I could feel the weight of our shared moments pressing against us, every sensation amplified in the silence that enveloped the room. Slowly, we began to come back to ourselves, his body still pressed against mine, a gentle reminder of the electrifying connection we had just shared. The feeling of him lingering inside me sent shivers down my spine, and our breaths intertwined in a rhythm that was both calming and exhilarating.

We exchanged soft kisses, each one delicate and filled with unspoken promises, contrasting the raw passion that had ignited between us moments before. It was a tender kind of intimacy, one that held the power to ground us in a whirlwind of emotions. 

After a moment, he pulled away, slipping out of me with a reluctance that made my heart ache just a little. The sudden emptiness was palpable, a gentle reminder of the closeness we had just experienced. Jungkook reached for the condom, his movements careful and deliberate, disposing of it in the wastebasket beside the couch. When he turned back to me, the soft glow of the room caught the contours of his face, illuminating him in a way that made him look almost ethereal.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the magic of the moment.

“I’m here,” I replied, unable to suppress the grin that broke across my face. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and this moment felt surreal.

Jungkook walked back over to the couch, his gaze roaming over my features as if he were trying to memorize every detail. “You look even better than I remembered,” he said, his smile soft and genuine, lighting up his eyes.

“And you look exhausted,” I teased, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and busy days.

He laughed, the sound brightening the room and melting away any remnants of anxiety I had carried with me. “It’s been a crazy week, but seeing you makes it all worth it.”

A smile broke across my face, the tension of the past months finally beginning to dissolve. For the first time since I had arrived, I took in my surroundings. The room felt both elegant and cozy, drenched in soft light, with tasteful decor that radiated warmth. A large bed dominated the space, its crisp white sheets looking impossibly inviting, and I found myself wishing we could make our way over there. It seemed far more comfortable than the couch.

“How was your flight?” Jungkook asked, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead, sending warmth flooding through me.

“Long,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited.” The truth was, anticipation had been buzzing in my veins like electricity ever since I’d set foot on the plane.

He settled next to me on the couch, his hand finding mine, our fingers intertwining in a way that felt instinctive. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, his thumb tracing small patterns on my skin, making my heart flutter in response.

“I’ve missed you too,” I replied, squeezing his hand tightly. “It feels like forever.”

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the city lights twinkling outside like a constellation trapped within a glass jar. The reality of being here with him began to sink in, settling deep in my bones. No more video calls with choppy connections or hurried texts exchanged amid the chaos of our lives—just us, flesh and blood, finally in the same place.

Breaking the quiet, Jungkook’s tone turned serious, slicing through the warmth that enveloped us. “How are you holding up? I know it’s been tough.”

I took a deep breath, weighing my response. “It’s been hard,” I admitted, the truth heavy on my tongue. “But knowing we’d have this, even just a couple of days, kept me going.” 

He nodded, understanding etched on his face. “It’s the same for me. The craziness of the tour and the constant traveling—it’s all worth it knowing I get to see you.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold night, soothing my weary soul. We talked for hours, drifting through a sea of conversation that felt both substantial and light, catching up on everything and nothing. His stories from the tour spilled out with infectious excitement, his eyes alight like fireflies in the dark. I shared my own experiences, and with every word, the distance between us began to melt away until it felt like the space of a single breath.

Eventually, exhaustion crept in like a gentle shadow, heavy yet comforting. Jungkook stood up and held out his hand, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Come on,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Let’s move to the bed. It’s way more comfortable.”

I took his hand, allowing him to guide me across the room. The large bed loomed before us, inviting and cozy, the crisp white sheets beckoning like a sanctuary. As we settled into the plush comfort, I felt a wave of contentment wash over me, a feeling that we were finally exactly where we were meant to be. We lay side by side, fingers intertwined like threads in a tapestry, the world outside fading into a dull hum, the city’s chaos a distant memory.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

At midday on the road into Grünland, a Mennonite colony in the Bolivian department of Beni, the only sound is a distant chainsaw.

On either side, strips of deforested land extend into the distance. Underfoot, the soil is scattered with shards of ceramic and bone: remnants of the pre-Columbian peoples that this part of the Bolivian Amazon, known as the Llanos de Mojos, once supported.

Archaeologists are only just beginning to understand the scale and complexity of these societies, but all the while, the agricultural frontier keeps advancing, destroying sites before they can be studied. The environmental damage of deforestation is well-known, but the Llanos de Mojos reveals another side of its impact: the loss of human history.

Grünland was founded in 2005 by Mennonites, members of the tightly-nit Anabaptist Christian group that began arriving in South America in the early 20th century, in search of isolation and lands to cultivate.

In one field, a Mennonite man called Guillermo was resting in the shade of his tractor. He cheerfully acknowledged finding ceramics and bones while working the land.

Umberto Lombardo, an Italian earth scientist and one of a handful of academics who study the archaeology of Beni, probed gently with questions about the topography of the land when it was first deforested.

The Llanos de Mojos is an almost completely flat region, so any elevated areas are a sure sign of human activity. Lombardo walked about, stopping here and there to pick pieces from the earth of what was once a vast human-made mound, now partly flattened by the farmers.

“The surface of the site is completely destroyed, changed, because the earth has been moved, the pottery broken,” said Lombardo. “That part of the archaeological archive is lost.”

The Mennonites are just one facet of Bolivia’s booming agribusiness, and what is happening in Grünland is happening all over Beni.

The Bolivian government has big plans for the sector. Today, the country has roughly 4m hectares of cultivated land and 10 million cattle. By 2025, the government wants 13m hectares and 18 million cattle.

On the current trajectory the government will undershoot those targets substantially. Nonetheless it has boosted the sector’s growth by allowing more deforestation and reducing fines for illegal deforestation.

In 2021, Global Forest Watch placed Bolivia third in the world for loss of primary forest, behind Brazil and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Ranked by population, Bolivia is first by a distance.

Most of this deforestation is happening in two departments: Santa Cruz and Beni. But it is in Beni that a unique archaeological heritage is at risk.

“Archaeology is everywhere in Beni,” said Lombardo. “They say if you put up a roof, you have a museum.”

The Amazon basin was once considered to be pristine wilderness, but a growing body of research has found traces of a vast network of earthworks predating the arrival of Christopher Columbus in the Americas and implying the existence of large, complex societies.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you show your husband some affection, thinking you two were alone - only to be interrupted by your son.

tags. dad!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. fluff, suggestive. mentions of toji developing / having a dad bod. & reader having a mom bod. reader gets called ‘princess, mama (by gumi)’. baby gumi waking up bcs of a nightmare. excuse me - not beta read bcs i was half asleep when writing this rt_t

“tooooji,” you smile as you enter the kitchen. you’ve put megumi to bed - finally - and have the chance to spend some one-on-one time with your dear husband. both of you deserve the rest after a hard day of work.

toji has been putting the dishes back in their designated spots whilst you were away. the dark-haired man turns his head to the side once he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist. a small grin tugs at his lips, “missed me, princess?”

you roll your eyes. even if years have passed since your marriage, toji has not stopped using that specific nickname for you. he loves calling you ‘princess’, because that’s what you’ll always be to him. in his eyes, at least.

“mhm,” you decide to indulge him. you bury your face into his broad back, feeling the muscles he’s worked so hard on obtaining. after megumi was born, toji did let himself go for a bit, but that is a good sign.

it means he’s content with his life - this peaceful life that he’s settled down for with no regrets. no more being reckless, no more battling for money; he’s now got a family to come back home to after all.

“is the little brat asleep?” toji asks while putting the last dish away. he’s visibly enjoying your warm hands that have slid under his shirt. your skin is so soft to the touch compared to his.

you chuckle and nod to his question. “gumi’s sleeping like a baby,” you rub your husband’s stomach gently, feeling the little bumps of his fading abs. you’re loving his new body - just as much as toji loves yours.

toji turns around to face you, desperately needing to return the favor. he can’t get enough of being with you. his rough hands grab your waist and bring you closer against his body, until your chests are nearly touching. he lowers his head to your neck, “that means i can show my wife how much i love her, yeah?”

you shiver at how toji’s voice turns from soft and gentle to sexual and husky. big hands find their place on your tummy, massaging the loose skin with its stretch marks. you can hear your husband’s breath hitch. “fuck,” toji swallows his spit, his fingers moving to grasp your hips.

toji loves how your hips got wider after you’ve given birth to your child. every change in your body, whether big or small, is completely welcomed by him. your body has blessed toji with a son he loves and he’ll forever be grateful for that fact. the least he can do is take his time to appreciate you.

“so beautiful,” toji sighs as he leaves soft pecks on your neck and throat. his fingers are working their way down to your thighs and ass—not leaving a single patch of skin untouched. his lips eventually find yours and you melt into his embrace.

it’s getting heated and the tension is palpable. toji’s about to lift you into his arms when you catch a glimpse of a short figure in the doorway. your eyes widen and you immediately detach your lips from your husband’s.

toji quickly catches on and sighs. he cocks his head to the left, the sight of his toddler standing at the doorway coming into view. “damn kid,” he whispers, nearly pouting because of the interruption. you playfully slap his bicep—a warning to fix his potty mouth in front of megumi.

“h-hey, gumi,” you say with an awkward giggle, walking towards the child. you fix your shirt in the meantime, straightening the material. you crouch down to megumi’s level and pat his head tenderly, “what happened? why are you out of bed?”

megumi stares up at you with teary eyes. he’s clenching onto his dog plushie, hugging the stuffed animal to his little body. you can easily guess that he’s scared—probably because of a nightmare. he’s been getting those more frequently.

though, instead of explaining himself, megumi searches for answers to something else. he points at his dad who’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. the toddler then looks back at you like he’s made some big discovery;

“mama papa kissing!”

you nearly choke on your spit. megumi’s a clever little boy and it shows through his advanced vocabulary. you’re surprised that he’s learnt what that meant already. you try to deny what your child said, “no, uhm, mama and papa were just hugging!”

toji snorts at your half assed excuse. he lazily walks over to you two, hands in his pockets. he bends forwards and looks megumi in the eyes with a huge smirk on his face. “yeah, we were. ‘n you totally ruined it,” he utters without any shame and menacingly sticks his tongue out at the little boy.

you hiss and lightly shove toji—he cannot take anything seriously. you’re trying your best to distract megumi’s attention from what he’s seen his parents do, to what his reason is for waking up.

“did you have a nightmare again?” you coo and pick your son up. he instantly snuggles up to you and presses his face against your chest in search of comfort. you smile and can conclude that your assumptions are right.

you pet megumi’s head whilst softly humming one of his favorite lullabies. toji watches your interaction with his son and his mood softens once more. he silently hugs you from behind—also wrapping an arm around megumi—turning it into a little family group hug.

“y’re all right, buddy,” toji mutters to megumi and the little boy sniffles in response, “mama ‘n papa ‘re right here.”

after a couple minutes, you carry megumi back to his room before putting him down in his bed. your husband stands next to you as you make sure your kid is tucked in properly.

megumi stares up at you with a sniff and you nearly melt at the adorable sight. you brush his bangs out of his eyes and kiss his forehead, wishing him a good night. the toddler nods and hugs his plushie to his chest again, still a bit shaken up from the nightmare. however, he’s doing a lot better after he got comforted by both his parents.

“sweet dreams, gumi,” you whisper and rub megumi’s cheeks with a fond smile on your lips. toji simply stares at you conversing with megumi—his face showing little to no emotion. though, from within, toji is absolutely in awe at your motherly personality. you’re the perfect mother.

megumi gets drowsy and tosses onto his side so he could be more comfortable. he struggles to open his eyes, but manages to look at toji. the little boy pouts and points another finger at his dad, this time drowsily warning him, “papa no kiss mama, ‘kay?”

that comment catches you off guard. you’re embarrassed by the fact that megumi still remembers what he’s seen in the kitchen. you try to clear your throat and explain yourself, but toji’s one step ahead of you. he silently mimics megumi’s words and rolls his eyes—

“yeah yeah, whatever. i won’t,” toji promises his son. the toddler clearly inherited your husband’s protectiveness. you chuckle at the playfulness between the two, enjoying the jokey banter the father-son duo have each time.

megumi huffs in victory and nods. he can sleep in peace now, knowing his dad won’t try anything funny with you. he closes his weary eyes and is asleep within just a few seconds.

you stretch your arms and sigh in content. you can’t help but chuckle once you notice how megumi’s fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his lips. you give the child one last forehead kiss before leaving the room in silence.

toji follows right behind you. now that his son is sound asleep, he doesn’t have to keep his promise. technically— he wasn’t planning to anyway.

“c’mere,” your husband mumbles and grabs your hand. he pulls you into a tight hug, hands instantly roaming your body which he admires so much. he plants his lips onto yours not a second later.

you smile into the kiss, finding it funny how toji couldn’t keep his (fake) promise for even one second. he would die if he actually couldn’t kiss you, and that isn’t even an exaggeration.

toji pulls back after a moment and smirks at you—those bedroom eyes of his very telling.

“so, where were we?”

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[piper-2244]

goodnight moon

how spencer turns college!reader's bad sleeping habits into very good sleeping habits.

MDNI | smut! word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slightest teensiest bit of overstim, fluff to the moon, spence and reader just being sweet, spence just being obsessed and concerned with every little thing about reader authors note: hiiii. soooo this is TERRIFYING. why is smut soooooo scary and vulgar. but i've been working on this one for a long while and i think i'm happyish with it??? idk. its not really adding anything new or revolutionary to the world but i think its cute!! lemme know your thoughts. i think smut is something i'll get better at writing with time but yk. okay whatever have a lovely day and i hope you enjoy!!

There’s a noticeable tension in your shoulders as you lay down on top of the covers of your bed. Your face crushes into the soft down of many pillows, nose buried into the crevices. You trace out the clean smell of Spencer's shampoo that manages to linger on your sheets even after a week of him being away on a case, the fragrance making your head become even heavier with each deep inhale you take.

You can physically feel the exhaustion clawing at your soul. Eyes shut, blocking out the harsh shine of the overhead light you definitely forgot to turn off, you reach your arm up to work on the knot in your shoulder. You roll it back, feeling an unsettling click that probably shouldn’t be there. 

Spencer would be able to work the knot out like it was nothing, if he were here.

You shift your leg up, thinking. When did he say he’d be home earlier today? You had called him before your final exam this afternoon, for some encouragement and reminders on the principles of astronomy.

The all-consuming fog in your brain prevents you from remembering any of the important details of the conversation, such as when he’d be home, so you choose instead to just replay the soft I love yous he had said into your ear. 

By this point you’re sprawled across a good portion of your bed, back to the ceiling with one leg bent, head turned to the side. Your spine sinks down into the mattress, relieving the aches just a bit, and the sweet, sweet release of sleep ensues minutes later.

Until it gets quite rudely interrupted.

You don’t hear him enter the room. You haven’t even opened your eyes to see him. The only thing you notice when you wake is the feeling that you’re being picked up from your hips and rotated, a complete 180.

“Hello?” you ask loudly even before your eyes open.

When they do open, they see your lovely boyfriend standing above you, grimacing like he’s been caught. Spencer’s hands are holding you mid air, and you look at him, wildly confused, as you blink away the sleep in your eyes.

He’s still wearing his work clothes, the thick sweater vest that you got him last year for his birthday layered over his button-up. He must have just gotten inside, his bag was still crossed over his body. 

“Hi honey. What are you, um, doing?” you ask quietly. His nose scrunches in a cute attempt to push his glasses up his nose without using his already occupied hands.

“Hi. Sorry for waking you up.” He ducks down to kiss your forehead. “You just really shouldn’t be sleeping on your stomach. Bad sleeping posture can actually worsen chronic pain more than any other factor in your daily life,” he explains, setting you down but keeping a firm grasp on your waist. Your mouth forms an awkward little smile, matching his. “I had to intervene.”

“I know. It’s just so uncomfy. But why’d you pick me up? You could’ve just nudged me, or, you know, asked…” you grumble. You make room for him, however, as you speak. He sets his bag down and clambers into bed next to you, body seemingly rivaling yours in exhaustion. He leans against the headboard, turning his head to look at you.

“I wouldn’t normally do that, but I knew you were exhausted, so I figured you’d be less likely to wake up if your body was physically touching fewer things,” he justifies, logic drawing a soft giggle from you. You settle into a comfortable silence, the room still bathed in artificial light and Spencer still in his work clothes.

He eventually breaks the stillness after a minute, turning towards you. “How did your astronomy final go today?”

“I think I did alright. Our study sessions paid off, I think. But it was never my strong suit,” you reply, tracing your fingers over his leg. “I’m so achy now though. It’s strange what four hours of math can do to your body.” 

His hand slides up your arm in response, lightly pressing on the tense spots. 

“It’s strange what four hours of math and sleeping like a contortionist does to your body,” he corrects with his little know-it-all look, fingers circling a bit more firmly into your shoulder.

“I also really, really missed you,” you add, smiling back at him. “So be nice to me.”

“I missed you,” Spencer responds, even sweeter. “And I am being nice.”

You roll your eyes and he reaches over to kiss you gently. “Would you like me to be nicer?” he whispers softly. Your brain is all but short circuiting as you look at him, his eyes flitting between yours like he was searching the stars.

Your head is nodding even before you can actually realize what he means.

Then, his body is gone from yours. You stay silent, trying to regulate your breath, eyes following him as he stands and walks over to turn off the big light. Your eyes flicker to adjust, but with the moon’s gentle shine pouring into your window, it’s absolutely perfect. 

A blush, that you're hoping the new darkness will conceal, creeps up your cheeks when you see the soft outline of Spencer’s back as he takes off his sweater vest and pulls at his tie. He turns back and looks at you, eyes all soft and full of adoration. “Yeah? Not too tired?”

“Nope,” you murmur, convincing yourself as much as him. He finishes getting into his PJ’s and walks back to you. You straighten your back, trying to appear as awake as possible. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he says back at you, voice gentle. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” A kiss, this one to your cheek, softens the blow of his words. You shake your head, but he continues. “You were sound asleep not even ten minutes ago, and you’ve yawned six times in the last five minutes.” His hand strokes the side of your waist.

“Spencer. I'm fine,” you huff. He smiles a little and sits next to you on the bed. His mouth is on yours, kissing you firmly, sweetly. 

A hand, always in motion, always calculated, slides up to your nape and presses you closer. The other slides down and thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing lightly over your skin, making it erupt in goosebumps.

His brow scrunches softly. “You’re so worked up.”

You stay silent, begging him with your eyes. He dips down and kisses right where he touched, and your hips lift a bit in response. 

“Honey. Lie back,” he says, and you do so. He readjusts his body so he’s on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. He kisses your forehead, cheeks, nose, and then moves down to your neck. He kisses that one spot beneath your ear that makes you gasp quietly. He then does it again, and again, and again, in that focused way of his. 

Wordlessly, he slides down further. His nose bumps underneath your belly button, in the thin stripe of skin showing where your top meets your panties. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. Please, Spence,” you whimper softly, head feeling like a cloud of gas from the endorphins. He peppers even more kisses there and ghosts his fingers over your hip bone. He slides your panties down an inch and immediately kisses the skin that’s revealed.

“I thought about doing this to you all the time while I was away,” he murmurs. He presses another kiss more firmly on your hips, even closer to your soaked core, sucking gently and leaving a mark. “These should be off by now,” he muses, gently pulling your underwear down. 

His hand is immediately where you want it, two fingers pushing up against your folds, and to your clit. He touches in little circles, sending jolts of pleasure up your stomach, eyes looking up to yours to gauge your feelings. 

You almost hate Spencer for how fucking good it feels. You let out a soft moan, heart pounding. And when his middle finger sinks into your entrance with no word of warning, you toss your head back and close your legs around his hand. Spencer’s mouth twists into that little smile of his, pushing ever so deep into you, and says, “It feels better when you keep your legs open, sweet girl. If you need more, tell me.” You nod immediately, desperately. 

“Yeah. I need more,” you whisper, and he bends down and gives your clit a kitten lick. Your hand goes to his hair, softly pushing him closer. He gets the message and presses his tongue flat against it, eliciting a moan from you.

“You’re so pretty like this, under me. I missed you.”

You really do almost forget just how nice it was to have him on top of you after a week, telling you nice things and making you feel so good. He pushes his ring finger in to match his middle, stretching you slightly and adding pressure to where he knows it feels good. Your eyes screw shut and you furrow your brow in overwhelming pleasure, a soft exhale coming from deep within you.

“This good?” he asks, other hand coming to take care of your clit in his mouth’s absence. You nod frantically, looking down at Spencer. He watches where his hand comes in contact with you, pushing in and out at a steady pace. “You’re not normally this quiet. Is it a lot?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “Feel so sensitive.” He presses a soft kiss onto your clit, and you jolt.

“Sweet girl. It’s been a little while, huh? Even right before I left, I didn’t use my mouth." You shake your head in agreement. “You’re doing so well for me though.” 

He resumes with his tongue, working you into oblivion. His free hand holds your hips steady, hindering you from writhing away from the mind-numbing pleasure.

His mouth is occupied and your brain is utterly ruined, so the only noises coming from the two of you are your soft exhales and whimpers, and the obscene sound of his hand pushing incessantly into you.

And eventually it does, in fact, become too much. He sends you into orbit. You lift your hips, practically pushing yourself into his face, pleasure coursing through you.

“Spence, I’m. I-” your voice gets caught in your throat. 

“I know,” he says, calm and collected. A stark contrast to whatever the fuck you’re feeling right now. 

He keeps going in the same way, steadily driving you through your orgasm. You let out one last moan and your body relaxes and limps around him, chest moving up and down rapidly. 

You come back to earth and grab his arm to tug him away. But he stays, pressing kisses all over you, watching you with his imploring eyes.

“You can take it. Missed you so much. Just one more,” he says in broken little sentences, parting with your core for just a second before resuming, hand picking up speed again. But this time, you don’t feel as awake. As alert. Your chest feels heavy, and your eyelids even heavier.

The post-orgasmic haze has settled even more into your bones, pressing you down deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of sleep once again.

The last thing you see before you succumb is the moon casting a perfect glow onto Spencer, still diligently pressing soft kisses onto you, holding your hips still so you won’t roll over in your sleep like before.

[vngelicc]

w e c a n ’ t b e f r i e n d s

⋆ TAGS — ANGST like rlly bad, toxic relationships, oc and jk dated since they were young, canon au but the boys don’t go to the military, arguing (lots), protected sex, cowgirl styleee, jk’s a little mean, dirty talk, jk’s slightly possessive(?), pussy eating under the sheets, slight face fucking and cum swallowing, bad ending oop, hinted cheating but not between oc and jk, does it count if they weren’t together ur honor, making out, jk’s a really bad bf, oc’s also quick to jump to conclusions sooo toxic combooo

⋆ WORD COUNT — 9.8 k

It’s the same thing (over and over) where you fight and break up, then kiss and make-up. The cycle’s everlasting and it feels like you’re just going in circles.

The littlest things were enough to set either one of you off. It could be that Jungkook looked at you some type of way, or that you used a tone he didn’t like. You fought over the dumbest things but somehow always ended up back together?

Childhood sweethearts, they called it. You started dating all the way back when you were just teens, Jungkook was a bit awkward around the edges but the sweetest boy ever. It was a miracle your relationship survived after he left to train and then you did too.

But as the years went on it seemed sometimes like the love was fading. It just wasn’t the same anymore (evident in your frequent fights). What felt like love once now felt stagnant, like you two just existed in each other’s world and co-existed together.

Yes he was your boyfriend, and you his girlfriend but that was all. Just y/n and Jungkook. It didn’t feel special anymore. When did the love start to die out?

You’ve been thinking about it for a while now in between your breaks from the relationship, and the very thought terrifies you.

“I thought you and Eunwoo were going out?” You softly asked, a bit surprised to see Jungkook still here in the living room.

“Change of plans.” Jungkook shrugs, “Something came up.” He’s curt and brief, doesn’t even look at you when he’s talking which annoys you a tiny bit but for your sake and his you don’t comment.

“Oh, that sucks,” you softly say and slip onto the couch opposite of him, “did he cancel on you or was it just not a good time?” You’re sitting on pins and needles watching him and his reactions closely.

“I dunno,” Jungkook sighs like he’s exasperated by the conversation, “he didn’t tell me.” You know he’s starting to get annoyed when he does that thing with his tongue inside his cheek.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You quietly ask. You’re worried Jungkook didn’t hear you at first but a couple of seconds later he’s nodding and holding out the remote to you.

It doesn’t feel right. It makes you feel like he’s generously giving you the light of day to entertain your “silly ideas”. You don’t like it.

You go about picking a movie, not even bothering with asking him what he wanted to watch. You doubt he’d even reply to you, maybe if you were lucky he’d just say “Pick whichever one.”

“I heard this one’s good.” A hum, “Came out—I think, last month..? Yeah.” Another hum, “Should I bring snacks?” Head shake.

You kinda get the memo and shut up after that, the ache you’re feeling still lingering in your heart. The credits roll in and the movie’s starting, you look out of the corner of your eye to get a look at Jungkook. He’s just sitting there quietly, eyes focused on the TV screen.

It feels normal—looks normal, but you know and feel that it’s really not.

After arguing with yourself in your head, you finally muster the courage to slip off the couch and into Jungkook’s side. You hide your face in his shoulder and lean against him comfortably. Jungkook doesn’t respond for two seconds before he’s casually slipping his hand over your knee.

It feels..good again. You, Jungkook, and his thumb that caresses your knee ever so gently like you’re made of glass. Maybe you really were worried about nothing. It was probably your head messing with you again and making you think things that weren’t true.

Are they though? I don’t know.

“Oh how prettyy,” you softly marvel at the white dress the actress on screen was wearing, “I wanna have one like that when we get married.”

Jungkook doesn’t utter a word and at first you’re like okay, it’s whatever he’s been doing this already anyways. You don’t really begin to think about it until you feel gentle caresses come to a stop. You turn to him to ask what’s wrong but you think you have your answer.

“What, you don’t wanna marry me?” You softly joke but you’re met with silence. He looks troubled, like he wants to say something but can’t get it out, “.. Jungkook? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Jungkook shakes his head, “I was thinking.”

Your stomach does that weird thing again where it feels like it’s dropping. You can hear your own heartbeat ringing in your eardrums too, “About?” You whisper.

