#and I know it’s not true but that stupid little voice loves to scream

[whalehouse1]

Hello imposter syndrome my old friend.

[dreamescapeswriting]

My Little Muse ~ HHJ [M]

WORD COUNT: 4.9K (you broke my 2k streak hehe thank you)

GENRE: mafia!AU, continution of THIS piece, hyunjin simping for reader,building of relationship, fast paced, insta love, SMUT MINORS DNI (You WILL be blocked) cunnilingus (female recieving) protected sex

PAIRING: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

  "Do you even know who that was?" The lady behind the counter of your pain shop questioned, her eyes scanning over your body as she looked at your appearance trying to see what it was that Hyunjin liked about you so much. You weren't even that special - to her at least. It was obvious by her tone of voice that she was annoyed by you because of a random man asking you out on a date, but it wasn't as though you asked him to pay you any attention. 

"N-No." You stuttered a little, your eyes never straying from the man as he straightened out the black suit he was wearing and climbed into the back of a black SUV. Part of you was intrigued by him, he seemed so charming and confident when he'd told you to go on a date with him.

"That's Hwang Hyunjin." She stated as if it was meant to mean something to you, but you were new to the City and you had no idea who anybody was. You weren't much of a gossip so you didn't read town magazines, you mostly kept to yourself spending time at work or painting at home.

"Is he a celebrity?" You frowned, turning to look at the lady who was biting back a smirk. You could tell she wanted to say but she didn't, she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders at you.

"Good luck, he's relentless when he sees something he wants." Before you could ask what she meant she was going toward the back of the store while you looked around nervously wondering if everyone working inside of the store knew of the man.

It had been weeks of non-stop gifts coming to your apartment and your workplace and it was safe to say it was getting a little out of hand. It had started small at first, the occasional box of chocolates - which you never ate in case they'd been tampered with - then there were some notes that were left at your desk - all cute and sweet notes from HHJ but then when he realised you weren't responding the gifts got bigger. 

One morning you'd walked into work to find a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers on your desk with a note attached, "I asked your boss what kind you liked, go out with me tonight? HHJ" Rumours were spreading quickly around the office that you were dating him which wasn't true. He'd given you his number a few weeks ago - along with one of the notes - and you'd saved it into your phone but never called him. You weren't sure you were comfortable going out with someone as the likes of him.

You weren't stupid, the moment you'd left the paint shop and headed home - empty-handed by the way, you weren't going to take such expensive gifts from a stranger - you'd researched him and found out everything there was to know about Hyunjin.

A ruthless leader, the tabloids painted him as a "kind-hearted" man who helped a lot of businesses grow and kept them protected from others who threatened to cause harm to the business or who stole. But if you dove deep enough there were articles that painted a not-so-pretty picture of him, a killer who took what he wanted whenever he wanted it and you didn't know which side to see.

Everyone you'd asked at work about Hyunjin had said nothing but kind things, everyone seemed to like him but you were never sure because of his title. "Mafia leader" didn't really scream "green flag" mostly, red flags all over with a hint of green if you squinted really hard enough.

"Yn, you've worked enough tonight. Head home," Your boss grumbled as he looked at you and over at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine pm and you'd already been there since 7 am, it was safe to say you were overworking yourself but you didn't care. You'd been hoping to wait out the black SUV you could see from your office window but it was still there and had been since 5 pm. 

"But-"

"He's still going to wait there no matter how long you hold out," Brady told you, shaking his head.

"Give him what he wants. If he gets his date maybe he'll leave you alone." You sighed a little as you packed up your laptop and slid it into your bag, maybe Brady was right but you weren't sure you liked your boss telling you to go on a date with someone.

"I'll think about it," You mumbled, making your way toward the stairwell, counting down the steps until you'd be outside and in front of the black SUV that was waiting for you.

As soon as you stepped onto the pavement Hyunjin - along with two huge men - were waiting for you, 

"You won't give up, will you?" You quizzed, wrapping a scarf around your neck as you tried to beat the cold air that was whipping around.

"Not while I'm alive," Hyunjin said with a cocky smile plastered across his cheek. He was standing there in a simple suit and yet it was like the freezing temperature didn't bother him one bit. You sighed a little looking at him and then at the two men who appeared to look cold. 

"Fine. ONE date. That's it!" You told yourself that you were agreeing to this so that the two men beside Hyunjin could finally go and get warm again.

"Okay, one date." He nodded stepping to the side and offering you to get into the car. It was either a car ride home with him or the subway so you began to walk toward the car,

"You're not going to fight for more than one?" Not that you were complaining but you had expected a little fight from him after all the effort he'd done to get you to accept. As you stepped into the car Hyunjin pulled you back so that your back was against his chest and he whispered in your ear,

"Trust me, I know you'll be begging for more." His breath caught against your skin and that's what you blamed the butterflies that were fluttering inside of your stomach on. There was no way you were attracted to him, not when he was a walking red flag, so you brushed the feeling away and sat in the back of the car.

"I'll pick you up on Saturday. Wear something fancy," Hyunjin told you with a smile, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing your skin softly. He wasn't going to drive home with you tonight, he trusted his driver to take good care of you which was why he'd been sending him every morning before work as well as after. He couldn't stand the thought of you riding the subway every day, not when there were dangerous people about.

Not to mention, now that you'd been associated with him you were a walking target already and he wasn't going to let anything happen to you.

"I don't have anything fancy." You contended but he smirked at you, he'd already taken care of something he'd wanted you to wear for him.

"I'm sure you'll find something." With that he shut the door and tapped the side of it, watching as the car drove off into the night.

Hyunjin hadn't lied when he told you that you'd find something, when you'd walked into your apartment the other night there had been a box waiting for you with your name on it.

Inside was one of the most stunning dresses you'd ever laid your eyes on and you dreaded to think how much money it would have cost him. But there were more pressing questions you had. How did he get into your apartment? and How did he know your dress size? All things you were planning on asking him as you waited for him inside the lobby of your apartment building. It was far too cold to be waiting outside in your gown - which was what it was, a ball gown. Something you'd never thought you'd wear.

A long silky green ball gown that slit up your left leg and stopped just below the top of your thigh, revealing your leg in a sexy - yet classy way. You had no idea what Hyunjin had in store for you but you were a little worried,

"Miss Yln, Mr Hwang is here," You nodded at your doorman - Ted - said as you slowly got up from the chair and let out a deep breath. You were nervous about all of this, but you were more nervous about meeting up with Hyunjin, what if he didn't like the dress on you? What if he changed his mind and left without saying anything?

You had no time to question anymore as a hand slowly took yours and a kiss was placed upon your skin, you hadn't even noticed you were outside until you felt him touch you.

"You look beautiful, as always," He whispered to you, looking at you and taking in your appearance. His personal shopper had been right the dress was perfect for you, he had half the mind to stay in all night instead of taking you out with him.

"T-Thanks, you look good too." "Good" was an understatement, you don't think you'd ever seen a man look so hot in your entire life. He was once again in a suit but this one was different, he was in a tailored suit with a bow tie and looked just as fancy as you did tonight.

"We should get going, don't want to be late." He nodded over to the limo and your eyes bulged out of your head, 

"Where are we going?" You quizzed as he took your hand in his and helped you into the back of the black Limo. It was dark inside except for some LED lights that lined the underside of the seats and some fake stars on the ceiling.

"An event I was invited to," Hyunjin answered, not giving you the answers you clearly wanted from him but he was enjoying getting to toy with you a little.

You'd come into his life so unexpectedly and he loved it, he found himself thinking about you when he knew he should have been working or when he was painting. Sitting in his art studio at home were countless paintings of you, all in different scenarios but you'd become his muse.

"What event?" He chuckled a little as he shut the door to the limo, glancing at you with a smirk on his face. He already loved that you asked him so many questions, you had a backbone and it was nice to have someone around him like that. Everyone else was so quick to bend to him and he hated how dull and boring that was. With you, he had to fight for what he wanted and you fought back just as hard.

"Do you always ask this many questions?" He arched a brow, holding out a glass of champagne for you to take and you studied it for a second wondering if you could take it or not.

"Yes, and you won't get out of them by avoiding them. I have many, starting with how you knew my dress size and how you got into my apartment?" You took the glass from him, watching as he took a drink from his own and you downed the glass that you were holding. 

"I trust you did research on me?" He wasn't stupid, he knew someone would have told you his full name and you would have googled him sooner or later. Besides, he wanted you to know some things before going forward with a date with him,

"Well...Y-Yeah but that doesn't answer-"

"I'm a very powerful man, Miss Yln, I can get into any place I want and once I was in your place I found your dress size." He said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world for someone to do and you didn't know if it scared you or excited you.

"Do I need to sweep for hidden cameras?" Something you hadn't thought of before, what if he had it set up so he could see you changing?

"Spying isn't my style."

"No, but stalking seems to be." You grumbled at him, making him laugh with you, but you weren't joking. 

"I wouldn't call it stalking. I was giving you gifts."

"And sending a car all of the time, finding out where I lived." You reminded him and he rolled his eyes playfully at you. It wasn't as though he'd paid for someone to give him your address, it was public information if you looked hard enough.

"Where you live is employer information, wasn't my fault you worked for me." Hyunjin shrugged you but frowned at him, you didn't work for him as far as you knew.

"I work for Brady."

"Who works for me. It's a big world out there, my little muse." The nickname sent a tingle up and down your spine and you hated yourself for it. You were supposed to be turned off by him but the more time you spent around him the more drawn to him you were.

"Muse?" You raised your eyebrow and he smirked at you a little,

"A source of inspiration."

"No, I know what a muse is, why are you calling me it?"

"It's a cute nickname," He shrugged not letting you know just yet that you were the one thing keeping his art alive and he would do anything to make sure he didn't lose his inspiration now he'd found it. 

"This place is huge." You whispered to Hyunjin as you walked around the huge art gallery he'd bought you along to. All of the walls were painted a brilliant white colour so that the canvases and other art pieces stood out among the masses.

"It's lovely to see you Mr Hwang, and with a date? It's already rare to see you out but even more rare with someone with you." You stared at the journalist who seemed to be buzzing with excitement as Hyunjin dropped his arm to be around your waist, and your stomach flipped.

Those damn butterflies inside of you needed to stop, you wanted to crush each and every one of them for feeling for Hyunjin,

"I trust you'll keep everything off the books that you see here tonight. I wouldn't want Yn scared off."

"Of course, it's lovely to meet you Yn." The man bowed to you before leaving you both alone and you were a little speechless.

"Does everyone bend to your every command?"

"Everyone except you." He stated as he took two glasses from a passing waiter, handing one of them to you before drinking all of the contents from his own. He was nervous and he hadn't been this nervous for something in his whole life, at least not for a long time but being here, with you, made him nervous. 

"You hate that, don't you?" You giggled drinking slowly from the glass and watching your date as he turned to look at you and smiled,

"No, I actually kind of love it."

"Why?" You didn't understand how a man who could get everything he could ever want by the snap of his fingers would ever want you. He could have anybody else and yet he wanted you,

"You don't make life boring. You're excited," He told you while looking into your eyes,

"So, you like me fighting you back?"

"My little muse, I love everything you do." Before you had time to process anything else he began to walk with you toward some paintings that were hanging up.

"Tonight's function is about raising money for schools." You frowned as he told you this.

"Art schools, if we raise enough money we can add more scholarship programmes for kids who can't afford to come to schools we provide." If your heart wasn't already singing for him before it was practically making an album devoted to him by now. If you were listening to him right he was building art schools for people,

"We?" You stuttered a little, there was no way it was true. Everything you'd been reading about him and it had never once mentioned this.

"Hmm, me and a board of chairmen. My name isn't on anything, I don't want people to know about it and use it against me. Or destroy it," He stared down at you, your eyes hadn't moved from his face the whole time it was like you were seeing him in a whole new light right now,

"What made you decide that was what you wanted to do with your time and money?" Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak but his eyes glanced behind you and he smiled warmly,

"Geum Ji Eun," He greeted, you spun around to see a teenage boy who bowed to you both and you did the same.

"It's beautiful, no?" Someone with a thick British accent asked causing you to turn your head to see someone standing beside you. You'd spotted him around as you'd been walking but you smiled a little at him, trying to be as polite as possible,

"Ah, now I see the real reason for your stare, you're the woman in the painting," You'd been staring at the painting for almost ten minutes now trying to figure out why Hyunjin would have painted you and displayed you here. The piece was labelled "Little Muse" and it wasn't the only painting that displayed you as the main focus but it was the one you were most drawn to.