Jungkook finally meets your eyes with a pinched expression, “I don’t know if I’m sure about marriage yet, I don’t think I’m ready.” He quietly explains, “I don’t feel ready. I feel like there’s so much more I can still do before settling down.” With you…?

Your eyes almost water but you refuse to let them, “So..you don’t want to marry me?”

“What–no, I said I wasn’t ready,” Jungkook blinks rapidly, “I.. I didn’t say that.” He says once he recovers from the initial shock.

“Then what did you mean?” It comes out snappier than intended, “Because to me it feels like something else.”

Jungkook grows visibly irritated, “y/n you’re blowing shit out of proportion again, I didn’t even say anything about you specifically, why the hell are you twisting my words?”

“You make it sound like I’m being weird about this, you were the weird one when all I said was a tiny joke. You’re the one taking it some type of way.” You’re trembling with adrenaline.

“I was just telling you how I feel,” Jungkook stands up and paces back and forth, “why are you being like this? You always wanna say it’s me who starts arguing but look at you!”

Hot tears of anger well in your eyes, “Because it is always you! You give me weird ass attitudes when I’ve done nothing to you, I barely even talk to you!”

Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, “I’m not doing this again with you. I just fucking can’t, I mean fuck, look at us! All we fucking do is fight, fight, fight and you expect me to wanna marry you? To be stuck with this? No thank you!”

You wipe your tears and stand up, “And there it is, at least I know how you really felt. Saved me my time too.” You glare as you pass by him in the direction of his room.

Jungkook shakes his head, “Where are you going? It’s late.” He calls out loudly, “y/n, answer me.”

“I’m going home Jungkook, it’s fine we’re done. We don’t have to keep doing this anymore.” You look back with dry tears, “I’m done too, I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.”

He doesn’t respond to that, he knows it’s true. “At least let me walk you out to the car.” He quietly murmurs.

“No.”

“y/n, don’t–”

“Leave me alone.” You whisper and storm out of his apartment, away from your home without your heart.

+

It takes three weeks for you to realize that he’s not coming back. He hasn’t texted or called and suddenly it feels real. You were in deep denial the entire time thinking maybe he’d come around and you could talk it out like you always do. He never showed.

You don’t like this, it hurts like a deep ache you can’t seem to get rid of. You find yourself choking up every time you think about him, you don’t want this. You never wanted this.

“Fuck, please,” you whisper shakily. A few rings go by and then you finally hear him.

“..y/n?”

“Jungkook, I need you.” You softly whisper into the phone, “Please..?” He goes silent on the other end and with each passing beat you’re more worried and anxious.

“Where are you?” He softly replies.

“Home.” You quietly croak, the relief filling you in an instant.

“Okay, stay right there I’m on my way. Please just—just sit tight okay?”

You nod like he’s right here in the room telling you face to face, you don’t even know why. He stays on the phone with you in comfortable silence, you hear when he leaves his apartment, when he starts his car and when he finally pulls into your parking garage.

“Is the door the same code as before?” Jungkook asks quietly.

“Yeah..”

“Okay, I’m here outside.” He hangs up the call briefly and then you hear the beeping noise of your front door unlocking.

The sight of Jungkook has your heart breaking into millions of pieces when you realize he’s not yours. Not anymore. You blink away the fresh tears welling up, he visibly softens and holds his arms out for you.

“Come here.” He softly murmurs. You don’t waste a second and cross the living room into his arms in an instant.

Jungkook wraps his arms around you tightly and holds you against his chest. He shushes you softly and sways side to side while you softly cry into his chest. He whispers everything’s going to be okay but it’s not—not with him not by your side.

“Sit, I’m gonna go bring you some water.” Jungkook softly says as he leads you over to the couch.

You nod quietly and watch with red rimmed eyes as he walks off into your kitchen. There’s a million things running through your head right now but you were more concerned with Jungkook. You hated how distant he was, it felt alien-like and weird.

“Here,” Jungkook murmurs as he comes back with the glass of water, “I brought some tissues too.”

You quietly accept with a soft thanks as you wipe your nose and take a tentative sip of water. He watches you with pity in his eyes, and you don’t want him to look at you like that. It makes your skin crawl and leaves you frustrated because you didn’t want his pity.

You just wanted him.

“So what happened?” Jungkook quietly asks after a few minutes of letting you gather yourself.

“I miss you and it just hurts so bad the way things ended. I’ve been regretting it and it hurts–” You can’t even finish because you’re already tearing up again and Jungkook hushes you softly.

“I know,” he solemnly says, “I know it does. Trust me you’re not the only one feeling like shit about this, you think it’s easy for me to let someone I’ve loved walk away after years? It’s fucking hard.”

He sighs shakily, “But I know that if I truly did love you and wanted the best for you, I’d do this. I just can’t keep up anymore, all the arguing is just not good for us y/n and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” You say into your hands with a sniffle, “But I don’t feel like letting go.”

“Me neither,” Jungkook gently brings your hands into his and looks into your eyes, “but we can’t keep going like this. We tell ourselves it’ll be fine but it’s not, it never is.”

You stare silently into eachothers eyes until Jungkook finds his voice again, “Which is why I think we should just take a break for I don’t know how long but we need to work on ourselves. If you truly loved me like I do to you, you’ll let me go and work on myself. You’ll want me to get better.”

And it’s true. You’ve only ever looked out for his best interest and wanted nothing but good things for him. But is it so bad to want to be a little selfish?

“I know.”

“So you understand we have to actually put in the effort if we want this to work out in the future? We can’t half ass this and rush into things anymore, that’s not how I want it to be between us.” He whispers softly.

You look at Jungkook miserably, “Yeah, I get it..” You quietly say, “I just..just promise me you’ll still be here in the end.”

Jungkook cups your cheek gently and smiles which doesn’t look genuine, it's a more sad bittersweet smile. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay..”

“Okay.”

+

You’re not together but it doesn’t feel like you’re not together? You don’t know how to explain it but it’s weird.

Before it was obviously a shitshow with all the arguments and whatnot. Several things actually like Jungkook’s attitude and his weird bipolar moods, and then you with your misinterpretations and spiteful words. It’s different now.

It almost feels like you’re happier with him now than before when you two were actually together. It’s funny that it takes a break up for you two to start being civil and loving—more than before actually. You don’t act like exes, and you both know you don’t.

Exes don’t call each other every night to ask how their day went, neither do they sleep over or cook for each other. It’s one thing to call up your ex from time to time but everyday? Were there no boundaries because you two clearly needed to set some.

Your friends tell you they’re proud but you don’t feel so good knowing you’re still going back to him every night. Sometimes you fuck, sometimes you don’t, most days he’ll just want company or someone to come with him to shop for groceries. You do all these things telling yourself you’re just here for support, nothing wrong in that right?

There’s nothing wrong with being friends with your ex, right? That’s all it is, just friends.

“Hold on, I'll be back, I got a call.” You excuse yourself from the table and head into another room for more privacy. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you doing anything right now?” It’s Jungkook again and it makes your tummy flutter with butterflies at the sound of his voice.

“Uhh, not really? I’m just having some dinner with friends, why?”

“No reason I just wanted to see if you could come over and maybe we can watch a movie or somethin’. I also realized I might have ordered a little too much fried chicken, old habits die hard I guess.” He jokes softly.

You think it’s a little cute and you can’t help but say yes right away, “Let me finish up real quick and I’ll head over in a bit.” You’re smiling like an idiot right now.

“I can come get you..? Only if you want me to though.”

“That sounds good to me, text me when you get here then.” You softly say, “Bye.” It’s a little awkward not saying ‘love you’ but then you remember you’re not technically together and your entire mood is soured a little.

Shit, what are you going to tell the girls? Something came up and you have to go? No, they’ll ask and you’re a horrible liar. Plus you’re stressing out a little over how you’re going to leave undetected, what if Soyeon tries to walk you out to the car or something? You don’t drive but Soyeon has a habit of walking you out whenever you leave her house (god bless).

It’s moments like these that make you wish Soyeon wouldn’t offer, just for today.

“Hey what’s up?” Soyeon says when she sees you re-enter the room, “Everything good?”

“Yeah but I forgot I had a meeting coming up, it’s about a comeback coming up soon and they need me for creative directing or something. Point is I gotta go guys, sorry.” You don’t like lying to them like this but they’re gonna give you shit and right now you don’t want to hear it.

“Oh cool, okay then we’ll hang some other time then yeah?” Soyeon smiles as she begins pushing her seat back. Oh no.

“Stay here it’s fine, the car’s almost here anyways and it’s a bit chilly outsideeee so stayyy.” You whine while pushing her back into her seat, “Also Miyeon’s literally here, keep her company don’t be rude.”

Both girls look confused as Soyeon raises a brow in question, “Miyeon’s fine she sees me almost everyday. Just let me walk you out weirdo.”

“You’re not even wearing shorts Yeon, just sit this one out I’m good. I’ll text you when I get in the car and stuff okay?” Soyeon doesn’t look convinced but she nods anyways and agrees to let you go reluctantly, “Bye!” You wave and hurriedly make your way out after Jungkook texts you he’s here.

“Byeee.” Once you’re out the door you let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding in. Why was that girl so damn stubborn? You love her to death but now was NOT the time.

jk: outside

You hurried down the hall and to the elevator. Jungkook was waiting for you in the parking lot outside of his car, just leaned back against the hood of it with his hands in his pockets. “Are you cold?” He asks as soon as you come in front of him.

“A little bit,” you smile and sink into his warm and welcoming embrace, “you’re super warm though.”

Jungkook chuckles quietly and strokes your hair, “Here I’ll give you my sweater.” He shrugs it off and holds it out to slip you in it, “You look funny.” He laughs.

“Your face is funny.” You stick your tongue out meanly meanwhile he laughs, “Alright hurry up, I’m cold and hungry.” You pull away from him and head to your side of the car, happily sighing as the warm air from inside hits you.

“I thought you ate already.” Jungkook snorts in amusement as he slips into the car.

“Well I’m hungry again.” You grumble.

He doesn’t respond verbally at least, he shifts the car into drive with a tiny smile on his face. You find yourself leaning back into your seat with a soft smile of your own. Times like these you were able to just sit back and forget about everything and anything. The only thing that mattered right now was you and Jungkook.

That’s it.

.

The movie ended up becoming background noise over the soft sounds of Jungkook’s lips meeting your own over and over again. The food lays discarded on his coffee table, half-eaten with a couple of soju bottles littering around the boxes.

It feels good like this with Jungkook’s hand tangled in your hair and his other settled over your hip. You’re sitting halfway in his lap, the angle a bit awkward but doable nonetheless. You hear him release a low grunt in his throat, lips smacking wetly over your own as he tightens his fingers on your hip.

You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking over his head gently pretending to not notice how he leaned into your touch eagerly. You barely even notice when he impatiently drags you onto his lap and sits you firmly over his thighs, your own bracketing his hips and closing him in.

“Jungkook,” you quietly sigh while bearing down on him and grinding over the thick bulge in his joggers.

“Yeah..?” He replies through a quiet sigh as his half-lidded eyes watch down below between you two where your clothed cunt is pressed tight to his hard cock.

You can’t reply because you’re caught off guard by a bubbling moan in your throat. You find yourself gripping the collar of his shirt tightly between nimble fingers when he suddenly bucks his hips up sharply. The print of his dick presses tighter against your slick folds, the head messily bumping into your throbbing clit.

Jungkook lets out a ragged groan as he tilts his head back and parts from the messy kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. He guides your hips with both hands as he rolls you over his cock and holds you down to keep you in place. It makes your breath hitch and a stuttered moan slip from your lips.

“Fuck..” You pant softly as your toes curl, “Need you so bad.” You whisper in between the short rough grinds.

He bites his lip harshly and reaches down to unbutton your jeans, you help him slide them off as he hooks his fingers under your panties and tugs them to the side. You feel his fingertips slide through your messy folds, circling over your swollen bud and pressing down with the pads of his fingers.

The slide’s pretty slippery, you barely feel his touch but the pleasure bubbles over and leaves you tingly and hot down there. Jungkook teases you by dipping his fingers low against your fluttering hole that greedily squeezes around nothing. “Don’t tease,” you mutter softly and lean forward to press kisses against his jawline.

“Fuck, wait.” He reaches over and blindly pats the sofa for something you can’t really be bothered to look at. A low hum leaves him when he finally finds what he was looking for: condom.

You watch him bite the foil open and reach down to shove his sweats off, the way his dick slaps against his stomach has you squirming in anticipation. He hisses low through his teeth as he strokes the tip slowly before rolling the condom on. You watch hungrily as his cock’s engulfed in the thin rubber, standing hard ‘n tall with a beady pearl of precum getting trapped within the condom.

“Good?” He mumbles once he positions his cock under you, the tip’s barely brushing over your hole before you’re whining at him for more.

“I’m good,” you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, “now fuck me..please?” You say after a couple of seconds of silence.

Jungkook huffs out a breathless laugh and shakes his head, “You’re cute.” His amused tone dissolves into a low moan when you start pushing his cock in, inching yourself down until your perk ass meets his thighs with a low pap noise.

Fuck you forgot how full he makes you feel when you ride him, your poor little cunt’s all stuffed up with his fat cock. It doesn’t help that there’s a little sting from the stretch with the way your pussy hugs his cock tightly. Jungkook though looks blissed out, he bites his lip and watches through hooded eyes, he’s moving his hands to grip your hips tight.

“Feels so good,” you slur out and start bounding idly, not too fast or slow, “feel..full.” Your tone comes out lewd and borderline pornographic. Can he blame you? His dick always fucked you stupid, turned you into a little yapper too.

Jungkook grunts quietly, “Yeah? You’re gonna be a good girl and ride me like you mean it baby?” The words slip out of his filthy mouth like nothing, you almost forgot the nasty shit he used to tell you when he was plowing your brains out on a Tuesday night.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp softly as your eyes flutter shut when he hits that one spot you like, “so, so good Jungkookie,” you whine quietly while rocking your hips back and forth, your cunt greedily swallows him up through every push and tug.

Jungkook groans low and moves his hands to settle over your ass cheeks, he grips each cheek in his hand and squeezes, kneading the flesh under his palms. “Shit–like that,” he huffs softly as he guides your hips in smooth fluid grinds, “so fuckin’ good.” He groans again and tosses his head back.

You bite on your lower lip to supress your whimpers, your hips bounce lightly in his lap with a low fopping sound as Jungkook’s cock coaxes more slick out of your pussy. You’re dripping through the sides as a low squelch emits from your sopping cunt. Through the soft moans and grunts you there’s a skin on skin slapping sound your ass makes when they meet his thighs.

“Oh, fuck.” You whisper, breathing picking up as your hands slide down to settle over his abdomen for purchase.

Jungkook’s lips part, eyesbrows pinching together in concentration as he watches you fuck yourself languidly on his cock. His body lightly rocks upwards from your eager bouncing, the slapping noises only get louder the more you grow desperate. He can’t help but land a hard smack on your cheek, watching in satisfaction as you mewl from both pain and pleasure.

“You like that baby?” He breathlessly asks, “Like being slapped around like a slut? Hm?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp shakily and throw your head back, “love it so much Jungkookie,” you mewl.

Jungkook moves one hand from your ass up to your head, fisting the back of your hair and forcing you to expose your neck for him. “How much?” He grunts low, “Whose cock makes you scream like this?”

You swear the ache in your skull from him yanking on your hair makes you even wetter. The throbbing in your pussy has you wildly grinding against him for more, you can’t even reply because of the uncontrollable moans you’re letting out right now.

“Answer me,” he hisses with another smack to your cheek.

“You do! Only you,” you softly sob as he stops you and holds you in place, “please ‘m so close, wanna cum.” You try to bounce, move, anything—but he’s not letting up as he holds you in place and leaves you squirming all over his cock.

“Cum.” Jungkook darkly murmurs as he begins fucking into you from below, his sharp thrusts send you flying into his chest as you cry out.

He drives his cock right up against your g-spot with each hit, the living room quickly fills with the sounds of his balls hitting your ass and the couch creaking from the weight. He doesn’t hold back on his moans either, he’s cussing and groaning under his breath as he uses your pussy to his liking. You on the other hand..

“Jungkook..!” You feel your pussy clamp down and you reach down to rub at your clit in fast circles, trembling and whining as your orgasm approaches fast.

He grips your cheeks tighter and spreads you open as he fucks his cock in and out of your sloppy cunt. Your mouth falls open as the wind is knocked out of you, you’re coming fast and hard as stars explode behind your eyelids. You feel like a ragdoll in his hands as he fucks away into your oversensitive cunt.

“Shit—nearly there baby,” he whispers as his eyes flutter shut in pleasure, “oh fuck.” He grits his teeth and bucks up hard until his hips are stuttering in their pace and he’s groaning loud.

You wish he wasn’t wearing the condom as you feel every little throb and twitch inside. It makes you drool at the thought of his hot thick cum filling your ruined little pussy, it’d probably drip afterward too..

“Good?” He quietly asks as he tries to catch his breath.

You end up laying your head on his shoulder for a couple of seconds, enjoying the way he rubs your back gently in a comforting manner. “Yeah, ‘m okay.” You softly reply while clinging to him like a koala.

Jungkook hums, you don’t go home after that, or the day after.

+

“Damn when did it get so hot?” Taehyung complains under his breath, “Swear it feels like the weather was cooler yesterday, don’t tell me summer’s already coming.” He groans.

Jungkook hears Hoseok grunt in agreement, “Can you believe spring’s almost over though? We’re like a month away from summer starting.”

“What? No way.” Jungkook frowns, it can’t be, the last time he spoke with you was—

“You realize we’re in the last month of spring right?” Taehyung looks at him weirdly with a snort, “Have you been living under a rock or something?”

Hoseok joins in on the teasing but Jungkook doesn’t think it’s so funny anymore. Not when he realizes it’s been almost two whole months since you and him decided to take a break. He hasn’t really kept up with your life like that, the last time he spoke was when he asked if you were home and then he did go over and you guys ended up—

Holy shit.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok calls out, “your phone’s ringing.” By the looks on their faces they know who’s calling right now. Hoseok looks mildly disappointed and Taehyung just seems tired of it.

“Are you gonna answer it?” Taehyung asks tentatively.

Jungkook looks at your caller ID and then silences his ringer, “Nah, I’ll see what’s up later. Where do you guys wanna go next?” They look at him like he’s crazy and Jungkook sighs, “What?”

“We didn’t know you guys were still together, thought the breakup was for good.” Hoseok quietly admits.

Oh. Right, Jungkook’s been talking about how you’ve both been separated for a cool minute now. Of course they would naturally think that you’ve both finally realized you’re no good and left each other the fuck alone. He’ll never forget their proud faces when Jungkook admitted he walked away from it.

“Look, she’s a good person and all that but is it really worth it if all you do is fight and tear at each other? I mean it’s not like this is the first time.” Taehyung rambles slowly as Hoseok nods along to every word, “Don’t you think that maybe answering her would fuck up all the progress you’ve made so far?”

Will it? Jungkook likes to think that maybe he’s doing a good job but clearly not if Taehyung and Hoseok are calling him out on it. Of course they want the best for him too, they’ve been his hyungs since forever (but you were his forever too).

“Look I know it’s bad,” Jungkook sighs, “but I just can’t leave her like that either, it’s wrong. She’s been in my life since we were kids Tae, I’m not gonna just ditch her like that.”

“And nobody’s mad at you for it but Jungkook c’mon, you need to set some boundaries for your sake man. You can’t fall back into this nasty habit, not when you’re doing so good for yourself right now.” Jungkook knows Taehyung’s referring to his upcoming Golden album release.

“Listen, we’re not gonna police you because you’re a big boy and you can deal with your own shit but I’m just telling you right now it’s not a good idea whatever you’re doing with her right now. The sooner you begin to pull away, the easier it will be when you two finally decide on the future of your relationship.” Hoseok finishes quietly.

They’re right and Jungkook hates that they are. As unsettling as the truth is, that’s just what it is and Jungkook can’t change that.

You’re broken up but why does he still go over? Why does he cook for you two, watch movies in bed like a couple and then fuck you to sleep before the cycle repeats over and over? Did you ever break up to begin with?

“If you want this to work you need to let go.” Taehyung’s hand comes up to squeeze his shoulder, “Some things were not made to be forever, and unfortunately this is one of them.”

Jungkook looks up at the two men in front of him, they’ve each got reassuring smiles on their faces and for the first time he feels good about his decisions. He makes a mental note in the back of his head to speak with you later on, for now he’ll just enjoy this.

+

“I didn’t know you and Jungkook were still together.” Soyeon comments upon seeing a sweater she knew was too big to be yours and quite frankly wasn’t something you’d personally go out and buy yourself.

“Oh, that—we’re actually not.” You chuckle under your breath, “He left it here the other day–”

“The other day?” Yuqi frowns, “What do you mean? I thought you guys haven’t seen each other in two months?” You can tell they’re equally confused about the situation.

“We aren’t together-together, we’re just kinda hooking up here and there whenever we feel like it.” You shrug.

“Uh-huh, and he just leaves his clothes too?” Soyeon raises a brow, “y/n—babe, I love you but what the hell? I thought you and him were completely done already?” She says, Yuqi nodding along in agreement.

Now it’s your turn to look at them confused, “What? We’re just hooking up, it isn’t anything bad either I mean we’re doing better now than before.”

Soyeon sighs deeply and sits down, “Have you maybe thought about why things are better now? Because you’re not together y/n, you’re only doing ‘better’ now because you don’t have a label to the relationship because you’re both pretending shit’s okay.”

“This can’t be good either y/n, it’s not healthy it’s just gonna lead you both down the same path as before. You guys think that because you’re happy now, the issues aren’t gonna be there.” Yuqi shakes her head.

Of course you knew they were gonna start with this but your pride was too strong to admit that they were of course right about this. It’s something you’ve been intentionally ignoring, kind of like if you don’t think about it, it’s not true type of thing. Which in itself was a pretty bad mindset.

“But we’re gonna fix things.” You softly reply.

“Are you?” Soyeon looks like she doesn’t believe you, you don’t even believe yourself.

Yes, yes, yes—

“I don’t know.” You find yourself saying without thinking, that’s the truth right? Right..?

Yuqi sighs sympathetically and shakes her head, “It’s time to let go, it’s over y/n—for good. I know it’s hard love but you have to do it.”

“I’ll…talk to him later about it, can’t guarantee this but I’m going to try to break things off permanently.” You’re just tired of this back and forth with yourself wondering if Jungkook and you are truly going to be okay.

You know you both will be okay…just not together and that’s what hurts the most to think about. They don’t push the topic anymore, something you’re thankful for. The entire time you’re with the girls you’re stuck thinking about Jungkook.

you: come over

You spent at least ten minutes with your thumb hovering over the button before you actually pressed it. It shouldn’t be so fucking scary but you’re just extremely nervous right now. Your friend’s words ring in your head over and over again like a mantra and you feel like you’re going mad.

jk: rn?

you: yea, really want to see you

jk: me too.

read.

It’s the shit like this that makes you question everything. You hate how weak you are because Jungkook can sweet talk his way into your head and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. It’s not like he does it intentionally but still the power he holds over you, it’s stupid.

After the girls left you ended up cleaning the living room a bit, stopping in your tracks when you came across the sweater he left behind. You stare at it for a couple of seconds before slipping it on finding it much more comfy wearing his clothes. You hear the front door keypad beeping before it unlocks and Jungkook’s slipping in.

“Hey.” He greets quietly and shuts the door behind him.

You smile up at him and tug on the sweater paws, taking note of the sweaty state he was in, “You coming from the gym orrrr…?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughs, “I just got finished with working out when you texted me. Look at that,” he flexes his bicep to show you, “hot huh?” He grins.

“Ew no as if, go take a damn shower you probably stink.” You pretend to cover your nose and gag, giggling when he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” He walks over to tug you into his arms, “This my hoodie?” He mumbles, “Looks good.”

You let him lay soft kisses over your pouty lips until you’re pushing him away with a low grumble, “Go shower now, I don’t wanna stink of sweat in your hoodie.” You snort.

Jungkook lays one last kiss over your forehead and walks in the direction of your room, “So mean and for what? It’s literally my hoodie who cares if it stinks? I’m gonna be taking it off anyways.” He smirks deviously.

You follow with a unamused look, one that leaves no room for anymore arguments. “I’ll wait for you out here,” you flop on the bed and turn on your TV, “go on, shoo.”

“Meanie.” Jungkook mumbles but makes his way into your bathroom nonetheless.

You catch up on some of your shows you were watching at the moment while waiting for Jungkook to come back out. You’ve long made yourself comfortable in bed, curled up under your soft comforter with the remote in hand. He doesn’t come out for at least fifteen minutes or so, you don’t really mind because it feels oddly domestic.

“You’re watching this too?” Jungkook breaks the silence in the room, “I’m on the last episode.”

You barely look at him as he walks over to the bed in nothing but his towel wrapped around his waist. “Yeah, I started this like a week ago I think.” You murmur distractedly as he flops in bed with you, “Don’t get my pillows wet,” you whine with no real bite to your tone.

“It’ll dry.” Jungkook snorts as he lays his head over your blanket covered lap. The two of you fall into silence afterwards with him loosely wrapping an arm around you.

Nothing happens after that, you lay together quietly while the episode runs in the background. Occasionally Jungkook turns to hide his face in your lap, you can’t help but slip your hand in his wet hair and gently comb over it, lightly scratching at his scalp.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I spoiled it?” He pipes up out of nowhere.

“Do it and I’m throwing you out towel and all.” You glare as he starts giggling in amusement, “I’m serious, do it and you’re out.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He says as he lifts his head up, “But I’m a little bored,” he pouts and draws circles over your thigh, “I already watched these episodesss.”

“I dunno do something. Go order food or find some in my fridge, I don’t know.” You sigh.

Jungkook doesn’t reply and instead nuzzles into you, “I have something else I can do in mind..” He trails off and slips his hand under your comforter to stroke your thigh.

You don’t say anything, instead you part your thighs for him as a silent ‘go on’. He takes the bait easily and slips under the comforter with a devious grin, “Jungkook– ow, don’t bite me you ass. Why did you do that?”

Instead of answering you he just reaches under for the waistband of your shorts, peeling them off alongside your panties in one go. You can feel his hot breath hovering over your pussy, his tongue dips low between your soft folds as he licks a stripe up your cunt.

He circles his tongue around your clit, swiping from side to side and front/back. It’s enough to have your knees buckling weakly as you reach over the comfort to place your hand where his head would be as you sighed in pleasure.

“Like you better when your mouth’s full.” You find yourself mumbling.

Jungkook grunts in affirmation, he wraps his arms around your and tugs your hips closer to his face. He’s literally buried in your soft cunt, nose poking at your clit while he licks over your slick lips, sucking on your soft fold with a pleased hum.

You push up with a low moan and angle your hips down so that he’s licking over your swollen clit. “Shit, jus’ like that,” you tilt your head back and close your eyes enjoying the sensation of his tongue.

He lays one hand flat over your pelvis and holds you down while he sucks on your clit feverishly. It sends your back arching off the bed from the sudden spark of pleasure. “Fuck..!” You hiss out when he engulfs your tiny bud between his lips and sucks.

Jungkook doesn’t disappoint. He slurps and licks like no tomorrow while he prods his fingers against your pussy. You’re literally scrambling to get a grip on him, your pathetic little moans and whines spurring him on as he finally slides his fingers deep.

“More, gimme more please,” you mewl.

You hear him shuffling around down there so you naturally take a peek out of curiosity. The sight has your mouth dropping in awe when you come across him fisting his cock from under the sheets while he eats you out like you’re the best meal ever.

“Coming,” you gasp softly as your fingers tangle themselves in his hair.

Jungkook sucks harder with a hint of teeth, he curls his fingers at the same time and fucks them right up against the roof of your cunt. It has you crying out his name and pushing his head away as your pussy clenches tight and then suddenly you’re gushing all over him.

“Jesus,” he whispers and covers your cunt with his hot mouth, licking up the entire mess you made all over yourself.

“Come here.” You dryly whisper after noticing he didn’t cum.

He obeys without hesitation, he knows what you want so he climbs up and kneels beside you with his weeping cock over your lips. “You sure? I don’t mind.” He murmurs.

“I want to.” You softly reply and part your lips, “Don’t want you to be gentle with me.. I can take it.” You murmur as you engulf the head of his cock slowly.

Jungkook hisses quietly and guides your head until your nose is meeting his groin. You gag around him with the saliva quickly building up in your mouth. He doesn’t mind though because he absolutely loves it when you slobber all over him.

“Don’t you look pretty with a mouth full of cock?” He grins teasingly despite being minutes away from coming, like he wasn’t edging himself before when he was eating your cunt.

You moan unabashedly as tears spring in your eyes. He doesn’t waste anymore time after that and begins fucking into your mouth unapologetically. He doesn’t even start off slow, he’s desperate to cum and you get it. You’re salivating at the thought of his cock filling your throat and leaving you sore.

He grips the headboard above to stable himself as he slides himself in and out of your mouth. Jungkook moans under his breath as he bucks his hips rather harshly, just listening to the sound of your gags and saliva dripping.

“So fuckin’ good,” he mutters, “you take it so good for me.”

You know he’s getting close when he starts getting quieter and instead puts his attention on his pleasure. The only noise around is the sound of your gagging and his labored breathing. You feel his cock start twitching and throbbing until he’s shouting from the pleasure and coming down your throat.

“Shit—stop, stop, stop.” He sighs as he gently pulls you off his cock, “Fuck.” He says after catching his breath.

Cleanup is fairly quiet, he helps you change the sheets and get dressed into comfier clothes before you’re both climbing back into the bed and sitting side by side, body to body. It feels all too real and suddenly realization is hitting you hard.

The silence is comfortable between you two, the scene feels a little familiar (you, him, a movie and your head on his shoulder) but you don’t comment because it makes you feel a little uncomfortable. Like before, Jungkook caresses his hand over your thigh gently with a comforting grip after.

“Why did we ever fall out?” You quietly pipe up, “Like where did it all go downhill?”

He stops in his tracks, he doesn’t look mad or upset that you brought it up out of the blue. He looks..at ease. “I don’t know, but I think it has to do a lot with the fact that we slowly grew out of each other? Kinda like we just lost the love and it wasn’t the same anymore, and instead of trying to fix it we just acted like our problems weren’t there.”

Jungkook calmly continues after taking in your reaction, “I love you don’t get me wrong, you’ve given me the best years but I just think we finally grew apart. Think about it—the fights, the breakups and make ups? We got to a point where we just didn’t care anymore.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I want you forever.” You softly admit.

“No you don’t y/n,” he replies equally softly, “you don’t want us—this, forever.”

It’s like a punch to your gut, why is he saying this? Why is acting like he knows what you want? You know what you want, and you want him. Is he trying to call you a liar? A saner part inside of your head eerily tells you he’s right, you don’t want that. You want happiness.

“I do know what I want actually, why are you thinking otherwise? You’re making a decision for me without even asking me how I feel about this?” You frown and push yourself off his shoulder.

“y/n,” Jungkook pauses briefly before shaking his head, “trust me I know you don’t want this. It’s not hard and it doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to see we’re not made for eachother. I’m sorry I need to tell you like this but whatever the fuck we had is something I sure as hell don’t want.”

It literally crushes your spirit because you knew what was coming, you KNEW he was going to tell you the cold hard truth sooner or later. It’s all everyone's been warning you about and now you have no room to cry about it. You had nobody but yourself to blame for your heartbreak. Not Jungkook, not Soyeon, not Yuqi.

Just you.

“You know what Jungkook, fuck you.” You fiercely whisper and push yourself off of him, “No actually, fuck you. You don’t get to tell me what I want and don’t want–”

“Because I know what the fuck I want and it’s not you! As fucking sad as it is y/n I can’t do this shit anymore,” he stands up too and begins hazardously dressing himself in his clothes again, “I know what I’ve done is shitty and I hope you can forgive me for it but I’m not willing to stick around anymore. Not after this.”

You watch in silence as he picks his things up off the floor and storms out. Not one word is spoken throughout the entire ordeal. Jungkook gets his shit and leaves like nothing ever happened, like you didn’t tell him to fuck himself and he didn’t respond by saying he didn’t want you.

When he finally leaves with a loud slam, your resolve crumbles and soft sniffles begin to fill the too empty apartment. You look around the room with red-rimmed eyes, now what are you gonna do?

You fucked up, again.

+

Jungkook doesn’t talk to you—doesn’t even text—for a total of two weeks and counting. You tried distracting yourself with work and your upcoming comeback but it was hard to focus. Not when your mind keeps going back to him and what happened that night.

“You don’t look so good, you sure you’re okay?” Your manager says with a look of concern on her face, “I can wrap things up and we can get you home if that’s what you want.”

“Please,” you find yourself nodding, “I’ll um let you know later on how I’m doing and stuff, for now I just wanna be alone.”

They understand you’re not doing well emotionally as of lately so they don’t question it when you request to be left alone. They simply wrap it up and call for your driver to take you home. A few staff send you off with tiny gifts and comforting hugs but none are enough to take away from the misery you’re feeling right now.

You make a quick stop at the store on your way home, you’ve never felt more dead in your entire life than right now. Even buying groceries proves to be a hard task but you somehow push through it and buy what you need.

The entire time you're there you think about Jungkook, should you call him to clear things up? Apologize for the shitty things you’ve ever said and for how you’ve acted towards him over the slightest inconveniences?

‘The phone’s right there,’ a little voice inside your head whispers, ‘just open up and click on his name, he’s right there.’

Do it, do it, do it, they chant.

Before you even realize it you’re dialing his number, the phone pressed tight against your ear as you wait with a bated breath for him to pick up. Three rings go by until finally Jungkook picks up with a quiet ‘hello’. “Hey,” you quietly mumble, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing much, I was cooking about a minute ago. You?” He sounds distant, like he’s catching up with an acquaintance.

“Cool, and nothing either, I just went to the store and bought a few things I needed.” You play with a strand of loose hair, suddenly finding that much more interesting to look at.

“That’s good.” He murmurs and it goes quiet after that.

Neither of you know what to say right now, you don’t even know where to begin. What can you say? Hey I’m sorry I told you to fuck yourself? I’m sorry for my shitty ass attitude? I’m sorry for being a bad girlfriend? There’s so much to say but you can’t find the words for it.

“Jungkook,” you hesitantly say after finding the courage to speak, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, I know I fucked up over and over again but I want to let you know I’m sorry I treated you the way I did and for the things I said.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything and for a second he scares you thinking that he hung up or something. “I know, and I’m sorry too for the way I acted and shit. I know we haven’t been the best but for what it’s worth none of this was ever your fault. Things just didn’t end up working out.”

You hate that this feels like a permanent goodbye, it must have really been the last straw for him the last time you spoke. You find yourself tearing up and there’s a heavy lump sitting in your throat. You don’t know whether you want to cry, scream, or run off.

“It’s just hard when I miss you this much,” you quietly reply despite the wobble in your voice.

“I know,” you hear him take a deep breath and before he can reply you hear it.

There’s a low shuffling noise in the back, at first you think nothing of it until you realize it’s a feminine voice asking Jungkook if he wants her to help clean up the mess.

Your heart rapidly beats in your chest, the pounding in your ears so loud you swear you feel like you’re going to have a heart attack with how fast it’s going. “Didn’t know you moved on already.”

“It’s not like that–”

“Then what is it like Jungkook? Because to me it sounds exactly what I’m imagining right now—don’t try and treat me like I’m fucking stupid.” You wipe your tears of frustration while pacing back and forth.

“Okay fine, you want the truth: I met someone and I’m getting to know them, I’m thinkin’ maybe she can make me happy too. Is that what you wanted to hear from me?” He snaps back.

“When.” You coldly demand, the anger you feel right now is astronomical.

Jungkook holds his breath for a few seconds, “A month ago.”

Your entire world stops then and there. So while you and Jungkook were doing these lovey dovey things and still seeing each other, he was already talking to someone new. All this and for what? He found someone new while still using you as an escape from reality (for fun really), and to know he was doing this while having someone on the side waiting?

It makes you sick to your stomach.

“D-Don’t you ever come near me. We’re done, so fucking done. How could you fucking do that to me? You knew how I fucking felt about all this and you went and pulled this? I hate you, I hate you.” You can’t even speak, it physically pains you to talk.

Through your sobs you manage to shakily hang up and head for your bedroom. You toss a bunch of clothes on the bed and drag your heavy suitcase out of the closet. You don’t know where you’re going, but at this point you’ll go anywhere if it means you can get away from this place.

All that’s left is the sounds of your sobs and clothes shuffling as you stuff them into your suitcase messily. You feel so alone and empty wondering what everyone else in the world is doing right now. Surely not getting their heart stomped on like you, right?

As you're finishing up with your closet, you hear the front door beep and buzz. No, no, no, he is not doing this right now you think while storming out to the living room. He’s already coming in as you’re stepping out.

“y/n–”

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to leave me the fuck alone!” You throw a vase in his direction watching him yell out in shock as he barely manages to dodge it.

“Fucking hell—calm down! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“And why do you care? You didn’t before so what’s fucking different now!” You wipe your face and stomp to your bedroom with Jungkook hot on your tail.

He tries to grab your arm but you rip yourself away from him in fury which makes him get the memo instantly, “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay, I don’t want you to hurt yourself or do anything stupid.” He stops in his tracks when he sees the state your bedroom’s in.

“y/n..what are you doing?” He quietly asks, his doe eyes filled with surprise and a mix of fear.

You take a deep breath and hold it in for a couple of seconds, letting it out slowly when you feel calm enough to reply, “I’m leaving Jungkook, all this—I’m done. I had hopes that maybe we could solve things and make it work again but it looks like only one of us wanted this.” You smile sadly.

“I choose myself Jungkook, I did some petty shit and said dumb things and I’m sorry for it. Looking back on it, it was me who refused to move on. I was so hung up on making things work I just didn’t realize I was dragging you down and forcing you to be with me.”

Jungkook visibly deflates with hurt written all over his face, “I’m sorry too, I never meant to lead you on and if I did I’m so sorry for it y/n. You deserve someone who can make you happy, and I’m sorry that someone can’t be me.”

You stand across from each other in silence. Jungkook looks down at your luggage with his own sad smile, “Maybe..we could be friends?”

“No,” you softly reply and get back to packing, “we can’t be friends, but I’d like to pretend.”

“So this is goodbye then.” Jungkook’s got his own unshed tears ready to fall.

“Yeah, I guess so..”

He looks up at you and tearfully smiles, “Goodbye y/n.”

You match his smile with one of your own, “Bye, Jungkook.” Maybe in your next life you will both be happy. But not in this one.

For now, it’s only me and maybe that’s all I need.

+

One year later.

“It’s only gonna be for two weeks, you big baby. You’re acting like I won’t get on a plane and go see you.” You laugh softly and shake your head, “Besides, I thought you were taking me to the beach in LA?”

“I am! But I wanted you there with me,” Mingi looks at you with pursed lips, “wanted you to see me on stage.”

You can’t help but coo and squeeze his cheek, “You’re so cute, don’t worry I’ll make sure I don’t miss it.” He smiles happily and you can’t help but lean in for a smooch on the cheek.

“Oh wait, I saw a guy selling ice cream back there. Wait for me right here, I’ll be back.” Mingi heads back to all the food stalls leaving you there in front of this cafe.

You hum under your breath and check on your messages, replying to friends who slid up on your story asking if you were finally back. It felt good to be home after all that went down before, you really needed the break.

“Hold on, I got it, let me carry it for you.” You hear a familiar voice say which instantly has you turning around to look.

It’s Jungkook and he still looks the same as before minus the hair he’s cut short now and has it in an undercut. You feel weird seeing him again after all this time. Weird in a good way? You don’t know, but it isn’t bad either. You kinda don’t feel anything.

You curiously look over at his girlfriend(?), stopping in your tracks when you notice a pretty ring on her finger. It suits her. You look back up and come face to face with Jungkook who stands there in shock too.

There’s a million things you can say or do right now, but you don’t. In fact you’re happy for him.

“Did I take long?” Mingi suddenly pops up behind you holding two ice cream cones, “I got your favorite.” He grins foolishly.

You break away from Jungkook and look at Mingi, “Thanks, how sweet of you.” You grin and lean in to kiss his cheek again, “Ready to go? I’m kinda tired of being outside.” You complain softly.

Mingi lets you take the cones from his hands and instead wraps his arm around your waist leading you through the crowd of people. Your heart races as you two get closer to Jungkook and his fiancé. Just for a second you meet his eyes, and then you smile before turning your attention back to Mingi.

Jungkook smiles back and just like that, you move on with your lives.

My love, I won’t wait for your love.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

[gremlingottoosilly]

Horsin' around (Centaurus!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is exiled from his people. You are exiled from yours. Together, you make about 6 legs and a perfect pair. Tags and CW: Size kink (duh), Centaurus!Konig(horse cocks), Konig is awkward, slight dub-con, power imbalance, belly bulge, praise kink, monster fucking. Thanks @kneelingshadowsalome for the prompt! AO3| Word count: 3016

Centaurus are not wild animals. You keep repeating it to yourself as you come deeper and deeper into the forest. You keep mumbling it to yourself as you feel the eyes watching you. judging you. Centaurus are not wild animals even if sometimes they behave like one. Not like you’re any different, any better – you’re a human, invading the sacred forests. You’re a human who is dumb enough to go foraging into the depths of their territory. Centaurus are not wild animals, but you don’t feel that repeating the same sentence over and over makes it sound any more convincing. You feel the danger in the air – with each step you take, with each fallen tree you’re stepping over. With every attempt to simply run ending up not working, you know you got lost. Long abandoned the basket you came with – you don’t recognize a single berry that grows here, not a mushroom or even some edible plant pieces to be found. This place is devoid of animals, of flowers – like something just snatched it all away. Ate it all, maybe. You don’t want to think what kind of creature could cause a migration like this. You don’t need to think though. Because the creature finds you first. 

You yelp in a mix of surprise and horror when the arrow flies right in front of you, the skill of the archer is high enough to make the arrow cut down a few bits of hair in front of your eyes. If you were a mere millimeter closer, you’d be dead. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This much is obvious. You freeze in place, not daring to move an inch when you hear it. Loud, not even bothering to conceal the sound of it – the creature was confident enough that the prey wouldn’t run. Not the creature, you correct yourself immediately. Centaurs are not animals, they are closer to humans than a lot of other monster types – with their strength and warrior culture, you’d say that they are even more humans than citizens of the village who forced you out. 

The centaur doesn’t even bother to hide himself from you, concealing the sounds of heavy hooves on the ground or evading the branches that crunched against his body. This is exactly what made you surprised when you understood that instead of a rough, but mostly handsome face that most centaurus tend to have, you’re met with a black hood which only spared two holes for the icy-blue eyes staring back at you. 

Is he a grim reaper? An executioner for other centaurus? Would that mean you don’t have to worry unless your lower part resembles a horse? 

You take a quick look at your bottom half. Not a horse. 

Centaur reapers the gesture, looking at his bottom half too. Definitely a horse. 

You decide to speak first, hoping to find words that would work just fine to be your last. 

— I am really sorry for intru…

— This is not the sacrifice season yet. 

Ah, well. 

The people from your village believe the centaurs to be sacred – despite them being monsters they knew a lot about, they were still given sacrifices. Food, some farm animals, especially fatty pieces of meat, and fancy jewels along with some weapons. Centaurus kept the worst predators at bay, herding the wolves to be their pets and sometimes driving deer and rabbits away to the village. They kept you protected from werewolves and orcs – with a meager payment of never touching the sacred grounds. 

You just stepped into the deepest, most protected part of the forest. You wonder if you would deserve a peaceful death. 

— It’s not. I…I made a mistake. 

No, you wanted to be here. When the village decided to drive you out, you thought that foraging in the part of the forest, untouched by humans, would be the most profitable thing. Centaurus won’t take berries anyway, right? But they might just take your life. 

— A mistake? 

He tilts his hooded head to the side. It’s such a boyish expression, that you almost let go of a nervous giggle. Perhaps, you were going crazy…but the centaur seemed a bit nervous. As seasoned as he looked – with battle scars covering his body and a bit of silver mixed with his ginger fur on the horse part – he seemed almost awkward standing here. Tapping one of his hooved legs like a nervous child. Squeezing the bow in his hands with vigor that made you scared he will just snap it in half. 

— I just wanted to take some food. 

— Is there a hunger? 

— No. 

— Humans aren’t allowed in these parts. Why would you go if not out of despair? 

You gulp. 

— I…am not allowed back. 

— Why? 

Because you’re a forest witch who will doom them all, according to the village of a horse people worshippers. Because you’re a monster in disguise who keeps straling babies, according to the village that uses the best pieces of food to feed the horse people who can take of themselves just fine, instead of feeding it to the orphaned children. Because you’re a whore who refuses to accept the new type of sacrifices – the virgins of the village as a breeding material for the Centaurus, according to the village filled with people who would gladly push a poor virgin out in the forest once she turned of age, so she could be mauled by horse people. 

— We had…mutual disagreement. 

You stare at the mighty body of the centaur. You fight the urge to get your hands down his torso, play with its short hairs, and…you were always a bit of a horse girl. Wondering if he is strong enough to lift you up and get you somewhere safe, somewhere far far away from here. 

Centaur has this weird, almost boyish tone. Deep and yet, sounds just a bit deranged. Unhinged. Like he is going to maul you any second – and judging by the bow and arrow still in his hands, he might not be wrong. You lick your lips. He stares at them – or at least you think he is. Hood only reveals his eyes and you can already get lost in them. Cold, like the northern sea, Like the snow outside. You thought all mythical creatures were supposed to be warm-blooded. 

— You’re exiled then. 

He isn’t asking. Centaurus are omnipotent and wise, they should know about human affairs more than humans themselves. You made them into sort of gods – you shouldn’t be surprised that this guy knows way more than he should. Somehow, you still feel safer around him than other humans – and maybe, it’s more of a you problem. Maybe, you ended up eating some of the weird berries and it’s just your hallucinations before you die. 

— I am. 

He takes a step back. He is big – all of them are, you suppose, but, somehow, he is bigger than he should be. Giant, muscular torso on top of an already muscular and big horse part – he can pick you up, throw you, and break you with one finger, probably. No, definitely. You don’t want to give him a reason to, so you just stay in place. Hoping he wouldn’t deem your trespassing as a matter worthy of a torturous death. 

— My name is König, human. Repeat, ja? 

The name feels weird on your tongue. Rude, sharp. You don’t want to call him wrong and receive his wrath, so you try your best to repeat this. 

— Ko-nig. Ja? 

You tilt your head to the side, a curious little bird. Centaur – König, König, König – squints his eyes like he is smiling. You made the god smile. The horse god. The horseman. Just…man. If you don’t look down, where you already see something giant and heavy standing between his horse legs, you could forget that he isn’t a man at all. 

Suddenly, you feel light. Suddenly, you feel your legs dangling in the air as you were picked up and bumped into the broad chest. Suddenly, you feel hands everywhere. On your ass, under it, touching your chest, your stomach, trying to get to the best position so you would stop moving constantly and trying to get out. You don’t want to fight him because you’re already in the air and falling right now could result in a broken neck – but you don’t want to be suspended in the air either. You whimper, pathetic sound escaping your lips as you feel calloused hands pressing on your mound. Traveling down your stomach and touching, squeezing, petting your delicate parts. 

You spend so much time without a gentle hand or a soft touch, you can feel yourself dripping on the fingers of a centaur. Embarrassing, yes – but you know that if he were to proceed, you wouldn’t really resist. 

And oh, he proceeds. 

— They finally send us proper sacrifices. 

He mumbles it into your hair, taking in your smell. You’re nice for a human – not scared of him too much, not trying to ran away or fight. Humans are usually just annoying insects under his hooves, but König can feel your face growing on him. Your body, too. Too weird for other Centaurus, never being able to find a proper mate who could take his lack of social awareness, he found himself mounting a human. His tribe would call him pathetic. His tribe would laugh. 

Then again, he is the first to get such a delicate little gift. Who is laughing now? 

You aren’t crying in his hands, and he is a bit surprised. You smell like a proper mate, like a good bitch in heat just for him – yet, you’re not falling on your knees to present your dripping cunt. You’re just trying to whimper to ask him to be gentler, and he is happy to oblige. Calm enough to listen to you. Ripping your pants apart because this is such a useless piece of clothing – concealing your rich smell from him. 

König doesn’t waste any time when he dips his finger across your swollen folds. Playing with the slick running down his wrist, smiling as you are closing your eyes and pressing your head in his chest. He is strong enough to keep you suspended in the air without a care in the world. Weak human, he would have to spend so much time preparing you for him – taking his cock would be a task no sacrifice ever competed before. 

König stares at your dripping pussy that is already clenching around nothing just because his fingers are pressing on the hood of your little clit, and he knows you’d be the perfect wife for him. Taking him properly as his mate, moaning as his cum fills you up. he can’t wait – knows that he should, preparing you properly. His hooves are beating the ground in impatience as his fingers slide in and out of your pussy. You spread your legs, moaning louder. Such a filthy whore for him. 

— Relax, human. Be a good mate. 

— This isn’t what I wa…

— Quiet. Such a good…good girl, Schatz. Will bring me strong children. 

— We can’t have sex. It’s im…impossible.

You whimper, trying to squeeze your legs, to shut his hand. You only moan louder, knowing that you would accept everything he gives you, and ask for more. 

You don’t want to imagine his cock entering you over and over, forcing its way past your walls and making you round and soft with his children. It’s a foreign concept – centaurus shouldn’t mate with humans, it should be physically impossible. Yet, you almost want to try. A breeding mare, made for one and only. 

König gets you on…something. It isn’t exactly a natural thing – a pile of stones and trees, perfect height for you to lay your back on, with some soft leaves and animal skins to rest comfortably. His hands support you on the perfect height and you immediately know what he construction is. A mating stand. Probably for other centaurus – but you feel almost fine laying on it too. Almost normal. Your muscles sting as you try to rest your legs and then spread them wide enough for König to stay between them. He is a big guy, after all. He turns you around, on your tummy. Ass in the air, you don’t like not seeing him. The heavy musk fills your nostrils, making you suddenly aware of what is about to happen – you’re wet, spread enough on his fingers, calloused fingertips scrubbing your gummy walls from the inside. He is fingering you with ease, but it doesn’t feel like a man with experience – he is touching and probing like he doesn’t know what he is doing and, honestly, you kinda like it. He is exploring your body with his and you moan, not caring that you sound like a whore. Humans have already abandoned you as part of society – you might as well just take it. — I will prepare you. 

— It won’t fit… — It will, Schatzen. You’ll get used to it. — What if I break? 

— I will be careful. Trust me, ja?

Even his fingers are a bit much when he enters your body with a third digit. One, two, three – you are about to burst when he is massaging your G-spot, when he is smiling in your hair and gets you so aroused just on it alone. You’re about to cum when he slowly extracts his fingers, deeming your sloppy cunt as explored enough. Your walls are clenching around nothing, a beautiful display of desire – maybe, it was the right call that humanity abandoned you. König looks at the perfect centraius whore on display and he can’t wait to claim you. To make you his. 

He is exiled from other centaurus. 

You are exiled from humans. 

What a beautiful fucking pair. 

He enters your body slowly deliberately. Regrets it immediately – you are wonderful. Too perfect to be this slow, being soft with you is torture. Your walls accept him with a stretch, like a warm glove around his cock. Slowly shifting, softening, straddling his cock with each inch he buries in the depth of your warm, weeping cunt. He can’t touch you, as unfortunate as this is – dumb horse body is making it impossible, even looking at you is hard enough on his neck. He wants to mount you properly, but you’re simply too fucking small. Wants to touch your hair, to whisper some encouragement that human women would probably love to hear – but he can only breath heavily and enter you, one painful centimeter after the other. 

— T…too much, too much, please, I can’t, it’s… You whimper, you cry, it breaks his damned heart because you don’t deserve this. You need to be treated with care, with softness and yet, he can’t give you that. He wants so much to just put you in his arms and hug you, but that would be impossible. König will give you all the coddling in the world after you’re done. After he is sure that you received all the possible breeding and seed he could gave you. 

— Quiet, human. It would be nice soon. 

— It’s not…

— Touch yourself, please, bitte. I can’t…can’t touch you. But you will feel better. 

Your hand goes between your legs, playing with yourself. Spreading your folds around his cock even more, fingers sliding past your clit. Touching the little button and hoping it would be enough to make you aroused – and it is. Your cunt is a mess of your own juices mixed with König’s pre cum, and you already know that you won’t be walking the next couple days. 