It depicted you inside of an art studio in a white button-up shirt and shorts while painting on your own canvas, it was clearly something Hyunjin had created on a whim since you'd never done anything like that but it was beautiful.

"I don't think I am, I think it's just a coincidence," You laughed nervously looking around for Hyunjin but you could no longer see him from where you were standing.

"I don't think so, I think Hyunjin painted you for a reason." The man stepped closer to you and all of the hairs stood up on the back of your neck letting you know that something wasn't right.

"That reason being?" You backed off a little but he continued to step forward until you hit something hard behind you, panicking you looked up to see a bald man who could have been 6''5 looking down at you with an angry scowl on his face.

"He wants people to know you're his," The first man growled out, stepping toward you so that he was almost touching you,

"I suggest you move away from my future wife or I'll make sure you die a slow and torturous death," You said nothing about the future wife comment but watched as the two men scattered away from you clearly terrified of Hyunjin.

"Future wife?" You questioned him as he stepped closer to you, looking down at you and scanning your features trying to see if you were hurt or scared in any way but you didn't appear to be.

"How is it, that two men can scare you and you completely forget about them and ask me about something I said?" He laughed a little and shook his head at you, you were braver than he thought.

"I knew you'd never let them hurt me." You spoke without thinking about it first causing you and Hyunjin to freeze in place. He didn't think earning your trust would be as easy as it was.

"You trust me that much?"

"I-" You did and you didn't even know why, but you did and you weren't going to lie about it to him.

"I'm not sure why, but I do." A giant smile took over Hyunjin's face and he took you by your arm and began to walk around the gallery with you once again.

Throughout the rest of the evening whenever you were introduced to someone Hyunjin made sure to introduce you as his "future wife" which would have been something that put you off but for some reason it didn't. It only made you giggle and shake your head at him.

"Thank you for an amazing night," Hyunjin said as he slowly leaned forward a kissed your cheek, sparks flew from the contact and your stomach felt as though it was going to explode.

"Do you want to come up for a hot drink?" You found yourself asking, you didn't want the night to end and you needed more of him.

"Are you sure?" You nodded at him and Hyunjin paid his driver to wait for him but you smirked a little.

"Spend the night," As soon as the words left your lips Hyunjin's cheeks blushed bright red and you turned to walk into the building, swaying your hips a little as you knew he'd be watching you walk away from him.

"You're so hot," He groaned as you got into the elevator of your apartment, your body was pushed up against the mirror as you looked back at him a giggled.

"Do you know how hard it's been keeping my hands and lips to myself all night?"

"No one told you to," You whined out at him before he kissed your neck softly.

"You enjoy challenging me, don't you? Fuck, it turns me on so much whenever you fight back at me." He groaned a little before kissing up to your lips and kissing you deeply, grabbing your neck and pushing you into him.

He wanted to take his time with you and be gentle but he couldn't, not when he was craving you as much as he did right now. His lips moved to your neck and he began sucking on your skin, smirking as he heard a moan escape your lips that was almost as beautiful as you. 

"I need to taste you," He groaned sinking to his knees in front of you making your eyes fly open,

"Hyunjin, we're in public,"

"I want to taste you, so I'm going to," Besides it was almost two in the morning it wasn't as though someone was going to get into the elevator with you. 

He pushed the dress up and found you naked below the silk,

"No underwear?" He smirked before he gently began rubbing your clit making you gasp out, you were soaking wet for him and he wasn't going to waste a single second waiting to get to your apartment. His tongue dragged against your slit and you whined at him,

"Please...Hyunjin," You begged no longer caring that you were in an elevator with him right now.

"Spread your legs, I want full access to what's mine." He ordered and this time you didn't fight him, you moved your legs further apart and he placed one of them over his shoulder. He was ravenous for the taste of you, he wanted nothing more than to make you cum for him as he sucked on your clit slowly pushed two fingers into you and stole your moans away from you,

"That's it, little muse, let it go." He moaned out as you began to work your hips on him, grinding yourself into his face as he thrust his tongue into you. Your hands slowly moved to his hair and you gripped onto him tightly as you rode his face, moaning his name louder each time you rocked your hips.

"F-Fuck," You swore out, your eyes screwed shut as your orgasm hit you knocking you over the edge as you screamed his name out.

Hyunjin slowly raised and smirked as the elevator arrived at your floor and you stormed out dragging him but his blazer as you tried your best to hurriedly open your apartment door.

As soon as the two of you were in your apartment you threw your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him desperately, kicking off your shoes and biting down on his lip.

"I need you," You moaned out, the orgasm you'd gotten in the elevator wasn't enough, you needed more of him, all of him and you weren't going to stop until you had him.

"You sure? I don't want you to regret it," You knew he was teasing you and you hated him for it as you unbuckled his belt and pulled him free from the confines of his pants.

"Does it seem like I will?" You moaned out, pumping his cock in your hand slowly as he let out a low groan,

"I want you," You begged, pushing the head of his cock to your clit and rubbing yourself against him, the friction simply wasn't enough for you,

"Don't I deserve it?" You put on a pleading voice and Hyunjin growled, if he wasn't careful he was going to lose control of you and he wanted to savour every second he had.

"Tell me you want this," He ground out, looking down at you as you giggled a little.

"I want you to fuck me Hwang Hyunjin." Without a second to lose he followed you to your bed and smirked as you stripped out of your dress hurriedly making him strip too.

"You sure?" He smirked as he watched you glare at him,

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," You mumbled as he laid you down on the bed, his head dipping down as he licked your breast biting down on your nipple and tugging it with his teeth, you whimpered out and your legs spread further apart. You pointed to the nightstand and Hyunjin ragged it open, finding a condom and rolling it onto himself with not a second to spare.

It was slow at first as he thrust into you, looking down at you as he gave you some time to adjust, his lips kissing you hungrily as you tightened around him. God, he was bigger than you thought he was and your eyes squeezed tightly as you tried to ignore the slight pain you were feeling, you knew it would pass soon.

“You’re so tight, little muse.” He groaned, slowly pulling out of you and thrusting into you once more, your walls stretching around him each time as you whimpered his name out.

"You're just too big," You hissed, pulling his hair a little as he groaned,

"But you can take me, can't you, little muse?" He teased pushing into you deeper and you could have sworn you could feel him in your gut,

“H-Hyunjin,” You moaned out, looking at him as he smirked a little.

“Faster…Please,” You begged before he nodded at you, thrusting in and out of you a little faster this time, your whole body shaking as you moaned his name out so loud you were sure your neighbours were going to complain but you didn’t care.

Sex with Hyunjin felt like nothing could ever harm you again, like nothing else in the world mattered as long as he was fucking you.

“I want you like this every night,” He groaned out, thrusting harder as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes.

“I want you everywhere, over my desk, in my office, fuck,” He grunted out as his cocked pumped in you again, the sound of your skin colliding growing louder inside of the quiet room.

“I need you all the damn time.” He grunted as he kissed you deeply, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him closer. God, you felt so good he never wanted this to end but he could feel his orgasm rushing closer each time you clenched around him and you weren’t far off either. He could tell by the way your mouth formed an O and your moans turned into quieter whimpers.

“Hyunjin,” You warned out as you squeezed around his cock, his hips moving at a faster speed as he grunted your name out. The new pace of his cock made your orgasm hit you like a truck and you cried out, squeezing him as you cried his name out loudly. Watching you lose it for him sent him over the edge as you milked his cock of everything he’d been holding back,

“You’re mine, little muse. My future wife, mine.” You slumped against the bed as you nodded at him, whimpering as he pulled free from you and discarded the used condom into the bin inside of your room.

“Yours.” You mumbled to him as he let out a breathy chuckle and made his way to your bathroom, running you a hot bath for you to relax inside of before he took you for a second time that night.

Throughout the years your relationship with Hyunjin only grew stronger the longer that you were together and you were always his “little muse” no matter who came into his life, including your daughter whom he called “mini muse”. The two of you were the light of his life and he was so thankful to run into you all those years ago in the paint store - which he bought and renamed “little muse” after you got married. It was safe to say Hyunjin was more than obsessed with you.

[hoseoksluna]

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader 

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors. 

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow. 

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing. 

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed. 

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along. 

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you. 

Multiple times. 

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date. 

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl. 

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind. 

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong. 

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream. 

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him. 

You didn’t do what the others did. 

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside. 

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code. 

And so did you. 

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists. 

He did it because he unreservedly loved you. 

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music. 

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him. 

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing. 

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours. 

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight. 

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe. 

A different star. A special one. 

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck. 

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants. 

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song. 

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that? 

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust. 

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing? 

This can easily be his very last night alive. 

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up. 

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass. 

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad. 

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once. 

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better. 

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit. 

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction. 

The fucker is grinning. 

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger. 

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer. 

He needs you and he tells you. 

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts. 

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.” 

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully. 

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders. 

He knows why you did that. 

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious. 

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you. 

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?” 

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face. 

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast. 

Too fast for his liking. 

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek. 

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness. 

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made. 

One he will pay for. 

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch. 

One hit for your dignity. 

A second one for your tears. 

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed. 

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?” 

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill. 

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest. 

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face. 

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right. 

But his body doesn’t listen. 

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears. 

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God. 

But nothing happens.

Radio silence. 

White noise. 

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable. 

He begins to pray with his own voice. 

Because there’s nothing else to do. 

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her. 

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible. 

The ringing lessens. 

And then his lips move. 

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it. 

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body. 

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home. 

To solitude. 

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give. 

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him. 

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car. 

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you. 

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head. 

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held. 

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet. 

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that. 

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is. 

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.” 

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now. 

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission. 

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either. 

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him. 

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.” 

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life. 

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you. 

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound. 

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it. 

“What happened? Tell me.” 

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body. 

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you. 

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car. 

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash. 

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene. 

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you. 

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. 

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture. 

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole. 

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly. 

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him. 

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes. 

Letting himself be taken care of by you. 

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode. 

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe. 

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful. 

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely. 

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite. 

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it. 

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food. 

You can handle it. 

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh. 

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you. 

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all. 

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble. 

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.” 

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers. 

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner. 

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you. 

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst. 

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down. 

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange. 

It’s an expression of his servitude to you. 

Of his lessening and your heightening. 

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self. 

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere. 

He is at home. 

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt. 

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling. 

And he lets you know. 

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue. 

And he stops—just to beg for those words. 

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.” 

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden. 

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable. 

You help him remember. 

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.” 

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God. 

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you. 

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do. 

He invites you in. 

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm. 

And it just makes him hungrier. 

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy. 

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come. 

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore. 

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations. 

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face. 

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens. 

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.” 

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it. 

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all. 

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.” 

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen. 

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland. 

He thinks it would be an honor. 

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship. 

Everything is new. 

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.” 

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him. 

Not all the way, though. 

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for. 

You do take him all the way. 

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home. 

Heady, oriental and feminine. 

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock. 

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus. 

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something. 

He hasn’t put a condom on. 

“Wait.” 

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well. 

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes. 

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?” 

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him. 

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes. 

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material. 

Gently. 

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you. 

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger. 

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him. 

Peasant with his queen. 

You ride him like it. 

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation. 

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing. 

One more thing and he’s done. 

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.” 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.” 

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth. 

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are. 

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way. 

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.” 

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back. 

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple. 

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. 

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss. 

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you. 

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love. 

And you give it to him. 

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly. 

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize. 

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you. 

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.” 

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity. 

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you. 

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.” 

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.” 

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips. 

Gentle. 

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.” 

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it. 

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat. 

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted. 

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream. 

And you’re there when he wakes up. 

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[hairmetal666]

He hates Steve Harrington, everything about him. His stupid, upbeat pop music. His tall fucking hair. His annoyingly bright clothes. His bullshit German luxury car.

Eddie hates that Steve's a good guy. Hates that he carried Eddie's broken and dying body out of hell. Hates that the kids love him how they do. Hates that he and Robin Buckley are the kind of best friends who might as well be siblings. Hates the way that Jonathan is back and Nancy is happy, and Steve has no resentment about any of it. Hates that he'll never, for as long as he lives, forget about six kids and a Winnebago.