König bottoms with a deep sigh, and you feel him in your stomach. Bulging with his giant cockhead, making the outline of his cock visible – you touch it with shock, not understanding how your organs are even in place. 

He starts moving and you finally feel it – the burning pleasure setting fire in the pit of your stomach. the excess liquid pouring from your damp cunt, moans spreading from your lips. You never felt this way with a human before – then again, no human cock would ever be able to compete with König. He can reach the parts of your body that you never knew existed, and the mix of pheromones and musk is making you dizzy. Light-headed. You don’t even need to touch yourself more to feel the height of your orgasm, building in as rapidly as König’s thrusts. 

In, forcing its way to hit your cervix gently, massaging the sore spots of your tight pussy. 

Out, grazing over your inner walls, touching all the buttons. 

In again, filling you up with his pre-cum. Moaning loud enough for the whole forest to hear. 

Out, dragging you back with him, as you’re still impaled on his cock. 

— S…so perfect for me. Scheisse, so pretty… He can’t touch you and it breaks his heart. König goes to praise you instead – words feel awkward on his tongue, but he knows you need to heart it. He wants you to hear it, wants you to fee wanted, entitled. Soft. He smiles when you whimper and moan, milking him for his orgasm. Your cunt is made for him and he wants to spend every waking moment buried inside of it. Gods, you are a perfect sacrifice. 

He is coming embarrassingly fast, pumping his giant cock even deeper into your pussy. Filling you up with hot cum that can’t even stay inside of your cunt. Leaking everywhere, you two are making a mess – you breath heavily, not understanding what is right and wrong anymore. Only knowing, remembering the shape of his cock. Pushing in and out, forcing its way in. God, you feel full. And ridiculous. And so, so perfect with his cock slowly starting to pump you again. And again. Konig came embarrassingly fast, but only because this is just the first orgasm in a row. Forcing its way inside, you are overstimulated already – but you will take him, of course, obviously. You have to.

König is going to enjoy breeding a new clan out of you. 

[predestinatos]

you mean everything - MV1 ೀ⋆｡🌷

summary: max needed a wedding date and you were used to being his fake partner.

tags: max verstappen x fem!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, max is so whipped, fluff, a bit angsty maybe?, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

notes: i've been writing (and thinking) so much about max... my period is coming please give me a break i'm sensitive. also would love to get some feedback if possible so i know if it's worth making a series out of this!!!!

"If you want to make it believable at least hold my hand" you half-whispered to Max, who was buttoning his blazer while getting out of the car, you behind him.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this with you" he said chuckling. His sweaty palm held yours tightly, and the feeling of it was odd. Knowing Max for so long meant that these romantic gestures felt almost cringeworthy to you both, and you both had to put up award winning performances every time you played this game.

The game in question being fake-dating. It started as a funny joke where you both thought it would be great to test out the Get A Champagne Bottle For Free At This Restaurant If You Propose theory (which worked, by the way). From then onwards, you used each other as dates whenever asked by annoying family members, creepy coworkers, or just because you felt like lying.

The talking wasn't hard - you both felt comfortable in that part, lying with words coming off almost dangerously natural - but when it came to acting the part, both of you felt awkward, like kids who found relationships absolutely repulsive.

This time, though, the performance would last longer than usual: it was a wedding. Max's friend's wedding. Max could've just gone along, or bring a friend (even you as a friend). Yet he had told his friend, after one too many shots on his Bachelor's Party, and after being chosen as The Guy Who'll Take the Longest to Settle, that he had, in fact, a girlfriend. His friends didn't believe him, so he showed a picture of you two together - a selfie really, nothing much. And they still said they didn't believe it. So here you are.

You couldn't blame him, even if you wanted to. You agreed to use each other as a fake partner for as long as you could in as many situations as required, although when it all started none of you ever thought it would lead to wedding attendances.

So now there you were, Max's hand on yours, entering the small church. His eyes locked with the groom, who waved and called for you to sit near the altar.

"So you ARE real" he said, nervousness laced in his voice even as he tried to lighten the mood himself. You giggled at the irony of it, nodding as you said your congratulations.

"Just wait until the guys see this" he continued gesturing towards the bench where 3 other men around his age sat. Men you had seen before in some Instagram pictures, men you spent the previous night trying to memorize basic information about so you didn't sound suspicious.

Max's hand now fell on your waist almost instinctively - it wasn't instinctively, he told himself once he noticed its positioning. And if it was, it was only because he took this so seriously, almost as a sort of method acting. Sitting down next to his friends, he noticed how all of them seemed surprised at your presence, and something like pride filled his chest. He loved winning, loved being right even if he was lying; but most especially, he loved how jealous other men seemed to be over the fact that he was (at least in their minds) dating you.

He couldn't deny - though he tried, really - that you two looked good together. His rougher features mixed with your softer ones gave you both an aura of near unreachability, which yes, was pretentious of him to think but he thought nevertheless.

The ceremony was quick and endearing, a smile spread across everyone's faces at the shared loved between the bride and the groom. As the crowd clapped, Max leaned into you, "don't tell me you're crying". "I am, just to think that I'll have to keep pretending to date YOU for the next 10 hours" you replied, his mocking smile recognizing the joke.

The reception hall was beautifully decorated with shades of soft green and violet orchids. Max tried not to think about how much it matched the shade of your dress, how you looked like you had come to life from a classical novel. He tried to feel like anyone but Mr. Darcy as you felt so much like Elisabeth Bennett to him.

Sitting down next to him, you found this part easier - mingling and socializing was something you enjoyed more than he did - especially with alcohol in the mix. It's a wedding, you thought; this is what weddings are for.

So you drank the wine with the main course and sipper champagne to celebrate and ordered a few cocktails when it was time to dance and talk - and you felt it on your body almost as much as you felt Max's hand occasionally sitting on your thigh, but not even close to how strongly you felt his thumb caress your skin as he did so. Truth was, he too was drunk; his eyes looked smaller and his cheeks were flushed, and the amount of times he ran a hair through his dirty blonde hair had caused it to look messier. As you looked at him, you felt he never looks as attractive as when he is like this - loose and carefree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face when he notices people laugh at his joke.

"I have to admit I didn't think it was true" his friend said when Max left to go to the bathroom. He looked drunker than the two of you combined, his words hard to decypher, like a riddle. "He's been talking about you for months now and we never saw you for real so we thought you didn't exist" he laughed, and you laughed back before it registered.

"Months?" you asked him, eyebrows furrowed yet attempting to remain composed. You shouldn't have asked it - a supposedly month old girlfriend wouldn't be surprised but you were his fake month old girlfriend and you weren't understanding it anymore.

"Yeah. He talks about you so much all the time I think even we started to date you" he laughed again, yet this time you didn't find the joke so funny. You were frozen in your seat, merely blinking as if trying to put the confusing puzzle together, the pieces not quite fitting the way you thought they would.

A touch on your shoulder unfroze you, almost like magic, like a disney film come to life. You turned around to find the groom, somewhat sober, smiling at you while also looking somewhat concerned. "He's calling for you... And he's also absolutely wasted" he said, pointing to the door of the hall.

"Shit" you cursed, getting up from your seat at a speed you couldn't believe, worry filling your heart, making you forget the conversation you were just having.

Opening the door to the garden outside, you found Max sitting down against the wall, shirt partly unbuttoned and disheveled hair. When he saw you, he grinned, such genuine happiness laced with tipsiness.

"Lightweight" you mocked as you crouched in front of him, trying to balance yourself on your heels, somehow managing it despite your own drunkness.

"You're laughing at my mis- Shit- my misery" his throat bobbed up and down, exaggerating his own agony with a hand on his chest and another on his forehead like a Shakespeare character.

"I have to admit it's quite fun sometimes" you bit your lip as you fixed his hair as best as you could, hands brushing through its soft, blonde mess.

"You're so– you're so sweet" he said, his words dragged and messy. He brought a beer bottle to his lips but you stopped him before any liquid touched them.

"I think that's enough of that for tonight" you grabbed it and placed it behind you, sitting in front of him.

"See now... Now you're being mean" his hand grabbed a strand of your hair and played with it softly as he pouted.

"Okay big boy I'm gonna get you some water" you say, getting up once again, yet his hand stops you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You looked at him, startled. His drunken state is visible, and it felt frustrating that you had to be the one sobering up for him. The music vibrated through the wall he leaned against, somehow tickling him, making him giggle.

"Stay," he managed to say, eyes half closed, "I'm so glad we're- Fuck things are spinning so much" his hands rushed to his eyes and his head hung low, "Ah fuck. I'm so glad we're datin- Fuck, no, oops-" he continued laughing despite how sick he felt, the whole situation sounding hilarious when filtered through alcohol.

You giggled along with him, mostly because you wanted to see if you could convince him to move, scared he might feel worse or pass out on the cold floor if he doesn't do so. "Fake dating. Fake dating, I know. I knowww" he continued, his words dragged and his finger pointing at you before poking your nose with such innocent sweetness you were taken aback.

"Max" you tried to sound more assertive but found it hard to do so, your own intoxicated state making the situation lighter than what it actually was. Your heart racing was a symptom of it, one you wouldn't feel if sobriety was an option, you thought. Max's eyes wouldn't seem to stare at you differently were he sober as well, and the way he scanned your features, his gaze staying on your lips for longer than expected, wouldn't affect you in the slightest had you not drank some alcohol.

"I like it when you say my name" he looked up at you innocently, pleading, almost.

"Want me to say it again?" you asked, smiling. You complied with these demands because you knew they were childish whims of an intoxicated man, his happiness a priority in times like these. Upon his nod, you started saying his name, half teasingly, half reassuringly, the leaves rustling in the garden behind you.

"Max... Max!! Max Max-"

He shouldn't. It would complicate things, and he liked when they were simple, clean and organized. He knew he shouldn't even when his whole vision spun and his brain convinced him that he should do things he would never do otherwise. But every time he refrained from saying something he would stumble across all his words and trip and fall and his head would only hurt more, and it seemed as if he could only focus if he kept listening to you and talking to you and looking at you.

The lights shone behind you in a way that made it feel as though he was dreaming, like you were a mirage, too good to be true. Maybe his friends were right - you weren't actually real. He wanted to be sure, in that moment. That you were real and that he wanted you as much as he thought. And though he shouldn't, though it was a terrible idea, he couldn't help but lean over to kiss you.

He tasted like champagne - bubbly and slightly sweet, his movements sloppy given his state, yet you couldn't help but drink it all in. Part of you - a big part - reciprocated the kiss, felt his fingers on the side of your neck, pulling you messily towards him, and tried to steady him, guiding him gently with your own lips.

It was odd, how this felt so right yet the fake hand holding didn't. As Max kissed you, that thought entered his clouded mind - did it feel wrong because it was fake and this was real? Your skin felt so soft, so much softer now he could touch it freely and unapologetically.

"Fuck-" he started, pulling away, his head resting against the wall once again as he stared at you, noticing how it hasn't hit you yet; what you just did, how it affected everything. "I fucking love you" he shrugged as you fixed your hair, pausing with arms raised for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"You're drunk" you replied, looking at his own grin, the gleam in his eyes making him appear both innocent and guilty of so many things.

"I'm drunk and I fucking love you"

"Max..." you started, and he said your name back to you with such tenderness you couldn't believe his lips tasted of alcohol earlier and not something sweet.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" you continued, waiting for the silence to swallow you both.

[localkiss]

A (not so) Drunken Mistake

pairings: best friend re2!leon x fem!reader

cw: clumsy, awkward shit, desperation, bad fluff (sry), first time, CONSENT CONSENT CONSENTT KING, creampie, shower time, mentions of alcohol, oral (f receiving), hand job, overstim a lil bit, hella dirty talking, light choking, multiple orgasms, soft dumbification, and nipple play. Lmk if I missed anything!

wc: 3.9k

dedicated to the lovely: zoepallvc !!

tags: @adiorxia @admirxation @rigorwhoring @nilpill @lottiies @leonkennedygvrl @leonsdolly @dilfstar @gettingsilly @bonnibuckets @bunnyclaire @dollfacefantasy ahh just tagging all my moots 😣!!

Awkward confessions being blurred out as you two were drinking in this living room. Soft shades of warm hues painting your skins, flushing out the cool tones of the night sky. His hand on yours, mouth slotting against yours as if it were natural. Normal. 

Both of you couldn't help yourselves anymore. The tension was thicker than oatmeal and ice cream cake. Soft giggles and blows into the wet caverns as you clumsily clashed teeth against teeth. Hot breaths of alcohol waft through the air. The bottles of Mike's Hard Strawberry Lemonade and a bottle of Crown Royal Whisky strewn across the coffee table. Alongside keys and stacks of mail, unopened. 

His hands travel across the bumpy surface of your body, mapping out every single dip. Being careful not to squeeze too hard or grope you in places neither of you are ready to explore with one another. If he wasn't drunk, he would've stopped at every inch and looked at you for confirmation. 

Your hands too, roamed wildly on his body. A soft gasp left you as soon as he guided you to his lower abdomen. Wanting—no—needing you to touch him. To give him the same attention he's giving you. Of course, the amount will almost never be the same. It's okay though, minds too heavy to even think rational thoughts. So who gives a fuck if he loves you more. Gives you more attention and doesn't expect the same amount back. It's been like this since day one. 

Leon has always had your back, especially during your childhood years. Both of you stuck to each other like glue. Always helping you when a guy gave you trouble or rejected you. Wished it was him that you imagined between your thighs. To be the first one to take your virginity with everything. But he thought it was too much to even ask for. So he settled with just staying best friends with you.

Of course, alcohol gave him the courage to even be doing this to you right now. But he knows better than to sleep with you instantly. Got to take things slow… to woo you over and make you yearn for him to be inside of you. To desire him pounding you with all of his might. 

You've seen his build many times, gulping as his arms got bigger than they used to be. When small veins would pop up on his forearms or his hands, it made your mouth just start pooling up. 

Or when the two of you would play fight, feeling his arms easily wrap around you and trap you against his body. One arm around your shoulders and the other around your delicate waist. 

Tossing and turning, you wearily remember last night. The kisses and heated touches you guys exchanged. Good god. You groan and flip over, reaching for Leon. 

“Leon. Wake up,” you croak out, rubbing your face with the palms of your hands. 

He grumbles, moving his legs, slowly waking up from the sound of your voice. He rolls over to his side, hands finding you and pulling you close to his bare chest. 

Your hands push up against his pecs, shaking him slightly. Giving him a few nudges with your feet, feeling his warmth soak into your skin like water. Makes you feel sleepy but you know you shouldn't fall back asleep. You have to get up and take care of your headache and relieve yourself! 

He opens his eyes slowly, a small smile creeping up on his lips. A toothy awkward smile. “Good morning beautiful,” he hums huskily. 

Doughy thighs squeezing together instinctively from the sound of his voice. Fuck. How did you even stay around him without jumping his bones? 

“Good morning,” you shyly sputter out, looking into his baby blue eyes. Fluttering your eyelashes a few times. Make sure you aren't dreaming of this whole scenario out. Daydreaming even. Maladaptive type shit. 

His thumbs gently trace your lower back, his pupils dilating into heart shaped you swear. 

You both could stare at each other for hours, if only you didn't have to piss so fucking bad. Might explode if you don't get up any time soon. Well, maybe not explode per say, but your kidney would sure appreciate it if you peed sooner than later!

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you tap on his arms, signaling him to move them. “I gotta go pee real quick,” shuffling out of the bed in his shirt and your underwear. 

Making a quick pace, getting into the bathroom and shutting the door. Relieving yourself with a sigh. Getting up, flushing the toilet, and washing your hands before Leon rattles his knuckles on the door. 

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, hold on.” You open the door, seeing him stand there with his hip slanted, arm leaning against the door frame. Of course his lips are painted in a smug sort of smile. 

“Let's shower together baby,” he comes up, wrapping his arms around you loosely. Coaxing you into this idea with soft kisses and soft touches. Feeling you relax into his body, practically slumping against him. Cute, he thinks. 

Hearing you mumble out an “okay”, he takes the prerogative to slip his shirt off of you. You lift your arms and he tosses it to the ground. Following his actions, you slip your panties off. 

Shyly standing before him as his eyes take over you hungrily. Leon hums in appreciation, his hands slowly running up your arms, over your shoulders, and down your chest. Taking his sweet time to appreciate every single thing on your body. Every curve, pimple, dimple, and strand of hair he can see with his eyes. 

This man is in love with you. Clear as day! 

You tremble with anticipation and adrenaline, feeling goosebumps chasing after his warmth. Letting out a low moan as he cups your breasts in his gigantic hands. Well… they're bigger than your own, that's for sure. You are positive he can hear each breath you take and exhale out through your nose. 

He lets go of them after a few soft squeezes. His index and thumb encapsulate your perky nipples, tweaking them curiously.

A zip of pain mixed with slight pleasure swirls around your areolas. Almost buckling from the sight of him and feel of his fingers. “Leon…” you whimper impatiently, hands coming up to tug on his boxers with little force. 

“Shh.. I got you princess,” he gives you an idiotic grin. Slowly dipping down to press his lips against yours, teasing you with little licks of his tongue, and soft nibbles. 

Groaning when you pull him down by the neck, arms wrapped around him like he's gonna disappear soon. Meanwhile his hands push his briefs down enough for them to fall down his legs. 

Soon after he grabs your thighs, directly underneath the cuff of your ass. Picking you up with ease and moving you to the countertop, right next to the sink. His hand moves up to your waist and the other moves to the back of your head. Slowly pulling away and tilting your head back, trying not to pull too hard. 

Groaning as you whine and paw at him needily. His lips mark his way down south, stopping to attack your neck with hickeys. Feeling your hands grip at his soft light brown hair. Giving it a few tugs and he bites down slightly harder on your chest. Of course he has to give the same treatment to the other side, kissing the valley of your breasts. 

Feeling your stomach tighten up, you wonder if he actually is a virgin like you. How is he so good at making you breathless? 

His lips wrap around your nipple and suckles on it, teeth grazing bud making you gasp. Hot wet tongue swirling around it, humming as you moan and press his face further into your tit. Leon's warm hands rub against your back soothingly as his eyes flutter, looking at your reaction. 

Pulling away, a string of spit connecting himself to you. Moving to give attention to the other side. He's like making out with your tits, humming and moaning like he's getting action too. His eyes dart up to you, pupils absolutely swallowing his irises. He looks so drunk off of just kissing your chest. 

“Can I go further, baby?” Leon's hands slip down to your thighs, giving them a squeeze. 

You open them instinctively. Allowing your sensitive parts to be visible to his eyes. Watching his eyes quickly flit down and stare at it. Zoning out practically. 

“It's so pretty, “ He coos, pushing your legs wider and spreading your cunt open with his thumbs. 

You twitch from how close he is and whine at his compliment. Hands giving his hair a tug closer to your body. Leon chuckles, pressing his lips on your inner thighs, teasing you by nearing where you want him. 

Repeating the same process on your other thigh. Leaving little marks wherever his lips collide with your soft skin. “Mhmm… fuck. Smells s’good. Can't wait any longer, beautiful.” He sticks his head further between your doughy thighs, tongue sticking out. 

Making contact with your sopping wet cunt. Breath fanning your glistening folds as he just licks it like a candy. Sloppily wrapping his lips at the top, looking up at you like he wants to ask where your clit is. 

“Mmph.. Leon it's here,” you lift the hood of your clit and show him it, shyly. He hums in affirmation. 

Leon goes buck wild and sucks on it like crazy. Feeling your hips jolt towards him. His gorgeous blue eyes flutter shut, getting lost in the sauce. Your sauce. Sweet and tangy as he's trapped in the smell of you. So overwhelming in the best way possible, really. 

You can tell he's enjoying this more than you are. With the way he's moaning and groaning, so much louder than you. The vibrations add fuel to the growing fire in your stomach. You spread your legs just a bit further apart. Making room for his head. 

“Leon,” you mewl loudly. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “Please…” not sure what you are begging for. But he understands right away. 

His right hand slides away from your thigh, fingers teasing around your drippy hole. Slowly pushing his middle and ring finger until he's knuckles deep. Savoring the way you clench around his thick fingers. 

“So tight and warm.” He mumbles into your pussy. 

Delving back in and sucking on your clit once more. Moving his fingers in and out, not trying to make it hurt. But it's so hard to be patient and not make you cry out his name. He needs to make you feel good. After all these years of playing a cat and mouse game. 

Leon's been saving himself for you, hoping you did the same for him. Which he should know by now, since you both only really hangout with each other and mutual friends. Obviously you have your separate lives but it mostly overlaps with one another. 

You rock your hips in time with his fingers, gasping when it hits your g-spot. Tugging on his hair to get him impossibly closer to your heat. The sounds of slurping and squelching are echoing throughout his bathroom and into his bedroom. 

All this, you would've never thought would become reality. You've imagined him on top of you and whispering the naughtiest things you could think of. His hands touching everywhere on your body, his lips marking where it touches. Proudly claiming that you are his and nobody else's. Holding you extra tight when someone would flirt with you. His crystal blue eyes narrowing and a menacing aura shifting around him. 

What snaps you out of your thoughts is when he curls his fingers and his teeth graze your sensitive bud. Can't help that your hands tighten around his poor strands of hair. 

“You like that, baby?” Leon hums, watching your expressions intently. Figuring out what makes you tick and what you don't like. And you like this. 

A soft whimper rolls off of your tongue and into his ears. It's such a beautiful melody, hearing you enjoy yourself because of him. 

“C'mon princess, use your words.” He speeds up his fingers. Looking up at you like you are a god he worships day and night. A condescending tone just drips from his mouth. Acting like he can't figure it out just from the look of you. 

“Y-Yeah… mmhg,” you nod your head dumbly. Feeling your thighs start to shake and your gummy walls clenching around his digits. “like it..” 

Leon laughs softly and continues. Wanting to make you unravel before you both hop into the shower. It's the least he could do! He swirls his tongue around your clitoris a few times. 

You let out a high pitch moan, “‘M gonna cum! ‘M gonna cum…!” 

“Cum for me. Let it all out, honey.” He coos at you. His eyes are glued to your face. Watching it turn a light pink. Mouth hanging open wide. “Know you can do it for me.” 

The coil in your stomach tightens with a warm gooey liquid making its way down south. It snaps when Leon bites down just a little bit harder on your bud. 

All sorts of sounds spew out of your mouth. Whines, his name,  and breathy moans. Your upper body starts to shake, thighs closing in on his head, squeezing him. Your stomach tenses and your body wants to curl in on itself. 

Leon hums in revelation. His hand slows down to a stop and his mouth travels to your hole. Greedily licking away at your release. Needing every last drop to satisfy himself. He wishes he could store it all in a bottle and drink away at it when he misses you and your sweet cunt. Reluctantly, he pulls away, sucking at his fingers that were inside of you.

You hide your face at that, too embarrassing to watch him enjoy your taste. 

“Baby,” his hands slide up around your waist. Standing up to his full height. His head dipping down into the nook of your shoulder. His hot breath tickles your skin, in all the right ways. “Think you can walk?” 

You can feel his dick pressing up against your thigh, throbbing with need. It's hot and wet on your skin. “I don't know.” Is what you settle to say. 

Before you take another breath, he scoops you up into his arms. Your legs immediately wrap around his fit waist. He steps into the shower and sets you back on the ground, holding onto your waist snugly. Slowly turning on the knob to the right to get the water warm.

Leon pulls the shower diverter pin to switch the water flowing down to have it flow up into the showerhead. He leads you both under the water, his other hand coming up to your eyebrows. Making sure the water doesn't get into your eyes. 

Such a romantic!

Stepping closer to his body, in between his feet, you wrap your arms around him. “Do you want to do anything else?” 

“Like…what?” 

“Mm.. well, your dick keeps poking me…” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a smile. Sneaking your nimble hands to it. Wrapping them both around it and slowly — but very clumsily — stroking him. Watching his face change as you continue to jerk him off. It's your turn to make him feel good. Or at least you think you should give it back. 

Hearing his soft moans. Feeling his hips buck into your hand and his arm tightening around you. Leon's hand slips down to the back of your head. Dipping down to capture your lips in a kiss. His tongue prodding your lips, begging for entry. Hot breaths coming out of his nostrils against your face. 

Your mind can't handle kissing him so hungrily, and making him feel good. So, you squeeze his poor cock and in return, Leon tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls it just a bit. Stumbling a bit backwards, you let go of it. 

Leon pulls away and kisses around your face. So sweet. 

“May I have sex with you?” His eyes blink their way down your wet body. And then back up to your eyes. 

His face is flushed, his plump lips are pressed together. He just looks so divine. You want to, want to so bad. 

“Yes, please.” Nodding like a madwoman, he gives you a chaste kiss. Patting your head like a cute puppy. 

Turning you around and pressing down on your back gently, he goes between your bodies and grabs his length. Teasingly rubbing the sticky tip against your clit and down to your hole, not yet putting it in. Groaning when it slips a little bit into your hole. 

“Are you ready, baby girl?” 

“Uhuh, I'm ready Leon.” You put your hands on the shower wall as his hand grips onto your hip.

Slowly pushing his cock into you, a soft whine mixed with a moan leaves his lips. Stopping after a few inches are in your pussy. “You okay?” 

“Mhmm… you feel so big, Leon.” Pressing your hips back against him as you speak. 

Leon's hands grip harder onto your hips. Watching his dick disappear into your wetness. Your gummy walls clinging onto him like he should never leave. Seems like he enjoys being told that his manhood is big. 

“Fuck baby, you're so… tight.” He leans down, sliding the rest inside. Groaning when you flutter around him, squeezing him harder. His hips buck and he grazes your womb. 

You moan louder, trying to get used to something bigger than a tampon going in and out of you. “Please..” Wincing and involuntarily arching your back. 

Leon pulls out and pushes in, a few inches at a time. After a few minutes of gently fucking you, he decides to go just a tad rougher. His eyes narrowing at your ass, watching the way it jiggles as his pelvis makes contact with it. 

He's always thought you had a nice ass. Now, it's going to be forever ingrained in his mind, as it moves like water. Bouncing back onto him. 

“Baby, fuck,” he whines, going faster. Hearing your desperate moans and whimpers makes all his thoughts drip down to his cock. 

Leon wants to kiss you so bad. Kiss you and fondle you whilst he's pounding you. Not sure if his brain would short-circuit and ejaculate prematurely. He's too deep into you to ever want to pull out though. 

His hands slide up to your breasts, squeezing them as if they were stress balls. Lowering down so his chest is merely inches away from your back. Feeling the heat radiating off of his body. 

“You like that?” Breathing heavily into your ear like it's asmr. Snaking his arm around your neck, the other one wrapping around your waist. Needing you to be as close to him as possible. Even if it meant lightly choking you with his soft muscles. “Like it when I manhandle you? Mhmm, I know you do. Every time we wrestled, you think I couldn't hear you gasping and whining?” 

It's dizzying how easily he can maneuver you. You can't really tell if he's trying to make you break, or if he's just talking to talk. Probably the former. 

It's sort of frustrating how much he can remember and pays attention to your every little expression and noise. It's almost as if he has a small part of his brain just dedicated to you, storing everything about you there. Which really, should flatter you. Such a man wrapped around you like a vine. 

“Fuck, I do. I love it,” you claw at his forearm, arching your back. Feeling the way his fat leaky tip goes impossibly deeper, curving around your squishy muscle. Unable to help yourself when your eyes roll into the back of your head, tilting back against his chest. 

He's barely pulling out in this position and he groans. “Yeah, I'm always right, baby. I know you better than yourself,” he coos condescendingly. “Play with that pretty little clit of yours.” He can't help but laugh, trailing off into a whimper. Pressing kisses against your temple. 

It doesn't take you long to spring a leak! With all that dirty talking he keeps mumbling into your ear. His hand groping your front side insatiably. With his stamina, really, he could go at it all night like a rabbit. 

“Mmm… been dreaming of stuffing you full of my cock for a long time. Wanted to hear your pretty voice and feel you against me. Shit, this feels unreal.” Leon grunts through his teeth. Clenching his jaw tight. 

Your legs almost give in, pressing back against him hard. Letting strings of cries and unimaginable sounds out from the bottom of your lungs. Feeling numb from the waist down. Luckily, Leon holds you upright, still plapping away into your soaked cavern. 

“Good job. Good girl, sweet fucking—shit.” Your boyfriend growls, removing his arm around your neck to push your lips together. Swooping in for a spit filled kiss. His manhood is twitching against your womb. 

“Want you to cum inside,” you lick into his mouth as he moans breathily. Pressing you tighter against him once those words reach his ears. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill this pussy up with my cum? Get you pregnant and—” He can't even hold on for much longer. Just the idea of pumping you full and the possibility of getting you pregnant just makes his veins jump. 

Leon whimpers, spurting rope after rope of his load into your womb. Your pussy greedily latching onto him and milking him for what he's worth. He's still humping into you. Fantasizing about the day you both have a family, a white picket fence and a cute dog in the picture too. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, precious.” He hesitates to pull out, sad at the idea of his little swimmers falling out of you. 

Being the good guy he is, he cleans you both off. Massaging your hips and lower back, fearing he went a bit too hard on you. Running the soft pads of his fingers through your hair, with you resting against his chest. 

Littering your face and neck with sweet kisses. Drying you both off and placing fresh clothes on your body. Laying down in the bed, cuddling one another.

“Maybe next time, we'll do it in my bed.” He jabs your arm lightly with his elbow. Already thinking of the next time both of you will go at it like teenagers. Clumsy and desperate. 

“Yeah. Maybe next time, someone will buy condoms.” And that makes him whine, pouting down at you. 

“But baby,” he tugs you closer to his chest, “I'll take care of you and the baby.” 

“Leon.” You whack at his chest. Trying to smack some sense into him. “We can't have kids right now.* 

“Who said so?” 

“Me.”

“Well, I say we can and should.” 

“Huh. Whatever you say boss man.” 

“Don't call me that. It sounds gross.” Leon scowls playfully, feigning disgust in his voice. His blue hues twinkled softly.

“Okay, big guy.” You erupt into a fit of laughter. Leon joined you immediately after. The vibrations buzzing against your hand on his chest. Safe and warm. Like home. 

[lovebugism]

“I’m not the easiest person to talk to, or be around. It’s… hard for other people to love me. I get that.” with Eddie? Maybe he and reader are sorta rivals or frenemies?

here's an unsolicited part 2 to this fic! hope you like it :D — eddie knows you like him now, so you find it extremely hard to be normal around him accordingly (enemies to lovers, grumpy!reader, more succession references, 2.3k)

You walk into the Hideout behind Steve and Robin, hands trembling and sticky with sweat. 

The humid air of the overcrowded bar and the overwhelming stench of cheap beer do little to quell your swirling stomach. The too-loud music and bustling bodies are hardly more than a harsh reminder of the last time you were here — pouring your heart out to Eddie Munson in the form of anxious word vomit, only to be hopelessly turned away. 

Not quite rejected but hardly embraced, which is somehow more embarrassing. 

“You alright?” Steve asks once you’ve ducked into the dim hallway of the backstage area. 

The music and muddled chatter are mostly stifled now, but the walls continue to pulse with life — riddled with chipping paint and dubious stains that only add to your unease. You try to swallow down your distant ennui, hoping it isn’t as obvious as it feels. (It is). Your loud feelings are too big for your body, and it’s got your face softly screwed together like you’ve tasted something sour.

The concerned glint in Steve’s eyes makes you cower. “Yeah. I’m peachy,” you deadpan with an unconvincing shrug. “Why?”

“‘Cause you look like we’re leading you to slaughter,” Robin scoffs.

“You’re asking me to be nice to Eddie Munson for two hours,” you grouse. “So, excuse me if I’m not the most chipper.”

The brunette girl flashes you a look over her shoulder, ocean eyes smudged with dark liner. “Scared you’ll spontaneously combust?” she jokes with her hand wrapped around the rusted knob of the faux greenroom. It feels more like her chipped maroon nails have grabbed your heart and twisted.

“Terrified,” you monotone just before she swings the door open.

The tiny, windowless room smells like sweat and grocery store cologne. It’s crowded with vanity mirrors, plastic folding chairs, and suitcases — hardly big enough for a heavy metal band. 

The three of you run into Gareth and Jeff on your way in. The two look nothing like themselves as you shuffle past them in the doorway, sharing fleeting glances and awkward greetings as you go. A couple of D&D nerds in leather and eyeliner feels almost uncanny.

It’s the same with Eddie, sort of. Curls drenched with sweat, eyes smudged black, tanktop damp around the neckline — a total rockstar. You’re not sure if it’s the raucous outfit stirring your stomach or the body wearing it.

“Oh, shit— You assholes actually showed!” Eddie beams at the sight of you. “And you dressed for the occasion, too.”

The boy in all black and silver stands before the three of you, still dressed in corporate attire after working late shifts. Steve and Robin look at least mostly normal without the Family Video vests and branded name tags. You, however, look like one of those businesswear catalogs brought to life — glaringly out of place. 

“You sayin’ The Gap isn’t proper Hideout attire, Munson?” Steve quips, holding his arm out for a friendly (only slightly awkward) side embrace.

Eddie slaps the back of the boy’s collared shirt with a ringed hand. “Claire’s is more metal than The Gap,” he teases, then turns to hug Robin. “At least Buckley looks halfway normal.”

“And by normal, you mean hot, right?” she jokes, voice deep and gritty and effortlessly sultry.

He scoffs. “Obviously.”

Eddie has no trouble greeting Steve and Robin but loses most of his cool when he turns to you.

The not-so confession at Benny’s Burgers seemed to change more things between you than the heart-felt one you shared here not too long ago. He feels a bit weird, knowing now that you meant what you said — that you actuallyliked him, and that it wasn’t just some cruel joke. 

He feels like he’s got cool points to win with you now. And it makes him achingly aware of when he inevitably loses them.

“Look at you,” Eddie grins, tossing his chin back to shake wild curls from his face. A few chestnut strands cling stubbornly to his sticky forehead. The milky white tendons of his neck shine with sweat, too. “You look like an actual human person.”

“Wow. Thanks, Eds,” you monotone, unsure of whether or not to take his words as a compliment. You cross your arms over the chest of your fitted turtle neck and joke, “I’d say that same, but… you look like a poodle that just washed up on shore.”

Robin mumbles your name through gritted teeth, flashing you a look and poking you on the shoulder. She scolds you like a parent, as though to say be nice without actually saying the words out loud.

“What?” you shrug.

Eddie only chuckles — a low and honeyed sound he presses to your ear when he brings you suddenly in for a hug. His lean body meets yours, soft and strong and slightly clammy. His skin smells like deep cologne, minty aftershave, and very faintly of boy. You tense when his hands cradle your back.

“Oh,” you mumble in surprise, floundering at the affection as you attempt to hold him back. “Okay.”

“How’s the nine-to-five?” Eddie asks after he parts from you, sounding almost like he cares. “Boring the absolute shit outta you?”

You shrug with an air of nonchalance and hope you don’t look as flustered by his attention as you feel. “Oh, you know… Burying the bodies, counting the cash.”

“Gotta picture of me in your little cubicle?”

“Tons,” you answer. “It’s basically an Eddie Munson shrine.”

His smile widens to show all his teeth. His chocolate eyes glitter with mischief, too, like he knows what he’s doing to you. 

Eddie gives you a break from his suffocating stare and looks to Steve and Robin standing on his other side. You feel like you can finally breathe. “I told Greg at the bar to give my friends free beer tonight— just show him your ID or whatever,” the boy tells them.

“Oh, my god— I could kiss you right now,” Robin mumbles.

Eddie’s plush pink lips curl into a half-smirk when he turns to you again. “So try not to run up your tab tonight, alright, sweetheart?” he quips and pats you on the arm. It’s easier to joke that he hadn’t mentioned you at all when your name was first from his lips. Which is totally a joke you would’ve made.

You flash Steve and Robin a wide-eyed look of annoyance, jaw clenched to contain all the insults you instinctively want to spew. “He got us free beers,” the former cautions with a sympathetic shrug. “Don’t ruin it.”

You roll your eyes and hear them leave behind you — not even trying to pretend like they didn’t swing byfor the beers. Eddie’s stupid grin widens when you stay. “You heard the man. Means you gotta be nice to be all night.”

“Right,” you scoff like it’s funny. Steve The Hair Harrington doesn’t exactly scream figure of authority to you. Robin Buckley, maybe. But definitely not Steve.

“Think you can do it without spontaneously combusting?” he quips.

You hate that he knows you so well. “Not particularly,” you deadpan.

Eddie tilts his wild head to the side and sends you a pretty, tight-lipped smile. “Well, you’re doing a great job already.”

His praise is sarcastic. You know this already, so you’re not sure why it has your stomach doing backflips. “Thanks…” you mumble, inherently shrinking inside yourself as you attempt to make small talk. “How, uh— How was the show?”

“Fine,” the boy hums, shrugging his pale shoulders. “Same set from last time. Same crowd of drunks.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Eh. Don’t be. You’ve actually got important shit going on— Don’t worry about me.”

“Your shit’s important, too,” you argue without thinking, perhaps more shocked by your sincerity than the boy ahead of you. You follow quickly and much more harshly, “I guess.”

Eddie smiles wordlessly. You start to squirm in place. He watches you grow suddenly uncomfortable in your own skin as you seem to look everywhere but back at him. The pink expression ebbs into a more concerned one. “You okay?”

You hate the question more the second time. 

“Fine,” you monotone, hardly convincing.

He squints. “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I am looking at you,” you argue just to argue, giving him a measly glance before turning away a moment later.

“No, seriously,” Eddie chuckles, reaching out to touch you. “What’s going on?”

His ringed hand caresses the outside of your elbow. You jerk back on instinct, more aggressive than you mean to be. 

“Nothing!” you huff, looking so far away from him that he can only see your profile. You grumble like a storm cloud, “You just— You make me go all weird. As you know. And fully intend.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Eddie chuckles. “You got a little crush on me?”

He reaches out for you again, this time digging his fingers into the junction of your neck. You swat him away with a harsh hand. You hate the way his touch makes your skin buzz. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan before spinning on your heel. Your slacks swish around your ankles as you walk the very short distance to the door. Eddie’s footsteps sound much heavier in comparison as he rushes behind you. 

“Hey, hey, hey! C’mon. I’m just kidding,” he assures, still laughing as he slides his body between you and the exit. He meets your glare with a crooked smile. “It’s okay. I got a crush on you back— you know that.”

You hate how easily the words spill from his mouth, how cool he is about all of it compared to the time bomb you’ve become — tick tick ticking away as your anxiety builds. You figure this stupid crush (or whatever he wants to call it) must mean more to you than it does to him. So again, you turn away.

Eddie knocks his worn sneaker against the toe of your pleather boot. “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t make it any less true, you know?” he tells you, quiet and suddenly serious as he tilts his cheek to his shoulder. “Doesn’t make me like you any less, either.”

His confession makes you feel funny. It makes you giddy and fills you with dread all at once. “It’s just… It’s weird,” is all you can think to say, after several long moments of silence.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I— I’m not— I don’t know,” you groan, bringing your hands to your face to hide behind your palms. “God, I did not intend to talk about this today.”

“Well, too late. We’re talking about it.”

Eddie takes a step away from the door, moving impossibly closer to you. He ducks his chin to meet your sheepish gaze, dark eyes sparkling with visible concern. 

You step back from him on instinct and talk wildly with your hands. “No! Tonight was supposed to be about you— about you’re fucking show— not about me!”

Brows raised and hidden behind his sweat-drenched bangs, he monotones. “Say it.”

A stubborn sigh puffs out your lips. “I just… I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to. Or to be around. I know that,” you confess. “I know it’s hard for people to like me, but… you do, and I really don’t fucking get it, okay? It just feels like you’re playing a big, dumb prank on me.”

Eddie stays silent for a moment, chocolate gaze unwavering as he ponders your words. 

“Wait, so…” the boy trails off, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “You’re mean to me, but I like you anyway, and because I can see through all the— faux bitchiness or whatever— You have a hard time… being around me?”

Your eyes flit to the ceiling for a moment. You look back at him and nod. “Yeah, that’s… That’s pretty much the gist of it, yeah.”

Eddie beams before he can help it, filling the dingy room with golden sunshine. “Well, you know how we get past that, right?” he wonders and scrunches the bridge of his nose.

You get the feeling he’s teasing you still, but you entertain him anyway. “What?”

“Us being boyfriend-girlfriend—”

“Eddie,” you groan with your head tilted back, only partly pretending to be annoyed. You don’t step back from him when he inches closer to you this time, though. You don’t jerk away from his touch when his hands caress your forearms, either. 

“I know you wanna…” he lilts, pulling you closer with ringed fingers wrapped gently around your wrists. Your shoes scuff the carpet as you stumble into his chest. “It’s why I make you go all funny, right?”

You squint up at him, with hate in your eyes and your heart in your throat. “You’re so annoying,” you deadpan.

“Okay, how about this? We can just go on one date, alright?” Eddie offers, smoothing his guitar-string calloused fingers up your shoulders. “Nothin’ fancy, I promise. Just bottomless breadsticks at Enzo’s at seven. And you, bottom-less at my place at eight.”

Your knotted stomach does a backflip at his words, but you keep glaring at him anyway. “And who says you don’t know how to flirt?” you squint.

Another chuckle spills from his plush, pink lips. His tongue darts out to wet them a second later — mouth desperate to be kissed. “‘Kay. Fine. How about we just makeout in my van after closing? And I try not to be a total idiot and ruin it like last time?”

He’s much more serious now. You can see it in his very expressive button eyes. He’s borderline pleading now, for a second chance he never needed to ask for. 

You cave, far quicker and with a lot less fight than he expected. “Fine,” you shrug with an unenthusiastic huff.

Eddie smiles so big, it’s like you’ve just told him you loved him or something — all his teeth on display — so wide and full of adoration it almost hurts. 

[strang3lov3]

Massage Chair

Summary: Joel teaches you to massage him, then takes advantage of your new skill. After, he shows his gratitude.

Tags: Lots of joel teasing, malicious compliance, light arguing, smut, fingering, teasing, romantic massaging, creampie, slower and more emotional, joel comforting u after boning.

a/n: thank you for your patience with me! I wanted to have this done last week, but I ended up in the ER which slowed me down a little. But, that gave me more time to write and @papipascalispunk time to beautifully edit this <3 she's such a babe.

(mall rats 5, though can be read as standalone. find more mall rats in my masterlist)

A brown leather chair is flipped on its side, and Joel’s tinkering with the parts inside, cursing and hissing expletives. It’s a broken massage recliner that came with Joel’s house, and he spotted the same model at Macy’s back in the old mall. So he stole bits and pieces, and now he’s attempting to fix the chair. It’s not going too well. 

“God bless it,” Joel grumbles at you, “Quit shinin’ the flashlight on the damn floor. Shine it inside the chair.”

“I am shining it inside the chair, Joel,” you argue, “Why don’t you make Ellie hold the flashlight for you?”

“‘Cause she can’t hold it right either. You girls suck at using flashlights,” Joel grimaces as he sits up off the ground, then reaches for your hand that’s holding the light. He manipulates your position, adjusting the way you’re sitting and how you hold the flashlight and says, “There. Stay like that.”

You smirk, “Oh Joel, it makes me so hot and bothered when you take control of me like that.” 

Joel sighs, frustrated with you. Like always. “Was that really necessary?” 

“Of course it was,” you reply. Moving gingerly, he lays back down on the carpeting. The chair makes small, metallic clanging noises as he works, and you’ve got a perfect view of his ass. So tight and plump in those jeans. What a treat. 

Joel turns on his side, twisting his torso to reach for a different screwdriver. This time, he grunts in pain. He works a little longer, then tosses the screwdriver aside before hoisting himself up. His knees crack and ache as he slowly stands up, carefully pulling the chair upright and plugging it into an outlet. You watch as he sits in the chair, lifts up the armrest to press a few buttons, and the chair comes to life. He keeps his eyes squinted shut, his chest rising and falling heavily with every labored breath he takes. He fidgets with the buttons as the chair makes different mechanical whirring noises, vibrating and pressing into his back. 

“Can I try it?”, you ask. 

“No,” he deadpans, “S’not massagin’ too good anyway – kinda just vibrates. And before you ask – no,” you smirk as he glares at you, “It doesn't vibrate like that. So don’t even think about doin’ that to my chair, you horndog.” He knows you so well.

When Joel is done speaking, he sighs and closes his eyes again. It’s a little awkward, watching Joel sit in his massage chair. He doesn’t seem very comfortable, and it’s making you feel sort of sad. His back has been killing him for weeks. He doesn’t talk about it much, but you can tell it’s getting worse. As he squeezes his eyes shut, those two little lines between his brows grow more prominent than usual. He inhales through his nose and exhales from his mouth, like he’s trying to breathe away the pain. 

Before the outbreak, he found things like heated massage chairs and beds that move up and down to be frivolous and unnecessary. In his twenties and thirties, if his back hurt he’d pop a few Advil and tough it out. Not exactly an option now. So, an old massage chair it is. 

“Have you been icing your back, Joel?”, you ask but Joel opens just one eye and glares at you. You take his silence as a no. “You need to ice it.” 

“My back’s fine,” Joel lies as he rolls his eyes at you, “Go away. Go play in traffic.”

“Are you keeping yourself hydrated?”, you continue.

“Yes.” You look at Joel, then you look next to him. The full glass of water on his end table says otherwise, condensation pooling on the wood. Joel looks there too, then back at you as you stare at him, unimpressed, “Yeah, I drink enough water, dammit. What’s with the third degree?” 

You ignore his question, “Are you getting enough rest?”

“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do right now?” Again, you stare at him with an unimpressed expression. Joel sighs, exasperated, “For the love of god, I rest plenty.” Out of all the ways you could annoy him, this is the most brutal. It’s torturous. He continues, “I’d rest easier if you weren’t here, y’know. So get gone. Quit naggin’ me.”

“Charming, Joel. Like always,” you tell him, your tone sarcastic. Lifting yourself up, you stand in front of him and take his hand in your own. You pull with all of your might to lift him up, and drag him to his feet. He groans the entire time.

“Oh, come on,” Joel complains. He knows that look you’ve got on your face, knows that you’re on a mission and he’s coming with. Of course he’s coming with. He’s always stuck with you, somehow. “What are you signin’ me up for now?”, as you lead him to his room, matching his slow pace as he takes heavy steps, so as not to overwhelm his ancient bones.

“Bed,” you tell him. 

Oh. Joel gets it now. You’re forcing him to take a rest. Could be worse, he supposes, but he always has a flair for the dramatic, so he sighs heavily as he lays down, making sure you know he is not happy that you’re putting his ass to bed. You untie his boots and pull them off his feet, then toss them aside. 

Just as Joel settles on his back, you move to his side of the bed and put your hands under his torso and thigh, then roll him onto his stomach rather harshly. He yelps in pain, “Jesus Christ–”

“Sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. You join him on the bed, straddling his butt, careful not to put too much pressure on him. 

Joel is confused beyond words. Before he can process what you’re doing, he feels you bouncing the sides of your hands down his shoulders and spine, and then you’re pinching and smushing his body haphazardly. “Uhh, what are you doin’ to me?”, he questions now. It is a deeply uncomfortable sensation. 

“Massaging you, because your chair doesn’t work,” you tell him, continuing your work on his back, “It’ll help you rest. I’m feeding two birds with one scone, Joel.”

“That – that’s not how the phrase – fuck, never mind,” Joel relents, baffled as you “massage” him. He lets you continue for a few moments longer before deciding he’s had enough. “Sweetheart, it’s very kind of you, but you are terrible at this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no, this is god awful. You’re gonna break my damn spine in half,” Joel pauses before speaking again, thinking to himself. There’s no way you’ve had or given a massage before now. “Am I your guinea pig?”

“Kinda,” you answer quietly.

“I could tell,” Joel taps you on the leg twice, “Alright, get off and switch me spots.”

“What for?”, you ask. 

“So I can teach ya how it’s done and keep you from committing a fuckin’ felony assault on my back,” he says, “What you’re doin’... it’s inhumane, darlin’.” He’s being very Joel about this. Harsh, a little rude. Dramatic. You climb off him and he scoots off of his bed. “Take off your shirt,” he tells you, “S’rule one of a good massage. You’re supposed to massage a person, not their clothes.”

“Noted,” you say. Joel leaves then, maybe to give you privacy or something, not that you need it. If Joel wants you to strip naked, you’ll strip naked, no questions asked. You’d lay yourself on a silver platter for him, cherries on your ass and an apple in your mouth. Though, you do think it’s sweet he’s trying to keep you feeling comfortable. Joel Miller, always the gentleman.  

You strip nude, then lay on your stomach on the bed, right where Joel was. His sheets feel warm from his body heat and they smell like him too, warm and musky and woody. You’re facing his window, where outside it’s overcast and gloomy. On his bedside table sits his book of crossword puzzles. 

The stairs and floorboards creak as Joel returns to you. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you naked and face down in his bed, rolling his eyes at your lack of modesty. Joel places a few things on his dresser, then a little glass container full of oil on his bedside table. “Only had to take your shirt off, hon,” he says. 

“Oh. I thought you wanted me naked.”

“You’ve got selective hearing,” Joel lowers the curtains by his window and lights a few candles on his dresser, “I think you wanted you naked.” In the darkened room, he moves behind you and you hear the sound of fabric moving before he’s draping a blanket over your bum. You shrug, “Sorry, Joel. Guilty as charged.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles. Joel rolls up his sleeves before beginning. “You ready?”, you nod, and so does he. He takes the container of oil and drizzles it down your spine. It’s warm, a little sweet and fragrant. You feel relaxed already. Joel then pours some of oil into the palm of his hands and rubs them together. “First thing, you always wanna be mindful of any painful or sensitive areas. Anything you need me to be careful about?”

“Uh, no. My back doesn’t usually hurt,” you tell him. 

“Must be nice,” he mumbles. After rubbing his palms together, he places them on your back. He spreads the drizzled oil from your lower back up to your neck and shoulders in long strokes with his palms, so big and strong and warm. You sigh in relief. “The oil makes it easier to glide your hands. Don’t wanna use too much, though. And you’re gonna spread it out, nice and even.” 

You nod, your eyes closed, “What about the candles?”

“Candles don’t make a difference. Just thought you’d like ‘em,” Joel whispers. 

“I do.”

He spends the next couple minutes using wide, gentle strokes of his hands to completely spread the oil over your body. Once he’s satisfied, he places his hands at your shoulders.  He works his thumbs into your traps and up your neck, pushing and sliding them up your skin. “How’s the pressure?”, he asks, “Too much? Not enough?” 

“Little too much,” you tell him. 

Joel lightens the pressure and continues the motion, “Feel nice?”

All you can do is hum in response. It feels incredible. His hands are so firm and gentle, so careful. Your skin is warm and his touch is comforting. He works his way down your body, massaging and rubbing your muscles. He alternates between circular and back and forth movements. 

“Good. Remember that. Be nice and fluid when you massage me,” Joel whispers, “None of that karate choppin’ shit.” 

“None of that karate choppin’ shit,” you repeat, matching his tone. 

Joel massages you everywhere for the next ten minutes. Instructing you to stay away from the spine directly, but focus your pressure next to it. Focus on the muscles. You can dig your thumbs in, use your knuckles, even the heels of your palms. He tells you he’s being more gentle, but he’s gonna need you to use your body weight. 

“You writin’ this down?”, he asks. 

“Mmm, yeah. Got my pen and paper right here,” you murmur. He massages a sensitive spot on your back and you moan softly. 

“Hey,” he warns, “Don’t be enjoyin’ this so much. S’for my benefit, not yours. I’ve got ulterior motives for massagin’ you.”

“Oh?”, you whisper.

“Yeah, oh. You volunteered yourself to fix my back, so I’m gonna take advantage.”

“Joel?”

“What’s that, hon?” he asks quietly. 

“I’m not, fuck, right there,” you breathe, “M’not learning a whole lot. Need some more pointers.”

“Always workin’ an angle,” he retorts, “But I don’t have nothin’ else to tell ya.” Joel massages you quietly for a couple more minutes, generously giving you more massaging than he anticipated. But he likes it, likes knowing you’re feeling good. The soft noises you’re making, how smooth your skin feels. He loves watching the candlelight dance across your skin while he runs his palms up and down your hips, your sides, pouring over your curves. You’re lost in the sensation for a few moments longer before Joel taps your hip, “Alright, time’s up.” 