And he hates, more than anything of all, the way he's always finding himself in Steve's bed. The way he falls apart when Steve is deep inside, the way he begs for more, pleads for Steve to wreck him. The way Steve treats him so good that it makes him sob.

Eddie hates himself for not being able to stop. For wanting Steve so much that sometimes he feels it as a visceral ache in the back of his molars. He hates himself for how little fight his dumb traitor heart puts into not being astronomically down bad in love with the guy immediately.

And none of this is supposed to flow from his brain to his tongue to out of his mouth, but Steve fucks him so good and slow--gives him the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life--that it all just slips out of the safe confines of his mind.

"I fucking hate you," he says. Or pants, more like, he's all flushed and sweaty and covered in come, not yet settled back to himself.

"W-what?" Steve stutters. He's standing at the edge of the bed, damp towel clenched in his fist.

True, full consciousness strikes then and he doesn't know what else to say. Steve's big eyes are wide and sad, and Eddie's brain is screaming at him to fix it, and isn't that just another thing that he hates?

"Steve. Like. Fucking look at yourself, man." He waves his hand up Harrington's perfect body. "You're the most beautiful fucking thing in the universe. And you--you embody like every fucking thing I'm supposed to hate with your money and your athletic ability, and your whole goddamn clean-cut All-American boy next door bullshit. And I--I keep ending up here when everything in me says to run away, that this--you--are too good to be fucking true."

And Steve, he's pinching the bridge of his nose, looking more than anything like he's trying not to burst into tears and this--this cannot be borne.

"I love you so fucking much." His voice cracks and he reaches out to circle his fingers around Steve's wrist, the one holding the towel. "I love you so much and I don't deserve even a second of it. Not a minute. Because you're Steve Harrington, you're--"

Steve presses his hand (he hates the the wide palms and long fingers, how they're perfect, how they hold him and comfort him and wring out pleasure again and again like it's nothing, like Steve's hands were made for making Eddie come) over Eddie's mouth. "Shut-up, Munson," he says.

"I fucking hate you too." There's ease in the way he says it, a lightness in his eyes. "I hate that you don't use conditioner. I hate that your van makes that turkey gobble sound every time you turn a corner, and you refuse to let me look at it. I hate how loud you play your music, how it makes my fucking skin shake. I hate when you forget to take the damn chains off your jeans when you put them in the wash."

Steve climbs into bed, straddling him, towel long forgotten. "You know what else I fucking hate, Eddie?" He leans down, ghosting his lips against the tip of Eddie's nose, skimming his mouth. "I hate that I've never loved anyone like I love you. I hate that I almost fucking lost you. I hate that we can't spend every minute in this goddamn bed, so I can memorize every inch of your skin, every sound you make, every single way I tear you apart, and all of the things that put you back together. I love you, Ed. Every fucking terrible part."

[hurthermore]

Hey! Just wanna say I ADORE your Bimbo series ❤️

I have an idea for the next one; The reader teases Alastor for being an old, grumpy man. She's spending too much time on social media & video games to pay attention to him. Then, he punishes her for it. Wink wink! ✋️🍑💦

»»------► 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟺 (18+)

▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 (18+) ▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Word Count: 𝟸𝚔

Warnings: 𝙽𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚡 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔, 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎, 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐?

A/N: 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚢 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛, 𝚋𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳

Alastor deeply regretted buying you that damned piece of technology.

For the past few days, instead of being all over the Radio Demon like you usually were; instead of always being in his presence, talking to him, holding him, kissing him, and fucking yourself into his cock, you had, for some reason, been consistently dwindling the amount of attention you usually gave him to play on that silly little gaming console you had asked him oh so prettily for. 

As he questioned himself on why he had even purchased it for you, he knew it was because he was so easily swayed by you; that he adored you and wanted to see that pretty smile on your face; it was only a very welcomed luxury when you begged with that that pretty little voice of yours, when you placed your even prettier lips around his cock as a way of persuading him to buy things for you.

He’d buy it for you even if you didn’t do those things; but you didn’t need to know that.

Even now, as you sat in his lap, the both of you in his radio station whilst he broadcast his mass of screaming souls to the entirety of hell, you seemed to simply ignore his presence as you fiddled with the buttons of your newest piece of technology. He didn’t like how much your mental absence toward him had his chest hurting ever so slightly; but despite that, he still remained in his smiling neutral facade. 

Looking down at you, he wondered if you were torturing him on purpose by wearing that semi transparent babydoll nightwear he had bought for you recently; the same one that allowed Alastor to admire every erotic detail of your body, to the front of your core squished against your thighs, to your stomach scrunched up due to the bend of your position, and how beautifully erect your nipples were. It was quite the task for him to contain himself when you looked so ethereal; so undeniably erotic.

Alastor craved to ravish you, just as he did quite often.

If only you would cease playing that ridiculous game. 

You were a smart little darling, despite how ditzy you could be, you weren’t so stupid that you were unaware of how much the simple sight of you turned him on. You must’ve known what you were doing to him.

Alastor knew you did.

As he watched you hum away as you swayed your head along with the music from your game that Alastor was positive you could barely hear over the screams of his broadcast, he etched his sharp talons underneath the flimsy piece of clothing you wore, pressing them against the thick of your thighs before he sunk the tips ever so slightly into your squishy femurs. His upper lip snarling ever so slightly as you refused to give him even a drop of attention even as he damaged the perfect skin that encased your innards.

You wouldn’t even flinch.

With a huff, he leaned his chin into your shoulder as uncharacteristically morbid thoughts of your true feelings towards him clouded his mind, he turned off the microphone connected to his broadcast. “Tell me, do you only love me so you can get what you want?” He didn’t mean to ask it with venom drenched into his words, but he couldn’t help the way his chest constricted from the doubt that had funnelled its way into his head.

“Don’t be silly Al. I love you.” You mumbled as you continued to press the buttons on the console; still refusing to even glance at him.

Grabbing the device from your soft hands, he slammed it against the console of his radio station. “Then why do you persist in depriving me from your attention to play with such frivolous technology?”

Rolling your eyes as he snatched your game from you, you turned around in his lap to finally face him. “God, you’re such a needy, grumpy old man aren’t you?” You mocked him before pushing your chest against him; poking your index finger in his face. “You’re so pathetic it's cute.”

Were you trying to test him?

To piss him off? 

You were extremely lucky you had him wrapped around your little finger, else he would’ve shredded your perfect body into little tiny pieces for saying such things to him. Instead, he sunk his claws into your neck with a look that forced your facial structure to express worry. “I’m offended you think such things of me, my beautiful little darling; it looks as though I’ll have to show you how frighteningly vigorous I can be.” He whispered into your pretty face before conjuring a black appendage to tear your overly exposing nightwear in two.

Slamming your back into his broadcasting table, Alastor watched as you moaned out a bundle of screams as he began shoving his cock in between your exposed and glistening folds without warning; you couldn’t believe he had pulled his length out so quickly from his suit pants as you began panting. Your tight cunt struggled to allow him to enter in one push due to the lack of foreplay; but this is what you deserved, being the little mouthy brat you were.

With both of his hands on your delicate throat, Alastor put so much pressure against it that he could hear tiny gasps of moaned plea’s escape your throat that struggled to intake a proper breath as he painfully pulled his cock out of you, only to slam it back in; only this time, its entire length finally sunk into your beautifully pleasurable wettening walls, forcing a scream to rip from your constricted oesophagus. 

Conjuring more black appendages, he commanded the tentacle-like affixes to tightly wrap around your thighs, the fat around them popping out as the slimy protuberances pressurised with a harshness like no other. Drool dripping from his mouth, Alastor began to groan at the sight of you below him; your perfect face almost draining in colour, his sharp hands wrapped around your beautiful throat, your thighs squished into oblivion, and the squelching that filled the room as he fucked his fat cock into your unready cunt. 

He couldn’t handle it, especially after not having you on his red length for the past few days due to your persistent gaming. Gritting his yellowed teeth, he forced the appendages around your thighs to bend your femurs into your chest, putting you in a mating position that allowed him to pulverise his cock against your cervix. Groaning, he smashed his lips against your breathless ones as he craved for passion from you, he could feel you attempt to kiss him back; something that made his heart burst with love, but the dizziness he was inflicting on you due to his brutal pressure on your larynx and savage, deprived pace he was fucking you with had you unable to truly focus on his lips.

Alastor could feel his balls tighten; a sign he was close to spilling his lovely white cum into you, but he needed to stop. You were due for a punishment, and he had barely scratched the surface. Calming down his pace, stilling his ministrations to prevent himself from ejaculating, his grip on your throat loosened, causing you to cough up breaths of air as drops of sweat from Alastors forehead splattered against yours.

For some reason, after your breathing began to calm down, you began to chuckle; causing your boyfriend's ears to twitch with every mocking laugh. “I knew you were an old man, but come on. You can’t even last two minutes without needing to cum? Can’t even make me cum, baby?” You snickered as you gyrated your waist with his cock still inside you, testing his limits as you snaked your tongue against his adorably frustrated expression. Immediately, he slammed your head into the table with an odd amount of care before he bit the tips of his razor sharp teeth into your neck after you spoke those words; his cock began thrusting into you with a pace that he was dead set on breaking your pelvis with. 

Groaning, Alastor was beyond angry as you kept testing him to the point he hadn’t realised his body began to morph; not until you wrapped your hands around his stitched neck and let out a blood curdling scream from those pretty flushed out lips. “Oh god, Al, don’t stop!” You screeched in a pleasured pain as his cock began to grow thicker and longer inside of you. Letting go of your neck, Alastor admired your pained expression before he looked down to your stomach; he couldn’t prevent the low growl that had left his throat as he watched his growing cock force a large bulge to emerge from your lower belly.

It wasn’t until Alastor found himself standing at double your height that his body decided to halt morphing; his cock forcing your stomach to contort around it as it stretched out the gummy walls of your cunt. Panting, tears left your oculi as your boyfriend stilled his massive length inside of you. “You change your tune so quickly, my love.” His voice came out so much more distorted than usual; as if it was glitching along with every word on his tongue. 

Crying out, you let out a sharp gasp as his overly large hands wrapped around the entirety of your waist; his thumbs pressing down on the bulge his cock enforced as he tried to move, to slam his cock back into you, but he couldn’t. 

He had grown so big that your cunt became simply too tight for him to move. 

Tightening his grip around your waist, he picked you up from the table before his heavy breathes consumed your auditory senses as he began moving you along the entirety of his length, forcing a mixture of pain and pleasure to mumble and curse out from your lips; crying as Alastor used your body as a damned fleshlight. His ridiculously large cock made your stomach bloat to the point you thought he was going to tear through you every time your thighs met his pelvis bone. “That’s it: cry for the ‘needy, grumpy old man’, my lovely, desperate, little whore.” And you did; ever so prettily. Gripping onto his prolonged neck that was covered in stitches, you begged for him to kiss you; begged for him, only him.

Complying to your demands enthusiastically, Alastors back began to bend, his fucked up form covered the entirety of your sight before his drool soaked lips connected with yours rather softly; his head moving up and down every time he moved your body along his length.

Surprisingly, as Alastor retracted one of his hands from your waist, you still felt secure; not a moment did you believe you would fall. His clawed finger tips only slightly brushed against your clit before you could feel your thighs shake; primarily from the sheer atrocity that Alastor was fucking into your cunt. 

Feeling your bud throb as his monster cock invaded far more than whatever should be invaded; along with his sharp claw teasing your clit ever so slightly, your cunt began to spasm in pleasure, ripping a loud, debauched moan from your larynx. Your wet, expanded, pretty little sex began to grip onto Alastors cock tighter as you began to squirt splashes of lust induced liquid onto your lover's body; and from how harshly your core tensed around him, a sensation deep in his own nether regions snapped, filling your womb up with a stupid amount of sperm as he splattered his cum deep inside of you.

Slowly pulling you off his length, Alastor groaned as he watched the mass amount of his ejaculation cascade from your puffy and widening cunt, only to shove his fingers inside you, forcing you to cry out as he made sure the rest of his cum stayed deep inside your womb. “Don’t worry love, I believe this wraps up my example,” Alastor’s voice echoed, still slightly distorted as his body began to slowly morph back to his normal size; forcing you to become limply dumb. “I’ll clean you up now; so relax for your needy old man.”