“No, Joel, come on,” you whine, “Not yet, don’t stop now.” 

“Move it,” he says, tapping your hip harder, “S’my turn. My back hurts, not yours. You said so yourself.” 

You whine again, “Please? Just a little longer.”

“Mmm, nope. Let this be a lesson to ya, don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.” Joel leaves to go to his bathroom then, turns on the hot water in his sink and returns with a warm rag. He gently scrubs your back, removing the excess oil. 

Finally, you sit up in defeat. “Give me that,” you grumble, reaching for the rag. You take it to the bathroom and rinse it out for Joel as he begins undressing. When you return, Joel is shirtless face down in his bed, a blanket draped over his ass, just like how he had you. 

“Alright hon, I’m ready. Show me whatcha got.” 

Standing next to him, you step a little closer to the bed and survey Joel. He’s on his tummy facing you, his eyes shut gently. He looks gorgeous like this, his hair messy, his shoulders thick and broad. You trace the curve of his back with your eyes, curious when you look at his ass. So plump under that blanket. Reaching forward, you lift the blanket. 

“What’re ya doin’,” Joel asks in an annoyed tone. 

“I’m just…”, you trail off, admiring the swell of his ass cheeks. Joel doesn’t seem to mind when you touch his bum, squeezing the flesh gently and watching it move beneath your fingertips.

“You’re snoopin’,” he answers his own question for you. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. You look at Joel again, and he’s still got his eyes shut. A small smile on his face that you know wouldn’t be there if he knew you were looking at his face.

“Why don’t you snoop a little higher, dirty bird.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, draping the blanket over his ass. “Can you remind me of step one again?”

“Ah, someone wasn’t payin’ attention,” he teases, “Sure. Ya gotta ask me where it hurts.” 

“Where’s it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” 

You sigh, “Thanks, Joel. That’s helpful.” 

“Wouldn’t hurt to give my neck and shoulders a little extra lovin’, though.” You nod, then reach for his shoulders. “Nuh uh,” he tuts, “Oil first.” You reach for the oil and hover it over Joel’s body. “Easy does it. Little goes a long–”, but Joel is interrupted when he feels a large splash of oil on his back, dripping over his sides and onto his sheets. Definitely gonna stain.

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, “My bad.”

“God bless it,” Joel grumbles, “S’alright. Get the rag and clean me up a little.”

Doing as you’re told, you get the rag from the bathroom and wipe away the oil you don’t need. Then you spread the oil on Joel’s back, using your palms to drag it from the area just above his ass cheeks to his wide shoulders. Joel hums in satisfaction. You lean over him to begin massaging his body, but you’re finding it uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I straddle you again?” you ask, “To reach your back easier.”

“Go for it.”

You hold onto Joel’s shoulders for stability as you straddle yourself over him, sitting on his ass and settling your knees at his sides. This way, you have much more mobility. You place your palms at his lower back, thumbs on either side of his spine and press into him hard, then work your hands up his body. He sighs softly. “How’s that?”, you ask.

“Jury’s still out,” he replies, “Do that again, little harder this time.” When you do, Joel sighs deeper, “S’it. Much better.”

You repeat the general motion, but vary your movements. Sometimes letting your hands explore his sides, making big and small circles, large sweeping motions. Joel groans when you walk your thumbs up his spine. “Yeah, very nice,” he praises. 

Once at his upper back, you focus pressure on his shoulders and neck. You curl your fingers inward and use your knuckles for added pressure. “Little more,” he tells you. You press harder, but his muscles are so tight. “Harder,” he says, “C’mon, use some elbow grease.”

“I’m gonna hurt you, Joel,” you argue. 

“You ain’t gonna hurt me,” he says. “In fact, I want you to try.” 

“Huh?”

“Yeah, hon. Hard as you can. Like you’re tryna squeeze the life outta me.”

Shaking your head, you try it. You squeeze his traps, digging your thumbs into his flesh as hard as you can. You watch his skin turn white under your fingertips. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “There it is. Good girl, doin’ such a good job.” 

Oh dear lord. His words go straight to your pussy. You continue to work his neck and shoulders, listening to Joel breathe and sigh, moan and groan. You admire his back, his freckles and moles and stretch marks here and there. “Good girl,” he praises you again. He whispers it over and over and over. Good girl. 

He’s making all sorts of sinful noises, cursing all kinds of obscenities, and you’re falling to pieces just listening to him, feeling his hot skin. You picture his face, contorted in pleasure. 

You feel warm, your core beginning to ache. You didn’t quite expect to get so worked up over this. As you lean forward over Joel to massage him, you tilt your hips into his back, pressing yourself against him for some sort of relief. Maybe repeating the motion once or twice. 

“I can feel that,” he says. 

“Feel what?”

“You. Drippin’. Rockin’ those hips on me. You’re makin’ a mess all over me, dirty bird.”

Your cheeks heat up and you’re feeling a little bashful at the accusation. 

“Ya gotta finish my massage before we take care of that, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree. Not like you have much left to do anyway. You’ve been massaging him for half an hour at this point, paid special attention to each area of his back. After massaging him for a few minutes longer, you tap his shoulder blade to let him know you’re done. Joel lifts himself up and begins to twist over, so you lift up to your knees to make room. “Wait, Joel, your sheets–”

“You ruined ‘em already.” He’s right. Oh well. 

Once he’s settled, you sit down on his lap. His cock is half hard already. You reach for it, and he swats your hand away. You balk in confusion. “Ya ain’t done yet,” he tells you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Massage tax,” he says plainly, as if somehow you should have known that’s a thing and you roll your eyes, “It’s the law.”

“That is not a law.” 

“Is now,” he says, taking his cock into his hand. You watch him work himself, swiping his thumb over the blushed tip a couple of times before holding it tightly, restricting your access. 

“Joel,” you whine, “This isn’t– come on, man.”

“I know. I ain’t happy about it either,” he says, though his mischievous smile says differently, 

“Government’s just rife with corruption, ain’t it?”

You can’t say you didn’t have this coming. You’ve tormented Joel for months in a myriad of ways. You deserve this. 

“I don’t deserve this,” you tell him. 

“‘Course not,” he says softly, still holding his member tightly. You try to wriggle his fingers away, but he’s got an iron grip. You sigh in defeat, annoyed. Joel looks all too proud of himself.

“I hate you, Joel.”

“You wound me sweetheart, really. It hurts,” he inhales sharply through his teeth, extending an arm to you, “Hurts almost as much as my arm, you know that? S’been so sore, my hands an’ fingers too.” 

Yeah, yeah. You get the picture. 

Glaring at him, you watch him shimmy into the pillows and wiggle his arm at you again. You’ve still got some oil on your hands, so you don’t bother with the bottle on his nightstand. 

“Start up top,” he instructs you.

You move a little closer, taking his upper arm into your hands. You squeeze the muscles of his biceps and triceps, and as much as this is bothersome, it’s nice too. His muscles are strong, big, and firm. You’ve never really seen them until now. You admire the contours of his arm, the soft lines his muscles make. “And work your way down, down,” he says. And you follow, massaging his forearm. He sighs when you reach his hands, “S’my favorite part,” as you massage his palm, each knuckle of his digits. His hands are worn and calloused. 

You drop his hand once you feel like you’ve done enough, “Done.”  

“Really?” 

“Yep.” 

“Hm,” Joel hums before offering you his other arm, holding his cock now with his other hand, “I’ve got an entire arm you haven’t touched yet.” You stare at him with a blank expression. Joel pouts and acknowledges your disappointment by saying, “I know, hon. I’m so sorry.”

You roll your eyes, taking his other arm into your hands. “No, you aren’t.”

“Yeah, I’m not sorry,” he says, “Not one bit.”

And so again, you repeat the motions, first massaging his biceps and triceps. The hand that holds his cock rests between your thighs, and you begin grinding into it. Eyes shut, he raises one brow in amusement at your arousal. You’re soaked. 

Finally, he lets himself go. His cock springs free, rock hard with protruding veins, and you inch forward so that it sits between your thighs. 

As you massage his forearm now, you rock your hips slightly. Joel surely notices, though he doesn’t mind. You rock yourself quicker, chasing that sweet friction on your clit. Your hands are at his palm now, thumbs urgently rubbing circles into the flesh. You need to be done with this.  

“Slow it down,” he tells you, “S’not a race.”

You groan, but slow down anyway. You screw your eyes shut as you massage his palm sloppily, your focus now concentrated on what's happening between your thighs. Your pussy is slick as you roll your hips, grinding against his hard cock. That familiar coil in your gut is back. “Joel,” you cry, “My hands are sore.”

“Now you know how I feel,” he retorts, and you whine impatiently. “Ya never do any hard work in your life. C’mon, you’re almost done,” he taps your ass, “Lift up a little. I like watchin’ you get yourself all worked up on my cock.” 

As you work Joel’s hand, you lift yourself, hovering just inches above him. With his free hand, he takes his cock and drags himself through your dripping folds, collecting your slick on his tip. It feels good, your pussy is sensitive. He nudges his head against your clit, back and forth and periodically notches himself at your entrance, playing with you, achingly torturing you. “Joel,” you whine as he teases you, “My thighs are aching, hands too, ca— can’t do this anymore.”

“Sure ya can,” he coos. It feels like you’ve been massaging him for hours, way longer than he massaged you. This isn’t fair in the slightest, even with his back pain. 

Truth be told, the hand and arm massage stopped feeling good for Joel a long time ago. You’re aching and tired, and so are your hands, not giving him the proper pressure he needs.  But he’s taking advantage of this opportunity to tease you, drive you insane. He feels it’s warranted. 

And then finally, finally, he pulls his hand away from you. You’re done. 

You flop next to Joel and take his hand back in yours, guiding his fingers to your center. “Please,” you beg him, “Touch me. Do something.”

Joel clicks his tongue, “No can do.”

“What?”

“Yeah, think I just wanna rest now.” You stare at Joel, confused. He shrugs, “And I’m just parched. Need some water. And I’d go and get it, but I don’t want ya to yell at me again. I’m supposed to be resting, like you said.”

“You want me to get you water,” you confirm, annoyed. 

“And some ice, too,” he adds. 

Joel watches with a smirk on his face as you shove his hand away from your thigh and huff, then stomp out of his bedroom and all the way downstairs. After Joel hears the sound of running water and the slamming of cabinets, you return moments later with a glass of water and some ice wrapped in a towel. You mumble, “You can shove this ice right up–”

“Right up my ass, got it,” Joel takes the ice in one hand and the glass of water in his other. Joel drinks a sip of the water, then makes a disgusted face, “You gave me warm water? What is wrong with you?”

“You didn’t specify the temperature.” 

Joel rolls his eyes and sets both the ice and the water on his nightstand. “Fuckin’ psycho,” he mumbles. Even when he thinks he’s one step ahead of you in the never-ending quest to piss one another off, he’s not. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

You smile, “Thanks.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, admiring the mischievous grin on your face and that look in your eye. And then faster than you can blink, he takes your arm in his hand and pulls you back into bed as you giggle. You hear him laughing too, and then he’s situating himself above you. Hovering over you with one arm by your head, he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks on them before bringing his hand between your thighs. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. You’re so sensitive and he’s finally fucking touching you, fingertips dragging through your slick folds, circling your clit before dipping one, then two fingers inside you. He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles into you. “Quit teasing,” you plead. 

Joel laughs breathlessly above you, “M’not teasin’—”

“More,” you interrupt him, “I need more.”

“You got it,” he says, then inserts a third finger. He curls them repeatedly inside you, your pussy gushing and soaking his fingers, making all sorts of wet, sticky noises. 

But it’s still not enough. You’re so fucking needy, so ready for Joel to just fuck you. You push his hand away and reach for his cock, wrapping your legs around him and using your feet on his ass to push him down closer to you.

“Ah, fuck,” Joel hisses when he feels your hand touch his member, “Hey, easy, sweetheart. Let’s slow it down.”

“Slow it down my ass,” you argue, “I want you now, Joel.”

“Now?” 

“Need you now,” you repeat, tilting your hips and bouncing your heels on his ass, “Now, now, now, now–”

Joel smiles at your desperation, at the way he’s managed to torture you. “Didn’t quite catch that, bad hearing and all that. You want me to fuck you when exactly?”, you cry in pure agony and Joel says, “Gotta mark my calendar, set my alarm clock...”

Your groans of frustration quickly turn into a soft sigh of pleasure as Joel takes you by surprise, pushing his cock inside you deeply, inch by inch, in one fluid motion. The stretch feels incredible and you’re so perfectly full of him. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close with one of your hands resting on his shoulder and the other tangled in the soft curls on his head. 

“Been needin’ this, huh?”, Joel asks as he settles inside you, letting you adjust to the stretch. 

You nod, your cheek brushing against his scratchy, salt and pepper facial hair. “You’re such an asshole,” you whisper, “You make me so mad.”

“Ditto, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he kisses your cheek. That’s become a regular thing, now. Always kissing your forehead, your cheeks. It always makes you blush. Joel pulls out of you nearly all the way before pushing back in. Over and over, building to a steady pace, and he makes soft grunts as he fucks you. 

You love how he cages you in, surrounds you, the low light of the candles dancing on his face as he fucks you passionately. And he’s watching you, big brown eyes full of something you can’t quite read. He pulls your hand from his hair and pins it next to your head, his fingers interlaced with your own. It’s sweet and it’s intimate, almost too intimate.

You can’t take this right now. Can’t deal with the way it feels, to be treated so specially by Joel. 

You untangle your fingers from his, and he watches you with a confused expression on his face. Reaching low, you slap his ass, “C’mon, fuck me harder. Use some elbow grease,” you mock his words from earlier, “Or does your old ass back hurt too much?” 

Joel stills and stares at you. You stare back, challenging him. “Why are you bein’ like this?” he asks, “Do y’always have to instigate?”

“Think I just heard your hip crack, too,” you tease, but it gets no reaction from Joel. 

“Quit while you’re ahead,” he warns, then composes himself before speaking again, “Have some faith. You trust me?” 

There’s something different about the way he’s looking at you, watching you. You’re apprehensive, but you nod anyway. 

“I said, we’re gonna slow it down this time,” he whispers, “Gonna go nice and slow.”

Joel pulls out of you then, and you groan in disappointment. He silences your displeasure with a quiet shhhh, then moves lower down your body. He runs his hands over your tummy, up your sides, tracing each and every curve. Kisses one hip bone, “I know I was teasin’ ya,” he says, “And I really put ya to work with that massage. That you offered t’do, mind you,” he adds as he kisses your other hip bone, “Really didn’t think that you were gonna get me ice and a glass of water. Wasn’t surprised when you told me to shove it up my ass, but I wasn’t expectin’ to drink warm water. Was a nice touch, trouble.” 

You begin to speak, but you stammer, struggling to find the right words. You squirm under his touch. He’s being so gentle, so sweet that he’s got you all flustered now. 

“Yeah, I know, sweet girl,” Joel mumbles against your skin. Pressing soft and wet kisses on your body, his fingers leisurely dragging through your dripping folds as he looks up at you, “I want you to know that I appreciate you. I appreciate all the ass backward things you do for me. I really do.”

“Joel, I–fuck,”, you moan. He’s pumping his fingers inside you again, now licking and kissing your nipples, swirling his tongue over the soft skin, worshiping every inch of your body.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head. Y’still drive me fuckin’ nuts.” You laugh breathlessly, voice caught in your throat as Joel kisses up your neck, up your jaw, your chin, and stopping just before your lips when he hears your breath hitch. He searches your eyes, sensing your apprehension. He knows the weight of the intimacy that kissing your lips holds, especially since it’s been put off so long.  He’s gonna kiss you. Just not yet. “Now can we try this again?”

When you whisper a quiet yes, he enters you for a second time, burying himself inside of you. He begins to fuck you again, slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of him, parts of him you don’t usually feel. His quiet breaths on your skin, the thick vein of his cock, his soft tummy, so warm against yours.  Usually he fucks you hard, fast. But today, he’s savoring you. You dig your heels into his ass, faster. It has to be faster.

“Don’t fight me on this,” he says, “We can just be nice, pretend you like me and I like you. Just this once. We don’t always have to argue.”

“Joel,” you whine, “Please. I can’t–I want–” 

“I know what you want, ya want what we’re used to. But s’not so bad, I promise,” he purrs above you, “Tell me– fuck, tell me how you feel.”

Exposed, but good. Really good. It’s new and unfamiliar, but so fucking good, but it feels like a crime to admit that. “Joel,” is all you can say, “Joel.”

“I know,” he murmurs, rolling his hips against yours, one hand on your waist holding you tight as he fucks you, “Doin’ so good for me.”

You still can’t bring yourself to say anything, don’t know how to respond to him. You’re at a loss for words, feeling him like this. How warm and protected and loved you feel. Your skin is on fire and you can’t help but close your eyes, retreating inward. But as different as this is, you don’t want him to stop, so you hold him tighter, pulling his face down to yours and burying yourself in his neck. 

Joel fucks you like that for a while. Just like that, with every thrust being intentional, feeling devastatingly good. You lose yourself in the feeling and Joel seemingly does as well. Words are left unspoken as he savors this moment with you. 

Hours could have passed, you wouldn’t know. Joel’s movements are becoming erratic, quicker. “Come with me,” he begs, resting his forearm above your head and moving the other to your center, as he paints tight circles around your clit, “I want you to come with me, sweetheart. Please.” 

It’s not long after that when that familiar heat in the pit of your stomach is back, fluttering and intense. “Oh, god,” you moan, “M’close.”

“That’s it, just let yourself go,” he breathes, “With me, now.” 

His words are all it takes. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, intensely. It’s powerful, the way lava flows from the earth, setting your skin ablaze. It’s overwhelming as Joel fucks you through it, chasing his own release. He makes broken moans and grunts as he comes with you, painting your insides with his hot seed. 

He pants on top of you, catching his breath before pulling out of you, not caring that you’re now dripping his spend onto his bed. He lays next to you, pulling you into his side with your legs tangled between his and your head resting on his shoulder. 

You’re crying, quietly. That’s never happened before. Joel feels your tears dripping down his skin, and he looks at you with concern.

“M’fine, Joel, I was just–It was just–”

Joel speaks to you soothingly, “I know, I know,” he whispers, “I’m right here.”

He just holds you like that, his fingertips trailing over your skin in lazy patterns. When he chuckles to himself, you look at him. “What?” you ask. 

“Warm water,” he says, amused, “You amaze me.”

[scoutswritingcorner]

Deerly Beloved PT.2

Alastor x GN!Deer!Reader

Part 1

TW:NONE

A/n: Cause some people asked for this. 

-🦌 Starting where I left off last time: Eskimo kisses are the only kisses he will give out in public or in the hotel. It’s just become routine for you both to do it to one another. He’ll bend down, tilt your head up by your chin and just give you little eskimo kisses before he leaves.

-🦌 If he’s actually going to kiss you, it will be behind closed doors and away from private eyes. He can’t get enough of it.

-🦌 He’s very suave. But he’s also equally as awkward. Like he can flirt with you all day but then you flirt back and he’s just standing there eyes wide and confused. 

-🦌 More awkward Alastor? He has trouble reading the room sometimes so he just kinda stands somewhere. (honestly me too bud-)

-🦌 If you have horns he’s either laying his chin on your head between them or trying to balance things on them. Please sit still, this could go on for hours. The last thing he could get on there was a marshmallow. (He cleans your horns for you don’t worry)

-🦌 This man is stuck to you like glue. Like- You could be doing your job around the hotel and he’s hugging you from behind and carrying you around. Charlie has to tell him to let you work. He gets grumpy.

-🦌 Sometimes he just stares off into space and he’s unresponsive for a bit. Prime time to get him back. Hang something on his horns and act like nothing happened when he clocks back into reality. 

-🦌When he gets mad at you for something? He stomps his hooves and walks off. It’s his way of throwing a tantrum without causing too much a scene. 

-🦌 He’s not up to date on modern slang at all so if he gets on your nerves bamboozle the old man with some weird slang and he’ll be confused for an hour or so until someone tells him.

-🦌 Fall asleep somewhere and he’ll sit by or near you to watch over you, he’s usually reading but he makes sure everyone in the room leaves you alone.

-🦌 He loves having you sitting on his lap, it’s solely because he likes comparing your hooves together. Like- you could be asleep and he’d be talking still about your hooves. He doesn’t take offense to you falling asleep while he talks, he’s grateful his voice soothes you.

-🦌 Like anything- he has deer tendencies. Like grooming you, he loves to help brush your hair and fix your clothing. He lets you do the same to him. It helps keep down his more animalistic urges. 

-🦌 I 100% feel like he knows how to braid, wash and help brush any type of hair. Whether it’s curly, wavy, straight, coily, thick, anything. If you ask him, he will help. His Mama taught him well.

-🦌 If you get self conscious of your horns falling out cause it does happen he’ll help in anyway he can. He will make a joke about you missing something though. Be aware.

-🦌 Once again, he loves playing silly little games with you. Like in my last post, a fucked up game of tag where he’s chasing you around the hotel cause he can or play fighting with you cause its fun. His other favorite game of his is hiding your things around the hotel.

-🦌 (Don’t imagine him in a white shirt, suspenders and trousers. Don’t do it gang.)

-🦌 Once again. He will pick you up if you take too long with something and he will be unapologetic. He’s got a busy schedule! (He’s getting restless).

A/n: This turned into me thinking about silly things he does and I’m so sorry. I got way off track..ENJOY!!

[carlsangel]

VIRGINITY (PART ONE)

carl grimes x fem!reader

(you and carl ask for some advice.)

tags: mentions of sex, mentions of loss of virginity, the talk

masterlist here!

read part two!!!

You think about sex all the time. It sounds wrong but it’s true, you’re a teenager, it’s on your mind. You often wonder truly what it’s like. What it feels like, why people rave about it so much, why it’s such a huge part of who people are. It always confused you but you were curious. You’ve seen movies before, the classic make out between two people that would cut to them naked with the sheets covering their top half.

You wanted to know if it was like it was in the movies. That’s why, after a while of you and Carl dating, you’d come to the realization that you would soon lose your virginity. As weird as it sounds, the two of you were constantly worked up. Maybe it was the fact you loved each other so much or maybe because you lived in a world where you could die any second. You were genuinely worried to die a virgin.

Anyway, the both of you had countless make out sessions where you both pawed at each other to no end that you believed would finally end up with him inside of you. Every time you were interrupted. It was never the right time, there was just simply too much going on whenever you two tried. There was always someone in the house, God knows how much Rick hates to knock. You guys always had to watch over the baby and you couldn’t leave her unattended because her naps never lasted long.

You talked about it and you’d actually planned on trying the next time Rick and Michonne were out of the house for a while, as long as you were up for it. You’d have Olivia watch Judith, you’ll figure out some lie to tell her.

When Rick mentioned a supply run that they’d be gone for, you two gave each other a look but acted like everything is normal. Inside, you were excited to have a couple days to yourself. But then it hit you.

You’ve never had sex, how are you meant to know what you’re doing? There was nothing you could look at to give you a clue as to how everything worked. Carl didn’t have a clue either, so he went to the one guy knew to ask. You went to the one girl you knew to ask as well.

“Hey, Glenn?” Carl approaches him while he was working on a car near the gates of Alexandria. He didn’t want you to know he was asking how to have sex, he much rather you assume he knew what he was doing and let him handle it. Glenn looked up from the car and wiped his forehead of the sweat. “Hey.” He responds, looking between Carl and the car.

“I sort of need some advice…if you’re able to help.” His tone is embarrassing, he’s obviously gotten the talk but he was never told what exactly to do. “Uh yeah I have some time.” Glenn places the tool in his hand down on the floor, standing up to wipe his hands off. “What’s up?”

Carl looks at him hesitantly but knows he has to do this. “So um…I know like…what sex is but, i was wondering if you could tell me a bit more how it um..how it works?” He rambles, watching Glenn’s eyes go wide at his words. “Uhhhh….” Glenn thinks for a moment, the moment getting increasingly awkward as he stalled. “Well, use protection.” He swallows hard, trying a tone of voice to make the situation less weird. Carl makes an odd face at him, sort of cringing. “W-well do you need one- a condom? Like is that why you’re…” Glenn’s voice trails off when he realizes that Carl is actually asking so he can act on his advice.

Carl looks at him and nods, hesitating to answer. “Yeah.” He responds, his hands fiddling with the hem of his flannel. Glenn stares at him, somewhat uncomfortable. He pats his pants feeling around his pockets and he reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a condom, a strip falling from the singular one he meant to take from his pocket. He rips one off quickly, shoving the rest back into his pants frantically. “Just take it.” He sticks it out and Carl takes it and shoves it into his own pocket. “Why do you just have these on hand?” Carl asks, sort of in a disturbed tone.

“Well I- forget it just…” He takes a step back and looks back to the car. He can’t look at Carl but he takes a breath to prepare to give better advice. He continues. “Look, just communicate with her, I think that’s the most important thing okay? You’ll know what you’re doing in the moment.”

─── ⋆⋅ ꩜ ⋅⋆ ───

“They never know where to put it so you’re gonna have to show ‘em.” Maggie tells you handing you a glass of water while you’re sat on her couch. She was very open about this which made you feel more comfortable. She settles into the couch next to you and looks at you intently. “You just gotta know that it’s what you want in the moment. You understand?” She has a light but serious tone.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just scared it’s gonna hurt or something.” You giggle awkwardly. “Well it might, if you bleed that’s normal too.” You squirm a tad at her words. “But you might not. It shouldn’t hurt after you get used to it. Just have him wait while you adjust to the feeling.” She gives you a content smile.

“Okay, I really appreciate this I wasn’t sure who else to go to…” You take a sip of your water and she nods. “If you ever need anything I’m here. Just…don’t get pregnant. That’s another thing, wait till you have condoms. And don’t forget to pee after.” She adds.

You thank Maggie and she decides to walk you out. You look for Carl and Glenn to meet up before dinner. You head towards the gates to see them talking which you find sort of ironic, you had no idea he was asking for advice like you were. He notices you and waves bye to Glenn before walking over to you, Maggie walking over to her husband. Sort of like a trade off.

“Don’t tell your dad I gave you that!” Glenn shouts. Carl gives him some sort of confirmation and returns his attention back to you.

“What’s that about?” You question.

“It’s nothing.”

a/n: the next part will be banger. trust. ANYWAY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED ITTT :> thank u anon for requesting!!! next part comes out maybe this weekend!!! i’ve got some school stuff popping this week sooo it’ll take a little to come out, also it’s smut and i’ve never written that before SO IT MIGHT TAKE ME A LIL

tags: @zomb-1-egutzz

[fallow-hollow]

loved your kabru fic!! would you be willing to write a 5+1 chilchuck/reader fic? along the lines of “5 times they nearly kissed, and 1 time post-canon where they actually did”?

count to six

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! pining, almost kisses, arguments but they make up, extremely minor manga spoilers, chilchuck being bad with feelings, pre-relationship and post-relationship, most of these take place pre-canon

…word count! 3697

…notes! i think receiving a chilchuck request is just a rite of passage for a dunmeshi blog at this point. i hope the old man likers are pleased by this one!

one

You’d always admired Chilchuck, really. And not just in a professional sense, mind you.

Of course you respected his skills and his professionalism, but after working with him for some time, you could clearly see that there was so much more about him that continued to catch your eye. Those little slips in his usual attitude were what fascinated you, keeping you waiting for the next snippet of his personality you could get a glimpse of.

As a man of great pride in his profession, accepting help or being “coddled” weren’t exactly on Chilchuck’s to-do list. If he was interrupted or goodness forbid challenged while he was trying to do his job, he’d become even crabbier than those literal treasure crabs monsters he hated so much. Nonetheless, you cared for him and your party, so you offered to lend a hand where you felt it was appropriate.

Maybe it was just you, but the half-foot almost seemed more receptive of your intervention than he usually was with others. Perhaps it was because you did your best to be unobtrusive but firm in your offers, cementing yourself not as someone looking down on him, but a teammate who understood the importance of cooperation.

While your professional relationship was an enjoyable one, it was nice to see the man let loose every now and again. Around and after mealtimes he’d become more talkative, especially if he’d had some booze to wash down his helping of whatever was available that night. This particular evening, you’d had a particularly nice stir fry with the grains you’d bought and even a bit of salt-cured meat and some dried legumes that kept extremely well. Even if your meals were sometimes a hodgepodge of whatever would be cheap or long-lasting, it filled you up, and you were grateful for that.

The rest of the party members had just stood up to go and wash their dishes and utensils, and you were about to rise as well before stealing a quick glance at the half-foot next to you and immediately blurting out,

“Oh, you’ve got something.”

Chilchuck could only raise one of his eyebrows, not quite understanding what you meant from your wording. “Something?” he parroted.

“On your face,” you would quickly clarify, leading to spending several seconds watching him try to get it, making both amusement and slight frustration bubble up within you.

In fact, you were so concentrated on wiping off the smeared food with your sleeve that you didn’t even notice the sound of his squeak — yes, his squeak — when you leaned forward to get a closer look. In hindsight, perhaps you’d miscalculated the amount of space between you, because your faces were practically touching, despite you not realizing it at the time. In your concentration, your companion even noticed the tip of your tongue sticking out of your mouth in concentration. It wasn’t something he’d intended to fixate on, but in the moment it seemed like it was all he could do while he waited for you to be done. After all, it moved suddenly, you two might accidentally…..

“Alright, got it.” You pulled away so quickly that he hardly had time to comprehend the motion before your grinning face was already visible, albeit more distant now. Only after the fact would you realize that you had most certainly invaded his personal space without asking, though it felt too late to really apologize for it properly without making things awkward.

What both you and him didn’t notice, however, was the way his ears tinged pink at the proximity between the two of you.

two

With the embarrassment of the previous incident still fresh in your mind, the second offense certainly didn’t fly over your head this time.

Though, with all fairness, it wasn’t like it was something that could be helped. Rather than simple ignorance of personal space, this was a total accident.

In order to progress into the deeper floors of the dungeon, it was only natural that any party would eventually have to deal with some traps getting in their way. Your party in particular was currently being led by your expert, that being Chilchuck, through a plain, narrow hallway that was purportedly rigged with various traps and projectiles.

Both the walls and floor were made of what appeared to be a completely uniform stone construction, but with his keen senses and knowledge of dungeons, Chilchuck was able to deduce a pattern of which stones were safe to step on, the rest being triggers for various dangerous mechanisms.

Everyone was following behind Chilchuck in pretty much single file. He would traverse the safe path, then you would copy his steps, so on and so forth down the line. Usually, this method worked perfectly for these sorts of puzzles, as long as nobody moved too early or had a misstep. Unfortunately for you in particular, a misstep is exactly what you made.

When trying to land gracefully on the ball of your foot, the weight shifted, forcing you to roll onto your ankle with a pained sound. Instinctually, you tried to put your weight back into your other foot and staggered, hardly even comprehending the way you felt the ground beneath you sink ever so slightly.

All you really registered at first was the sound of somebody shouting, not to mention the feeling of your body being tugged forward with a roughness that stemmed not from malice, but from desperation. Someone was tugging on your shirt, so much so that you immediately fell onto your knees and proceeded to slide across the floor for a short distance as well. If you didn’t have something covering your knees, you’re sure that would have hurt like hell.

The pain was just on the cusp of excruciating, making you want to reach down and hold your injured foot, but not before you noticed the warmth of a body directly in front of you, close enough to wrap both arms around.

Chilchuck still had a grasp on your shirt, breathing heavily after what was most certainly a terrifying moment for him. It’s strange, really — he always insisted that he was only here to guide you, not bail you out, but in moments like these, the sight of a party member in harm’s way always seemed to seep through his stoic exterior and inflict him with sheer panic.

You almost wanted to smile at the thought, finding it almost soothing, but you figured it would seem pretty odd considering you’d freshly injured yourself and you were also far too close to your coworker for comfort.

A free hand laid itself on top of Chilchuck’s, still shaky. The man subsequently withdrew his hand, shocked at the unprompted touch despite literally having grabbed you moments before. That was…. different, he attempted to reason to himself.

Some voices sounded from behind the both of you after you withdrew from one another to catch your breath.

“Are you alright?” came a soft voice that you instantly recognized as Falin. “If I could, I’d heal you right now, but I really can’t reach you with these trapped tiles all around. I hope it’s okay that we have to wait until we clear the traps.”

“Not like we have much of a choice, so I’m fine.” You listened to your own voice bounce off the walls, noting how wary you sounded. Outside of your field of vision, the half-foot also winced. You weren’t in great shape, sure, but it really could have been worse…. he thought that maybe telling himself that would make him feel less guilty about the state you were in, but for some strange reason, the feeling just wouldn’t go down. Almost like an especially bitter tasting liquor.

Toshiro — or Shuro, as most of the party tended to call him — was the next in line behind you, and luckily well equipped to carry you the rest of the way. It was a good thing, some might even say a stroke of luck that you’d been positioned in front of him instead of, say, Marcille, but Chilchuck couldn’t help but follow you with his eyes. Seeing you be carried by the man somehow only made him feel more on edge, instead of at ease like he naturally should have. That bitter taste again…

Despite your injury, you felt surprisingly alert, and your eyes continued to dart around, assessing your surroundings now that you didn’t have to focus so intensely on the floor. You saw an arrow lodged into a gap between two of the stones in the wall, probably freshly fired when you triggered that trap. If you hadn’t been pulled away in time, you might have gotten seriously injured or even died.

By the time your gaze landed back on Chilchuck, he was already turning around, but you could’ve sworn that he was looking at you in the split second before he turned his back on you.

The thought that maybe you captivate him even half as much as he captivates you lets you close your eyes with a smile on your face.

three

Ever since that incident in the hallway, you’d started to suspect that Chilchuck was avoiding you.

It wasn’t anything offensive or egregious, but you could sense him becoming even more withdrawn than usual. You two weren’t exactly the chummiest of people with one another in the first place, but lately he’d been acknowledging you less and less, not responding to smart remarks or offers to help him like he usually did.

You knew that he was still noticing you, judging by the slight turn of his head towards the sound of your voice and the occasional clenching of his jaw. Clearly, something was on his mind that he didn’t feel like sharing. Fairly typical, though you couldn’t help but miss that thin sliver of himself he let others see. With you, he was open just enough to at least let you get your foot in the door, and you didn’t want to lose that.

So, determined to get to the bottom of your companion’s heightened defensiveness, you were able to catch him alone when he’d volunteered to be on night watch. With everyone else asleep, you’d finally be able to talk to him without the concern of being overheard.

The half-foot immediately noticed your presence, you’re sure of that. Of course, you were still quiet as to not wake anyone up, it was more so that no matter how quiet you could be, absolutely nothing would slip past his keen senses. Detecting threats and things of note in the dungeon was his job, after all.

No time was wasted in cutting to the chase, certainly.

“Are you avoiding me?”

You couldn’t catch a glimpse of Chilchuck’s face from where you stood, but the way he slowly shifted from one foot to another suggested he was deliberating his response. There was also also a light tapping sound that rang through the space between you, and after a minute of darting your eyes around you realized that he had his arms crossed and was tapping his index finger against his forearm.

The thing you couldn’t notice, of course, was the way his eyes were blown wide with the fear of a man who had absolutely no idea what to say. It’s not like he was ever any good at talking about these things. That’s why he thought it better to just avoid the issue altogether!

Clearly, he should’ve known better. You had other plans for him, just like you always do. Most of those plans usually ended up making him somehow feel like a total fool, even if he was just trying to keep it professional. So why? Why did he respond in earnest instead of shooing you away?

“It’s just sort of a habit, I guess. I try to avoid forming personal biases, especially ones based around personal relationships.” Once those words were finally pushed up and out of his throat, the man at least felt brave enough go turn around and face you, scratching the back of his neck now. “It’s pretty much the most common cause of issues within and between parties, so it’s something I’ve come to be wary of over the years.”

His words caused something to click in your head, and you couldn’t help but grin at him despite the circumstances.

“Are you essentially saying I’m your favorite?”

Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say in response, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it, what with how the man’s face scrunched up in both embarrassment and frustration. Maybe it was just an effect of the dim lighting, but he seemed a bit red as well.

“Now’s not the time to act smug, you know that’s not my point.” The hand that was previously behind his neck shifted to point at you accusingly, but it didn’t quite feel sincere. There was something about the way it wavered in midair that made you feel certain that he wasn’t truly angry. “I’m just saying that I prefer to regulate the group environment than just go around making merry without a second thought!”

Dark pupils followed your form, moving up to stand next to him now. “I understand what you mean, but there is a lot of value in making merry, you know? Or even moments like this, for example.”

Chilchuck felt so confused at those words that he dropped his irritated expression entirely. What could possibly be valuable about something so frustrating as his own biases? It’s not like his feelings had any tangible value like a gold coin or a precious jewel. Love was nice, sure, but that alone couldn’t put food on the table.

Sensing his confusion, you could only continue. “Maybe you only view it from a professional lens, but that doesn’t mean it can’t make sense from that standpoint, you know? Your coworkers like to know you. Playing favorites really isn’t an issue when you’re not out boss or anything, I’d think. You’re our equal. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s hard to confidently stand on equal ground with somebody who’s so closed off. Makes it hard to trust.”

Trust?

Wasn’t trust in his skills enough? He was already an extremely skilled individual, what reason would most people have…. not to trust him….

Ah.

It felt so shameful to just look at the ground as if he was being scolded. What else could he do, though? It felt like the mechanism of a trap with a tentacle wedged in the crevices, keeping it from moving altogether. Your words were that obstruction, stopping the inner workings of his mind in its tracks.

“Could you look at me, Chilchuck?”

Total bewilderment did nothing to prevent the half-food from turning to meet your face, level with his own. One of your hands hovered over his cheek, never quite touching. In a similar fashion, his fingers ghosted over your wrist.

“Even just taking a moment to look at someone, take in each other’s presence…. it’s a start. Not open, but not closed, either. You can just leave that door open a crack. It shows people that you trust them with not only your time, but yourself.”

His eyes were utterly transfixed on the movements of your lips.

You were right there, you were so close. A perfect chance served on a silver platter. Even so…

“…Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” The moment Chilchuck’s hand departed from your wrist, you withdrew your own hand, backing off into the distance the two of you previously had. He turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with you now, not quite facing you, but not quite facing away, either. By no means did the man want to shut you out, but he couldn’t bring himself to open up just yet.

The brief silence was interrupted by a quick remark. “You better mean that, because I’m not opposed to cornering you like this again.”

Chilchuck snorted at your words. “Fine, fine, I heard you. Never let me catch a break, do you?”

No, not just yet.

four

It had hardly been two days since your talk, and the man was already admiring you while you slept like some kind of freak.

Lord, what were you doing to him?

He just couldn’t sleep, that’s what he said to himself as his eyes remained fixed on your face. In hindsight, he almost regrets letting you put your sleeping bag next to his. If you hadn’t, he wouldn’t have such an easy way to stare at you instead of sleeping like he was supposed to.

In the end, though, he supposed it was his fault. He had a harder time saying no to you, and he hated it.

More than that, he hated how vulnerable you were in this moment. So close to him, yet so at ease. Did you really trust him like you talked about? In truth, Chilchuck himself wasn’t sure if you should. Did you really know just how depraved and selfish he actually was?

I mean, if he really wanted to, he could do something horrible and you wouldn’t even know. Take advantage of this state, and do whatever he wanted.

He bet he could even get close enough to…

The half-foot turned over.

Not tonight.

five

Just after the party lost Falin, as well as Toshiro and Namari leaving as a result, Chilchuck asked to talk with you.

“You shouldn’t go looking for her. Especially not with us.”

You weren’t sure whether you were angry or just disappointed. Did he really not understand?

“I’ve already made up my mind, Chilchuck. You already know how I feel.” This response only seemed to further provoke your companion. With nobody else around to hear, he had no problem raising his voice at you.

“Oh, I know perfectly well!” When he pointed at you, his hand didn’t waver, trained perfectly on your form. “I know that you’re absolutely insane if you think this is in any way a good idea.”

Frustration started to overtake your face, and in turn you shouted back, “I don’t know why you always feel like caring about others and being insane is the same thing! It isn’t!”

“Don’t assume how I feel!” As you both shouted back and forth, you both slowly inched closer to one another, until eventually you were standing toe to toe. The pressure eventually got so intense that you could only collapse to your knees and plead,

“Then just tell me. Tell me, please. All I want is to know.”

Well, that was a quick way to make him feel like the biggest asshole on earth. You on your knees, asking him so simply for something that couldn’t be bought or sold. Asking for him.

“I…”

I can’t, he wanted to say. He tried to force out the words, but he nearly choked, as if he was about to cry. Holding back that reaction, he tried his best to do what he knew you needed.

…He leveled with you and put a hand on your shoulder. It really was so hard to say no to you.

“Not yet, okay? I promise I will once this is all over, just… not yet. Wait for me, will you at least do that much?”

After a few moments of catching your own breath, you were able to look at his face again, your own now being blank and receptive. “Outside of the dungeon, you mean?”

He nodded. Your expression shifted to become more unsure, but only slightly.

“And how do I know you’ll come back?”

Perhaps just to give you a taste of your own medicine, Chilchuck grinned softly, deciding to throw your own words back in your face like you’d done to him.

“I thought you knew that you were always my favorite.”

All that and more, really. One day, he’d be able to tell you all about it.

six - after the dungeon

You’d often catch your lover slumped over at the counter of the shop after it closed. One of your favorite things to do was come up behind him and put your hands on his shoulders. Sometimes he’d be too lost in his thoughts to notice you and be startled by your sudden appearance. Tonight, however, he merely sighed and relaxed into your touch.

“Hard day today?” When he groaned in response, you had to suppress a giggle. That man really could be such a drama queen sometimes.

“How could you tell?” His question, unlike yours, was laced with sarcasm. Eventually, he lifted up his head and twisted his torso to look at you. “Had a fair amount of house calls today. Kahka Brud is a nice place to live and all, but I’d rather not be running around it at my age.”

“Yes, yes, you poor thing.”

“Hey!” His exclamation in conjunction with his pout sent you into a fit of hushed laughter.

Wiping a tear from your eye, you continued, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just teasing. One of these days you really ought to hire someone else to split the workload. When Mei’s in the area, we can certainly ask you about it.”

Chilchuck acknowledged your advice with a hum, but didn’t respond, instead choosing to fully turn around and put his hands on your sides.

“Mhm, I’ll get to that later.” His voice slurred from tiredness. “Right now, I just missed you.”

Your lover’s blunt declarations of missing you never failed to make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. In fact, you were about to return the sentiment in kind, but didn’t get the chance before the half-foot lurched his body forward to close the space between you.

His mouth was lax against yours, and his tongue lazily poked through the gap, not stretching the inside of your mouth, but merely resting as if it belonged there. It was a lazy kiss, but one full of warmth and a true sense of… home, really.

No mind was paid to the string of saliva left by him as you withdrew, all you could say being a quiet “I missed you too.”

After all, your faces didn’t stay apart for too long after that.

[underdark-dreams]

It's finally here, all 7k words of it 👀 Thank you for everyone who read chapter 1, and waited so patiently!

[ch1]

Birds and Bees - Ch.2

Rolan isn't usually the type to accept help. In his defense, Tav is very persuasive—and he is very, very desperate.

Tags: Tailplay, Oral Sex, Biting, NSFW | Word Count: 7.7k [Read on AO3]

Rolan didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.

After their awkward exchange this morning, Tav felt she might be somewhat to blame. She tried to recall the bits of Tiefling etiquette she’d picked up from the Elturians; perhaps touching his tail had crossed some sort of line? Either way, the gesture seemed unthinkably forward to her now. 

Then again…Rolan was the one who’d coiled his tail across her desk like that, its tip nearly brushing her hand as she wrote. She’d never seen him do anything like it before. If she didn't know him so well, she’d have found the move almost flirtatious.

At shop’s close, Cal took charge of locking up the front. Tav caught sight of the large iron keyring he carried and realized that it must be Rolan’s. So his brother had checked in on him today, at least—that gave her a modicum of relief.

Lia pitched in to help wipe down all her equipment and carefully fill the many waiting bottles with her cooled elixir. Tav held her tongue from repeating any of the worries she’d made after Rolan during the day—but it seemed her silence was just as damning.

“Stop fussing,” Lia repeated firmly. “Rolan’s just overdue for a rest. I mean, you saw his face.”

“I did.” Rolan had never been the type to slow down or show weakness easily. To Tav, the fact that he’d willingly taken himself to bed worried her more than anything. “Just promise you won't let him turn down a healer if he needs one?”

“If it comes to that, which it won't,” Lia said down to her work. “I promise we’ll find someone, okay?”

Tav kept her tone teasing as she packed away the sealed bottles in their crate. “Hmm, yes…if only you already knew someone with some knowledge of healing.”

Lia let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, you’re the last person Rolan wants to see right now.”

The sting of those words took Tav by surprise herself. Lia caught their edge too; she pulled up with a grimace, letting a few drops of antidote dribble onto the desk. “Shit, Tav, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Tav replied, making a fuss of sealing up the filled crate. The thought made her feel rather less than okay, which she didn't want Lia to see. “I think—I don’t know. I feel like I did something rude today, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lia’s tone was light, but she allowed a conspicuous pause to stretch between them. Tav pushed through a twinge of embarrassment to turn to face her.

“Lia, what would you think if I touched your tail?”

Lia glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “What, right now?”

“No, just—say I did by accident.”

Lia straightened to take a thoughtful inhale. “I mean…it depends on the context. You and I are friends, I wouldn’t think much of it. Unless you grabbed it up by my backside or something,” she added with a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a big deal. If I’m walking somewhere crowded, lots of people might brush against it unless I’m careful.”

Tav had moved around to reset the rest of her clean glassware as she listened, feeling marginally relieved by the explanation.

Then Lia paused her work again. “Are you saying you touched Rolan’s tail?

“You what now?”

With impeccable timing, Cal skidded to a stop at the edge of the conversation, a heavy lockbox under one arm.

Tav glanced between the two of them. “Yes?” The word came out as a question somehow; her mouth went dry as they stared at her. “Like you said, I didn't think it was a big deal. He laid it on my desk while I was working, so I just kind of—” She mimed a little picking-up motion with her hand.

The siblings exchanged a significant look with each other. 

“What?” Tav felt her face burning and knew the color must be noticeable to either of them. “How does it being Rolan’s tail make it different?”

Cal turned back to her with a frown. “What do you mean he laid it on your desk?”

“I don't know, damn—clearly I’m no expert!” She flailed her arms out a bit. “I just turned around and it was sitting there by my hand, all right?”

Another shared glance.

“That explains it,” Cal decided. It earned him a swift pinch on the arm from his sister. “Ow, hey—”

Tav looked between them again, trying to translate. “Explains what? Seriously, if I offended Rolan somehow, I want to kn—”

“You didn’t,” Lia cut in firmly. “This one here's just an idiot. It’s harder to control your tail when you're sick or tired, and Rolan’s been both, that’s all. I'm sure it was a mistake. And he shouldn't have minded you moving it,” she finished with a decisive nod.

With that, Lia snatched up the filled crate from her with one arm and grabbed her brother’s sleeve with the other. Cal stumbled slightly as she pulled him along, but he wisely held his tongue as they headed for the back stockroom. The hinges creaked shut behind them both.

Tav was left standing alone in the cavernous interior of Sorcerous Sundries, beside the desks that she and Rolan used to comfortably share—not sure if she should feel better or worse.

—

The next morning, Rolan was once again nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t even conjured his projection the way he usually did when occupied with research in the Tower. It was a shame; the shop was unusually busy by midday, and Cal and Lia worked without pause. When she could, Tav left her alchemy just to lend a hand with customers or make runs to the supply room.

She found herself worried to the point of irritation. Was Rolan really so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a potion? Or accept healing from someone he’d claimed was a trusted friend and colleague? She tried and failed not to be hurt by it.

Then again, Rolan had always been the type to shoulder his way through awful things alone while firmly turning down help—particularly from her. His apprenticeship, most recently. The memory made her radiantly angry on his behalf even now.

“Shit—” 

Tav jerked away from the flask and sucked on her freshly scalded thumb. She must have the ratios off again; this recipe wasn’t new to her, but the nuances had escaped her all morning. These sublimates shouldn’t get nearly so hot when mixed.

Might as well admit defeat and review the recipe before she wasted yet another bunch of black oleander. Surely there was a reference text somewhere in Rolan’s library?

Tav glanced around to the front of the shop. Cal was recording a sale at the front desk; Lia was chatting with a very large half-orc over near the conjurement runes. Things seemed well enough in hand. Tav damped the flame at her station and quietly took the stairs for the portal.

For lack of a better word: the library of Ramazith’s Tower was absolutely magical. 

Tav stood breathing in the quiet afternoon sunlight, taking an appreciative look up around her. The collection must be the best one this side of Candlekeep, with all sorts of books on spellcraft, Weave theory, alchemy, religion, the history of Toril—just to scratch the surface. She could think of no hands more deserving than the ones its ownership had fallen into.

Just as Lia mentioned the other day, Rolan had clearly been hard at work reorganizing the place. She ran her fingertips over the books’ spines as she walked around the perimeter of the main floor.

She imagined Rolan with his robe sleeves pushed to his elbows, enthusiastically at work in his book stacks, and bit back a grin. There was something so endearing about his passion for taming disorder. As she walked, she found her gaze drifting to the delicate staircase at the far end of the main floor. It spiraled upward invitingly. 

She’d never been to the upper floors of Ramazith’s Tower—nothing past the library. Certainly she hadn’t stepped foot in any of the private quarters of Rolan or his siblings. She wouldn’t even know which door led to whose.

But her mind wandered readily at the thought of Rolan’s bedroom. What it might look like…smell like. 

No doubt it was packed with shelves of books and scrolls, filled with the scent of fresh parchment and leather-bound volumes. That warm, bookish smell that seemed to be woven into his robes. The fresh hint of cedar from the way he kept his clothes meticulously cleaned and stored. And that other faint spice that she could never identify, but always picked up when he stood close to her.

The same scent that had filled her lungs with dizzy pleasure when he’d hovered close to her yesterday, chin brushing her shoulder and arm circled possessively around her waist— 

She bit her lip as heat pooled between her legs at the memory. She couldn't help it—how very fucking nice it had been to feel Rolan’s elegant hands on her, casually and effortlessly touching, as if he was accustomed to touching her much more often and much more intimately.

It would do no good to dwell on that moment. If anything, the uncharacteristic gesture was just proof of how out-of-sorts Rolan must be feeling. He was her friend, and by all accounts, he’d been too sick to leave his room for days. 

With a sudden burst of determination and a disregard for the consequences, she strode for the stairs.

Taking the curving ascent so rapidly left her dizzy. Tav planted her boots on the landing for a moment, holding onto the railing while she took in her surroundings.

This upper hall was also quietly sunlit, filled with fine carpeting and oak paneled walls; but the atmosphere was somehow less grand than the cavernous library below. More intimate. 

Two doors stood on both ends of the hall. Hazarding a guess, she stepped to the closest one on her left. Its heavy oak panels swung forward with the slightest touch.

Not a bedroom at all, but a bath—and a tremendously fine one at that. All the fixtures seemed to be wrought from polished gold. Underneath a towering stained glass window stood the deepest, widest clawfoot tub she’d ever seen.

As she gazed around, Tav caught sight of her reflection in a large glass above the sinks. Her hair was all frizzy flyaways from a day over her potion work. Indulging a bit of vanity, she paused to tame it with her fingers.

One of Rolan’s many endearing habits was his dedication to fastidiousness. Never a hair out of place, horns polished and shining, robes immaculately pressed—knowing him, with a bit of the Weave.

She must look like some sort of wild hedge witch by comparison. Tav had never minded life in the wilds as a wayward adventurer, even after the Elder Brain was felled to the Chionthar. It was part of what drew her to the career of a traveling alchemist. 

But there were moments…most of them in this Tower, with Rolan and his siblings. Sharing a meandering dinner at a real table with actual chairs. Sitting with Rolan out on the starlit balcony, discussing blood alchemy over a glass of wine as they watched the harbor.  

Tav forced her hands still and stared back at her reflection. 

“What do you want?” She muttered to herself. The Tav in the mirror had no answer. But in her mind, one softly bloomed.

Over the past months, her feelings had tumbled forward faster than she could keep up with them. Seeing Rolan, talking with him about anything and everything, working beside him in quiet moments—she found those were the moments she looked forward to most.