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

@saccharine-nectarine @daintydreams-blog @lunaramune

[unclewaynemunson]

After Vecna is defeated and the world goes back to normal for good, Steve thinks he can get on with his life. And for a while that's exactly what happens: his scars heal and, against everything he would have ever expected, Eddie heals right beside him.

But a year later, his life gets turned upside down in a whole new way. He gets one more hit to the head. It's a stupid accident, really, something involving a broken lightbulb, an old stepladder and an unfortunate fall. He loses pretty much all his sight. His once expressive brown eyes become hollow shells, one staring right ahead and one turned sideways, but both equally useless.

At first, the darkness is scary. It's frustrating, to be robbed of one of the few things he could always rely on. He has to get to know the world around him in a whole new way. There are days when he hates it, days when he wants to stay in bed in his room forever. There are days when he wants to scream, even days when he wants to cut his own eyes out like Victor Creel did before him.

But slowly, little by little, he learns to live with it. He grows a new appreciation for beautiful music and good food, things that stimulate his other senses that he now relies more heavily on. He develops a sharp ear for people's voices and intonations to make up for the loss of seeing their facial expressions. Where he used to love seeing Robin's bright eyes and Dustin's excited smile, he now treasures the sound of Dustin's laughter and the scent of Robin's cologne.

The one thing he will never stop missing, though, is Eddie's face. The way his eyes light up when he smiles. The way his mouth curves into that mischievous grin that Steve once fell in love with. The way his fluffy curls cascade over his back. Those are the things he misses the most.

There's a lot that makes up for that loss: he can cling to Eddie's arm whenever he wants, without having to worry about people taking their affectionate touches the wrong way. He gets to rely on Eddie's helping hand and to bask in Eddie's scent. And, most importantly: he gets to listen to Eddie's voice all the time, when he describes what's happening around them in lively phrases and with passion in his voice like the true storyteller he is.

“Do you know that there's one thing you're always leaving out when you're describing things to me?” Steve asks him one day, when he feels Eddie's hands move through the air around them during his excited monologue about the orange cat that is currently visiting their garden, chasing after butterflies and going after its own tail in the flowerbeds.

“Huh?” Eddie sounds confused.

“You're always leaving out the most important part,” Steve continues. He lifts his hand and slowly moves it to find Eddie's face. He feels his curls underneath his fingertips, then slides them further over Eddie's features.

“What do you mean, Stevie?”

“You never mention how you look. Only what you see. But if I could see, I'd be looking at you, Eddie. I'd watch your face. I can still remember that curve of your mouth, that crease between your eyebrows...” He lets his hand linger on the places he mentions. “But it's all becoming less clear. I'll never see it again. I don't wanna lose that.”

Steve feels his hand getting covered by another one, lets his fingers be guided across Eddie's cheek.

“You won't,” Eddie tells him softly. “There's no way I'll let you lose that.”

Steve can already feel the change in temperature underneath his fingers before Eddie speaks.

“I'm blushing right now, Stevie. Cause of what you said. And...” He guides Steve's hand further down over the uneven skin of his scarred cheek. “I'm smiling. Just a little bit. Not that wide smile I have when I'm messing with you, but the smaller one, the one that's just for you.”

Eddie squeezes his hand before he lets go. A moment later, his lips brush softly against Steve's, something that's not quite a kiss. Steve can feel that Eddie is about to pull back before it becomes anything more, but he presses back into Eddie's space, chases his warm lips with his own, and wraps his arms around Eddie's body to pull him closer.

Kissing is best without looking anyway.

[mariasont]

maria omfg just read be so stupid and the part where u said about listen to spencers heartbeat and i am crazy for this type of intimacy 😫 can u make something with pre relationship spencer feeling his heartbeat i dont know their hearts syncing. really anything with that intimacy!!!! im in love with your writing keep posting cz im eating all up 💝💓💞🩷 kisses

Thump, Thump - S.R.

a/n: hi sug!!!!!!! love love love your beautiful mind!!! pre relationship where there is so much feelings and pining UGH! love! thank you sm for requesting <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: pre relationship cuties, pining, all the things!

wc: 1.1k

It was so quiet even the sound of a pin dropping might be deafening. In fact, it was so quiet that it felt as though Spencer could've read your mind if he tried hard enough. If he could read you mind, he would unfortunately be privy to your annoying inner monologue screaming:

"How could I be so stupid? I've managed to trap us in a tiny, cramped closet that's barely 9 square feet. How on earth did this even happen?"

Or something along those lines.

You had been investigating a crime scene, and somehow, you both ended up crammed into this confined space—so close that you could feel his surprisingly soft, springy hair, which had grown to shoulder length, brushing against your forehead. The closeness was almost suffocating, and you could hear his breathing, which only heightened your awareness of your predicament.

You find yourself in an incredibly awkward position, pressed against his chest, with your arms pinned at your sides as if you're afraid to make a move. Any lower and you risk an EEO report, but any higher and you'll be holding on to his chest, which somehow felt even more intimate.

"Do you think they're close?" you whispered, not knowing why you felt the need to lower your voice.

It almost seemed rude to speak at a normal volume, as if it would be too intrusive. After all, you'd practically be yelling right in his ear.

"Well, we called them 8 minutes ago," Spencer said, his voice vibrating from his chest to yours. "If they took the normal route, they should be here in approximately 3 minutes and 45 seconds.  The average response time for our team in this area is about 12 minutes, but given the urgency, they might be a bit slower."

His hand moved to rest on your hip, and your body immediately went rigid. A jolt of electricity shot from your toes to your spine.

He sensed the tenseness in you because, well, of course he did. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you breathed out, straining your eyes in the darkness to discern the details of his face. "Just a little claustrophobic."

That was only half true. It was more that you felt claustrophobic because you had no desire to be this close to the colleague you had been harboring an infatuation with for what felt like forever. He was intoxicating--everything about him. Especially now that you could feel his muscles flex beneath his shirt and breathe in the blend of old books and clean linen that seemed to define him.

Spencer nodded at your words, the movement of his head causing his entire body to shift. This brought him even closer, his arm instinctively wrapping around your back.