His offer to turn one of the Tower’s empty vaults into a greenhouse for her. Essentially giving her a permanent place in his home, if she wanted it. Was it stupid to hope that he wanted more, too?

As she stood frozen silent in the confines of her lavish surroundings, a muffled sound came from her right.

She hadn't noticed the second door past the bathtub; presumably connecting to one of the bedrooms. She realized it most likely led to Rolan’s.

She stepped toward the heavy oak paneling and raised a hand to knock. As she did, more muffled noises came from within. Tav hesitated, questioning whether she should—then leaned in to press one ear to the wood.

There were the sounds of labored breathing, as if from pain or exertion. She strained her ear harder. There was something almost…rhythmic in it.

And then—she could swear—she heard Rolan's voice groan her name aloud.

A shock of heat ran through her chest, prickling up her neck and diving between the cleft of her legs. The rapid, hot ache at her core made her gasp out in surprise, then clap a hand to her mouth lest he heard. She felt her cheeks burning with realization.

Whatever she had expected to find by wandering up here…this had never been on the list. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Rolan, sweating and panting and desperate. And that thought filled her with overwhelming want in response.

Tav pushed herself back from the door with a jolt. She turned and ran, not knowing or caring whether the ring of her footsteps on tile carried past the door. Her pulse pounded against her ears as she rushed out of the room and back for the staircase. 

Even before Tav’s foot hit the third stair, she knew she was headed for the Elfsong. And a very stiff fucking drink.

—

Day passed to night and back to day again in a feverish jumble. Like a vessel adrift in a vast ocean, Rolan was passed along wave after wave of searing impulse.

Had his ruts always been this overwhelming, and he’d just forgotten? Or was there something different about the drives this time around? 

Even the little dignities were stripped away, one by one. He began by conjuring mage hands at first, but his concentration faltered too many times at the cusp. He finally just settled for his own grip. Desperate sounds rose in his chest each time he neared his next finish, the likes of which he’d never utter voluntarily.

And he quickly gave up on clothes altogether. He lay naked and spread-eagle on his sheets and tried to sleep when he could, before his demanding cock inevitably twitched back to life again. The fever turned his dreams shockingly lewd whenever he did manage to drift off.

By sunset, another strong wave of need was pulsing through his core, demanding his attention. Rolan lay back against his pillows and groaned open-mouthed as he stroked himself.

Even slick with oil, the friction between his hand and the raw, overstimulated ridges of his cock bordered on painful. His finish danced out of reach to the back of his mind.

With an impatient growl, he flipped over to his knees and snatched up a feather pillow, folding it into a sleeve for his cock. A crude solution—but with his first few thrusts, the cool softness of the silk caused a moan of relief to rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fucked his own pillow in a desperate chase for relief.

And behind his eyelids, there she was again.

Tav appeared there so easily now. He’d tried to fight it at first—ashamed to be using her like this, without her knowledge or consent—but he found that nothing satisfied his urges so well as when he pictured her on his cock.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Tav…pliant, eager, hungry. Legs spread and center dripping with desire for him. The shameful depth of his need faded away as he fantasized her own. How her eyes might shine as she panted and gasped under him, calling him by name and begging him to fuck her and fill her and mark her as his—

What would she sound like as he took her? He conjured the timbre of her voice, always warm and musical, now canting to a whine as the ridges at his base slammed against her with each thrust.

Pressure coiled rapid and hot at his loins. Rolan slid off the mattress with legs braced, the pillow cast aside, and tugged frantically at his stiff length again. His tail arched and flicked behind him.

Through clenched eyelids he saw Tav laid at the foot of his bed, hair splayed in a messy crown against his sheets as she cried out his name. Her legs crossed behind his flanks to hold him deep inside her tight wet heat—

‘Rolan—’ She moaned louder, her heels digging into his lower back as he took her. Tav gripped two handfuls of the bedding underneath as he thrust relentlessly, chasing more of her heat around his cock, more of the delicious scent at her throat and between her legs—

“Rolan!”

“Fuck—” With a strangled gasp, Rolan’s hips stuttered one last time as his come spilled in ropes to the floor. Panting and shaking, he caught hold of the bed post with one hand as he frantically worked out the rest of his finish with the other. His head spun with the force of it.

But as he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, so did that cottony feeling in his ears. Someone was rapping insistently on the door to his room.

“Rolan, we need to talk—” Even muffled by the heavy wood, Tav’s voice was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” Rolan hissed again, this time with enough wits about him to panic. How much of that last performance could she hear through the door? He snatched up the nearest towel to wipe himself, then tripped away toward the pile of clothes on the floor that had lain untouched since yesterday.

“Go away,” he called tersely, nevertheless yanking the trousers up over his hips. Thank hells that last round had left him soft enough he could do up the laces for now.

On the other side of the door, she was undeterred. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen you.”

Rolan cursed as one of his horns snagged the ties at the neck of his shirt. Once the fabric dropped over his torso, he whirled around to take in the state of his room. 

Bedsheets pulled sideways from the mattress; pillows strewn across the floorboards; air thick with the smell of him. Absolute filthy shambles.

Using a rush of energy he couldn't afford, he cast a mass prestidigitation spell on the space. The improvement in the air was immediate. But the resulting light-headedness caused him to stumble forward; he caught himself with a hand braced on the door frame.

“I'm not joking,” Tav called loudly, unaware he was now much closer.

He could have yelled at her to wait outside for another week, then, if he wasn't so sure she was stubborn enough to actually do so. After all, this was the person who’d defeated an Elder Brain and taken on several gods in the process.

That…and he found he badly wanted to see Tav in the flesh. Hearing her voice from just beyond his bedroom door only increased that desire. Rolan’s tail lashed behind him in helpless frustration.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, lowering his voice. No use broadcasting any more of this conversation to the whole Tower.

There was a pause on the other side of the oak paneling. “I’ve barely seen you since I got here,” Tav’s voice replied, matching his volume.

“And?” 

“And I'm worried about you…obviously,” she added. “Cal and Lia said you’re sick. But I’d feel better if we could talk face to face.” Even through the barrier between them, he could hear a strain in her voice. She wasn't lying. 

Rolan rested his horns against his braced forearm with a sigh. “Tav, I swear I'm perfectly fine.”

“Then just open the door a moment. Please, Rolan?”

It was far too pleasant to hear her say his name outside of his own imaginings. Rolan glanced down at himself. Barefoot, shirt untucked, but technically presentable. And not pitching a tent for once in the past twenty-four hours. 

“If I do, will you leave?” 

There was another pause. “If you want me to,” came the reply. He unbolted the latch and drew it open to shoulder width.

The wave of Tav’s scent hit him almost before he registered her face in front of him. The sweetness of it overwhelmed his other senses for a moment. It tested all Rolan’s limited reserves of sanity not to grab her by the waist and pull her body against him.

Unaware of the silent struggle raging in his chest, Tav stood with face tilted up toward his. Her eyes had traveled over his figure immediately, checking him over with a worried little crease between her brows. Something at the side of his head caught her eye; Rolan realized his hair hung loose and rather sweaty, exposing the slender tips of his ears.

Her demeanor changed at the sight. Tav sighed, leaning her head against the flat of the door.

“You’re even handsome with a fever,” she told him softly.

Rolan blinked at her. Perhaps exhaustion and hormones were driving him to hallucinations. “What are you—”

Faster than he could react, her palms landed on either side of his face, and Tav pulled his mouth down to hers.

A burst of colors exploded behind his eyes; the sensation of her lips moving on his kindled the dormant heat in his body to wild blaze. She notched her hands upward as she kissed him, and her fingers slid up along the sensitive tapers of both his ears.

Rolan let out a hungry, animal sound against her mouth. Both hands landed on her back and crushed the line of her body forward into his, leaving no space between them. He could feel the soft hills of her breasts pressing against his chest through clothing. The warm scent rolling off her skin and hair surrounded him with dizzying force.

The higher part of his mind was screaming at him. Rolan desperately tried to focus on what it was saying; as he did, he caught the tang of wine on her lips. The discovery gave him just enough will to pull back from her.

And he did, with one jerking step back into his chambers. “You can’t be here.”

Tav stood panting through parted lips, eyes half-lidded as they traveled over him. Rolan felt flames lick his skin everywhere they moved.

“Why not?” She breathed. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her. He rather felt that way himself, still reeling from the electricity of kissing her.

Tav pouted at that, and Rolan wished to bite that lower lip firmly between his teeth. “I’m not drunk,” she corrected. “I’ve had a drink. There’s a difference.”

“You wouldn’t be here if—”

“If what?” Tav watched him as she took a step closer. Rolan stepped back in tandem, reflexive. She was well over the threshold now. “If I knew what was really happening to you?”

Those words sounded much more knowing than he liked. Rolan stared at her, trying to read into her face. He swallowed against the dry lump of his tongue and went out on a limb. “Which one of them told you?”

Tav shook her head. “Cal and Lia have been nothing but discreet.” 

“Then how could you possibly understand?” He demanded. The very recent discovery of how soft Tav’s lips were was making it very difficult to maintain this conversation. He could still feel the way her body had pressed into him.

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Rolan, I’d like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There have been…signs. And I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. I’ve been at the Elfsong all afternoon, just—thinking.”

At that, Rolan felt his tail twitching nervously behind him. “I see,” he replied. Pivoting, like an idiot, trying to pretend this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with the woman who occupied most of his thoughts when he was pleasuring himself. “And you think that I—that my—”

Tav made a quick twisting motion to get around the door. She latched it and drew the bolt closed behind them, then turned back to him.

“A lot of humans have heard rumors about Tieflings,” she confessed. “Some stupid, but some credible. I’m saying this is maybe not the secret that you think it is.” As he watched, a much deeper blush spread over Tav’s cheeks. She glanced away to the side. 

“Rolan…I grew up in the Dales, remember? Around rabbits, and cattle, and oxen. Half my friends lived on farms.”

Her analogy couldn’t be clearer. To hear her lay it out so plainly—Rolan felt the last dregs of his pride shrivel up and die. He gripped two palms over his eyes and let out a groan of abject humiliation, turning away to the middle of the room. 

How early had she connected the dots? The moment she felt him brazenly place a hand around her? Had she known all along that he was locked up here, rutting into every one of his pillows?

“Look, Rolan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know how else to say it—” 

Completely overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard her follow. When Rolan finally dropped his hands from his face, he turned to find Tav standing very close to his chest.

“And I’m sorry for kissing you before,” she blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sorry for it…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, to be honest. But it wasn’t fair. I just…wanted to know how you’d react.”

Rolan watched as her chest rose and fell heavily where she stood. The look in her eyes made his blood pound through his veins. He felt an urge to reach out and smooth back her hair to bring her in for another kiss, one he resisted.

“I care about you,” Rolan told her, before he could lose his nerve. “Our friendship. I respect you, Tav, it’s not worth—muddying things with this.” 

He felt fingers lacing through the ones that hung at his side, and despite his words Rolan tightened his grip automatically. Her hand was so pleasantly cool against the heat of his skin.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Tav answered earnestly. “I care about you, too. If I can help, I want to. Please—”

She was so close to him; Rolan breathed shallowly, but the warm scent rolling off her skin and hair nevertheless swept past him with dizzying force.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he managed hoarsely.

She didn’t falter. “Then tell me what else you think I should know.”

His senses were growing clouded with her; the offer that had tumbled so easily from her rang in his ears. It made the thread of Rolan’s control stretch dangerously taut.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned. 

His inadvertent shift in tone changed something in the air between them. There was a crackling energy that hadn't been there a second before.

Tav licked her lips as she watched him. “Good.”

Rolan thought he might melt from the heat that spread across his skin. His tail snapped against the mattress behind him. If she moved a step closer, she’d feel how hard he was in his pants.

“Mating bites,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ll mark you. Quite a lot. I’ll try not to draw blood, but…I can’t promise it.”

Tav nodded. “What else?” She asked, encouraging him to go on. 

Rolan swallowed against the embarrassment. But this was important for her to know. “This time for us, it’s all about…reproduction. We become quite virile.” He nearly choked, but there was simply no other way to put it. “For the urges to pass quicker, I need to come in you.”

Tav let out a throaty hum of approval. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound. “That’s fine, I take preventatives—it’s safe.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment. That shivery, electric feeling buzzed in the air around them. Rolan wondered if she could hear the way his heart drummed against his ribs.

Tav leaned in slightly. “Well…” She said, and her wet tongue passed nervously between her lips again.

That taut thread in his chest snapped in two. Rolan crushed her up against him with a whimper. Arms circling around her waist, he nudged a thigh between her legs and firmly ground their hips together.

Tav matched his eagerness. Their lips crashed together; at the back of his mind, he felt her grip cradling under each of his ears. Her fingertips licked like flame against his scalp.

Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her. Rolan jerked her hips forward harder against his thigh; the swelling length of his cock pressed against her soft, yielding center. Tav dipped her head back from the kiss, arching into him with a moan, and her fingertips laced at the nape of his neck. 

It offered an irresistible angle at the column of her throat. Rolan’s claws raked back in her hair, pulling it to a tight ponytail. Then he tugged firmly, holding her open as his mouth descended on her neck.

He kissed and sucked along the band of muscle from her ear to the curve of her shoulder, then parted his lips to bite down firmly on her soft flesh. 

“Yes,” Tav moaned in approval above him. Her hips rolled into his, grinding herself against the hard cock straining in his pants. Rolan felt her pulse skip against his mouth. Only when he tasted sweet copper did he pull away, laving his tongue over the crimson pin-pricks of his teeth into her skin.

He took only a moment to admire the trail of marks blooming along her neck. Tav was already pulling him in for another kiss. Their lips crashed together with bruising force; her tongue explored, tasting, searching for proof of her blood against his tongue and moaning against him when she found it.

Her scent filled his mind. Without breaking from her mouth, he plucked open the laces of her pants. Rolan slipped his hand under the waistband, beneath her smalls, and slid two fingers to dip down between her legs. Her folds were shining-slick; as he nudged her in circles, a trickle of her arousal rolled down his fingers. She shivered prettily under his touch.

“You’re soaked,” Rolan groaned against her neck. 

“All because of you,” she breathed without hesitation. “Been wanting this, gods, wanting you for months. Your hands on me—cock in me—”

At the words he withdrew his fingers from her impatiently, then sucked them clean. Her sweet taste on his tongue made his cock ache. She scarcely had time to curse at the sight before Rolan gripped both arms around her waist to lift her into him.

With one quick pivot, he landed her down on the bed with his frame pressed into her. Her legs hung off the edge from the hip down, and he used the position to grind the stiff length in his pants against her cleft.

Even fully clothed, it was maddening. He could feel the wet patch between her legs, and when she arched further into him, a primal growl rumbled in his chest. 

Tav’s fingers were brushing at his sides, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she panted impatiently.

Rolan tilted back to rip the garment up over his horns, immediately reaching for her own once his was free. He stripped her frantically, ripping her smallclothes in two before he could work them down her thighs.

When she lay bare beneath him, moaning and arching into everywhere he touched, he was overcome with hunger for more of her taste. 

Rolan gripped her hips, dragging her with a jerk to the edge of the bed. With her glistening folds displayed before him, all he could do was drop to his knees and bury his tongue between them.

The sounds she made were like sweet music as he explored her. He sucked and massaged her slit with his tongue, then plunged it as deep within her walls as he could. His eyes rolled back in his head. Her taste surrounded him; his nose brushed her clit as he ate her, further overwhelming his senses with the scent of her arousal.

“Gods, yes, Rolan—” Tav moaned above him as her hands flew to grip each of his horns. She alternately tugged them and arched into his mouth, grinding her clit against his face.

He wanted to hear her say his name like that another thousand times. Rolan curled his tongue against her walls, determined to taste her even deeper, but to no avail. Without his sharp nails, he would have sunk two fingers into her.

Instead, as his mouth left her, the ridged end of his tail looped around to brush over her slit.

“Ah—” Tav gasped from the bed. One of her hands left him to prop up on an elbow to look. 

He watched her face in adoration as his tail slid between her soaked lips, coating itself in a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Once it was thoroughly wet, he let the heart-shaped tip push experimentally into her.

Whatever hesitation he had evaporated at the way she arched and keened. He pushed in further, inch by inch, hissing in breath at how tight and wet her walls squeezed around him. Rolan felt his cock leaking between his legs at the sight of his tail disappearing into her plush cunt.

“Taking my tail so well,” Rolan praised without thinking, then groaned. “Fuck, Tav, you’re so tight—”

“Don’t stop,” she demanded, breathless.

When he felt the tip brush the limits of her insides, he held it steady as she panted down at him. Her mouth hung open in anticipation as she watched him lean in again for her center.

But instead of landing on her clit, his mouth met with the soft skin of her inner thigh and sucked it firmly between his teeth.

Tav gave a little yelp of pain, but her walls constricted around his tail so hard he moaned against her flesh. He left two more lovely red marks against her thigh before withdrawing his tail from her, leaving only the tip inside her silk.

Then he thrust back into her and took up a forceful rhythm of stretching her open on his tail.

“Fucking gods,” she gasped, gripping both his horns again. He felt her use them as leverage as she bounced her hips down to meet him. 

“Like this, don’t you?” Rolan urged her on, drunk off her desire. “Fucking yourself on my tail—” He leaned down to take another taste of her clit, swirling and sucking as the ridges on his tail dragged more wetness out of her with each thrust.

“Yes,” Tav moaned, shaking under him as his tongue worked over her clit. “Feels so perfect in me, so—ngh—!”

When he flicked the tip of it up inside her, Tav’s words stuttered to incoherence. He felt her inner walls clench and flutter, and repeated the motion over and over with each thrust.

“I’m—oh, oh ohohoh—”

She dissolved into soft cries. The muscles at her core tensed and shuddered as she climaxed against his tongue. Rolan withdrew his tail from her with a slick release, instead clasping his mouth over her to lap down the sweet taste that poured from her. His pants were so wet he was nearly convinced he’d already come, but he felt his cock straining against the fabric just as firmly.

When her thighs collapsed limp to either side, Rolan pushed himself to his feet for a look at her. Tav’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair coiled out in wild tendrils that framed her like a crown. Their eyes met; with both hands on his arms, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Rolan landed braced on his forearms. Their tongues slid and pushed together, trading the taste of her release. When he felt her reaching between them to undo his laces, he pulled away to loose them and strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Tav reached for his erection, and before he’d steadied himself, she gripped his length to drag the generous droplets of precum around his tip with her thumb. His hips bucked into her.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She teased softly.

“Yes,” Rolan groaned. Tav’s soft hand was around his cock for the first time; it was all he could do to locate words. He knew his face was flushed and tense with arousal, but Tav only looked up at him with appreciation from where she lay back on his bed. 

When she guided his length across the wet of her core, he rocked his hips to drag his ridges across her. She shivered slightly, still sensitive, but rolled into him.

“Need you,” Rolan panted, not sure whether he was asking her or begging. “Tav—please—”

Tav’s hand lined him up with her entrance. When his leaking tip nudged inside her, Rolan pushed forward with one slow, determined cant of his hips.

The cool slick of her walls clutched each inch of him so perfectly. A low groan rose in Rolan’s throat—this was the closest thing to real satisfaction that he’d gotten in days, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

“So good,” Tav said under him, voice sweet and husky. “Keep going—”

Rolan braced his hands against her hips. He pulled out slowly, legs shaking beneath him, then pushed back into the tight plush of her. 

His hips took up a firm pace, and Rolan couldn't bite back his whines as he plunged his cock inside her. Whatever his fevered imagination had conjured, it was nothing compared to this—he fell over her again, fangs skating against her breast as her body rocked under him with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, fuck—” Tav was just as breathless as her fingers gripped the infernal ridges on his shoulder blades. She tugged, egging him on.

Rolan took the invitation with enthusiasm. He nipped and sucked around the swell of her breast, breathing in lungfuls of the sweetness rolling off her skin.

“Harder,” Tav begged, the words vibrating against his lips. The hunger inside him surged in agreement.

Rolan’s lips fastened over one nipple. He sucked, hard, letting his tongue roll her against his teeth. Tav let out a whimper, but he felt her legs crossing around his hips as he continued to bury himself in her.

Rolan pulled away to look at her face. A mist of sweat dusted her brow; Tav’s lips were parted and twitching with silent words. 

“Look at me,” Rolan ordered, still filling her with his cock in a steady rhythm.

Tav obeyed, her eyes shining and pupils blown wide. He straightened away from her, never breaking, and laid a hand each on her calves. Then he pushed up, folding her legs to her chest and opening up her cunt even deeper for him.

“You look so beautiful like this, Tav,” he told her, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his pace slow and steady. “Folded in half in my bed. Stretched around my cock so perfectly.”

In response, Tav’s hands grabbed her knees, pulling herself open even further to each side. “Is this how you imagined it?” She asked wickedly. “All alone—wishing it was me and not your own hand—”

Heat prickled across his neck and shoulders, but Rolan was too far gone to feel shame. He couldn't resist breaking eye contact, however, watching the way his cock stretched open her dripping cunt.

“Just like this,” he panted in answer. She took in breath to respond, but he was already slamming back into her at a reckless pace.

The lewd, wet sounds of his thrusts filled the room, layered with their chorus of whines and moans. Rolan shuddered at how slick and tight she was around him, perfectly gripping each inch of his needy length. His cock throbbed in anticipation of a satisfying release, finally, after all these times of not quite enough—

“I’m close,” he panted, gripping her hips to pull her down deeper onto his cock. The tip of him nudged against the limits of her walls. “Where should—”

“Inside,” Tav insisted, still holding herself wide for him. “Only inside, Rolan, want you to fill me up—fuck—”

The imagery pushed him over the edge, and he did just that. With a throb of release, he felt his cock pulsing and filling her deepest walls with his seed. His hips stuttered into her as he pushed his spend as far into her as he could reach.

Tav clutched his shoulders as he came, humming and moaning out praises for him. Their hips rocked together, nudging his coated length back against her deep center. 

Tav went tense under him. He forced his eyes open and saw her lips parted in surprise.

“I’m—oh—!” 

She gasped in shock as her own climax gripped her. Rolan hissed in breath at the way she clenched and fluttered so suddenly around him. His length was still hard, and his ridges pulsed against her.

As she drifted back down, Tav’s eyes finally lit on him in a daze. “What…what was that?”

Rolan was abruptly reminded of how many ruts he’d spent without a partner. “I'm sorry, I should've warned you,” he confessed. It was hard to form his thoughts while still inside her. “During the cycle…infernal traits get stronger. Like incubi. Helps attract a partner.” Somehow this explanation was more embarrassing than any of the other filth he’d just spoken to her.

Tav stared up at him. “You're saying your come is going to make me come?”

“Essentially.” Rolan shifted inside her slightly, still not confident he was done. “I apologize—I didn't think to tell you. Is that a problem?”

“Rolan—” Tav let out a breathless laugh, and the sound went straight to his chest. “This is the exact opposite of a problem. Just a bit of a shock, that's all.”

The lovely sight of her happy and satisfied under him was too much to resist. Rolan leaned forward on his arms to kiss her, trapping her legs between their chests.

As her hand stroked softly under his jaw, Rolan felt a second ache settling in his loins. He released her lips for just long enough to push her legs out over his hips, then ducked back down for her mouth.

He rolled his hips into her slower this time, but it was somehow more intense. Their lips stayed connected as he drove into her deep. Her walls were slippery with arousal and his own seed, and they gripped like pure silk around his cock. Her opening slid over the sensitive ridges at his base with each thrust.

When he dipped a thumb between their bodies to rub circles over her clit, Tav broke away with a little gasp.

“I can’t again,” she said, panting.

“You can,” he told her simply. “Hold on to me—” 

She did, wrapping both arms and legs firmly around him as if he was her anchor. Rolan dipped his head to her neck as he doubled his pace, their hips slotting together with each brisk slide into her. He breathed deep against the curve of her shoulder.

Still so hungry for release, it wasn't long before he came again hard. This time he just barely pumped his spend into her before he pulled out to look down.

Sticky white seed dribbled out of her slit, running down toward her hole. He dipped the thumb circling her clit down to swipe it back up across her cunt, painting his come across the bundle of nerves at her peak.

Tav’s thighs twitched under him, and she gripped his arm tight with one hand. She swore as he continued flicking across her clit with the wet pad of his thumb, then whined out his name.

While her next orgasm nearly doubled her in half, Rolan tilted his head to watch the sight between her legs. She was soaked, twitching, utterly intoxicating. Her contracting walls pushed more of his spend out of her; it flowed generously from her slit and soaked down into the bedding below.

Finding himself now utterly spent, Rolan collapsed on his back next to her. As he did, he realized his legs had grown fatigued to the point of buckling from the exertions. He let his body sink heavy into the mattress. 

“I made a mess on your sheets,” Tav panted from beside him. 

Rolan groaned at her descriptive language. The fact that his length continued softening was a sign his urges were finally giving him a reprieve, however. “It was mostly my fault.”

She only let out a weak breath of laughter.

Too tired to trust his shaking legs, he reached an arm blind over the side of the bed and snatched up the first fabric it touched. His discarded shirt.

Pushing himself seated, he gently reached to dry between Tav’s legs. One of her hands traced the ridges on his back as he quietly tended to her.

“How long before the next?” She asked him.

“An hour or two.” Rolan didn't look at her. “Tav, you've done more than enough for m—”

The mattress shifted as she sat up and turned his face into a waiting kiss. It was soft, just a chorus of little presses across his lips.

When Tav pulled away, she tucked the damp curtain of his hair behind one ear. “Rolan, unless you want me to go, I'm staying until it’s over.”

Rolan cast a glance over her. Despite the fact that she was naked in his bed and covered in blooming bruises from his mouth, she was very much the same Tav as ever. “Thank you,” he told her quietly.

She pushed him onto his back with a sudden laugh, landing with her chest pressed to his. “What an utterly Rolan thing to say,” she mused. “Need I remind you I just came three times?”

Tav was teasing him, and was of a mind to put her in her place—only he found that none of his limbs wanted to move at the moment. Instead, his only response was a deep hum as his eyelids drooped shut.

He felt the mattress shift as she rose and wished he could reach out to stop her. But a moment later she curled up next to him again, dragging a soft quilt over their bodies. 

Rolan turned inward to rest his head on Tav’s chest—and fell into his first real slumber in days.