"Sorry, my arm was falling asleep," he justified, voice soft. You didn't argue, sparks detonating from the point of contact, your whole body aflame. "You know, sometimes applying gentle pressure can help reduce feelings of claustrophobia. It might seem counterintuitive, but it works."

"Well, I don't think we can get much closer than this," you chuckled nervously.

Spencer, without missing a beat, placed his hand gently around your neck and drew you into his chest. You didn't resist, didn't put up a fight. Your heart pounded, and with your ear now pressed against his body, you could heart his heart. The steady thumps were so clear, you could almost hear the blood coursing through its veins.

You softened into his touch, your hands moving slowly to wrap around his neck, unable to draw away from the continuous pulsing of his central organ. You were sick in the head, that was for sure, but the rest of your body didn't seem to care about your head's woes; it was all too keen to liquefy into his body.

You could likely die here—if the team never got here, and this is how you were to go—locked in a child's closet with the man of your dreams; you thought you might be okay with that.

But fate had different plans, which might have been a good thing; you might have been thinking a little rashly. You blamed it on the lack of oxygen flow. Spencer would tell you that the limited airflow in such small spaces means we're breathing in more carbon dioxide than usual, which can affect cognitive functions and make us feel dizzy and disoriented.

Dizzy and disoriented. Check and check. Now, whether that was due to the lack of airflow was a different story.

Without warning, Spencer's hand moved from your hip to your neck, settling between the nook where your jaw meets your throat. You froze in the spot, lips parted slightly as you watched his mouth move. Was he counting?

You realized he was when he let out a disappointed huff. His hand didn't move from your neck.

"Your heart rate is still pretty high," he observed. "Maybe we should try something else—"

"No, no, it's okay. I think it's working."

You didn't want to lose this closeness, and you weren't too eager for him to find out your heart rate was spiked by something other than the small space you were restricted to.

He hummed in response. You weren't sure if he believed you or not, but he dragged his hand back to your hip.

Thump, thump, thump.

You thought maybe you should tell him how you feel, that perhaps now was a better time than any—that the way your body froze around him was anything but friendly and that the feeling in your—

"Well, it looks like you two managed to stay calm."

Your head snapped up to see the team standing there, gaping at you like you were a couple of zoo animals. If they had given you 5 to 10 more minutes alone, you might have been.

You jumped away immediately, face burning as you raked a hand through your hair, glaring holes into Morgan's skull. On the other hand, Spencer looked slightly smug, a small smile tugging at his perfect lips.

"We were just... waiting," you protested, ignoring the look of disbelief from your unit chief.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever you say, hot stuff."

As you stepped out of the closet, your eyes lingered back to Spencer, your heart still racing. Your eyes met, and the world seemed to freeze for a moment. Maybe you'd tell him how you felt the next time.

"So, pretty boy, you think you'd be that snug with me if we were the ones trapped in there?"

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[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

-

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[adventuringblind]

Misheard, Misjudged

Lando Norris x Leclerc Reader

Genre: Angst with a pinch of spice

Summary: Lando overhears a conversation and thinks it’s about him

Warnings: Lando’s self-esteem plummets

Notes: I’m aware I have things to do but I’m doing a friend a favor

Masterlist

Lando and the little Leclerc are everybody’s favorite couple. He clings to her every second of every day and she gets livid when her brother call her little. Younger then Arthur by a minute and she never hears the end of it.

Their families love them, the fans love them, but most importantly is that they love each other.

They met when Arthur started racing again. She was bored without her partner in crime, so Charles took her on as is social media manager. Needles to say they banter a lot. Charles’ fashion choices are horrendous at times but she loves him nonetheless.

Charles teases them all the time about how they are practically glued together. Which is probably true, considering they are like magnets in the paddock.

So in Lando’s head, it makes no sense why she would say such things about him. In their home. With her friends.

‘Sure he’s good looking, but like - is there really anything else? He’s so childish and whines like a bitch. Also, have you seen how clingy he is?”

He couldn’t listen anymore after that. Is he really that clingy? And for all intensive purposes, isn’t she also clingy? He never thought it was that bad. Sure, people tease, but who cares what they think? Or, maybe he’s just overthinking and he should just ask about it.

Scratch that - a terrible plan. Instead he shall withdrawal himself and see if it makes her happier.

The first week she looks confused and a little hurt by his actions, but she doesn’t say anything. No more initiated physical contact. No random hugs and kisses. He doesn’t cling to her during the race weekend like normal.

See! He isn’t cling! if anything, she’s definitely the more clingy one out of the two.

Week two hurt more then the first. He catches snippets of a few phone calls between her and Charles. She’s locked in the bathroom and her voice is cracking. “I don’t understand what I did, Charlie.”

Doesn’t understand what she did? You can’t just say things about a person and expect everything to be okay after. Why doesn’t she talk to him about it? If she wanted more space he would’ve just rather have talked about it then have overheard the love of his life shattering his heart into pieces.

He turns her back to her in bed starting week three. She looks tired over the next few days. Not just yawning, but the dark circles under red eyes screams that something is wrong.

she starts leaving sticky notes on his things, on the counters, the insides of cabinets, and even plastered all over thee mirror.

He ignores them. Yet his mind starts to wonder if maybe he should just ask her why. But it’s not like she talked to him, so why she he talk to her now?

He wonders again when he catches Max glaring at him.

And again when Oscar grows concerned.

And then when George gives a PowerPoint presentation with how to communicate properly.

Yeah, ok - so this wasn’t the right way to go about this. He really wishes George and his stupid PowerPoint had come earlier.

The icing on the cake is when he comes home one day and passes Charles as he’s leaving. He doesn’t look happy at all, and honestly, Lando can’t blame him.

He goes straight to bed, face buried in the pillow. Limbs tossed dramatically like a Disney princess in despair.

“Lando?” Her small voice shreds every ounce of strength he has left. She sits on the bed beside him. He doesn’t look up and she sighs heavily. “Please talk to me.”

When he does finally look at her. Truly, for the first time in months, he sees just how broken she looks.

“What’s there to talk about?” He curses himself and his tone because she flinches away at it.

“Why are you avoiding me? I don’t understand what I did…”

He scoffs. “Don’t know what you did? Last month at your little get together? Calling me a clingy whiny bitch behind my back?” He chokes on the last part.

She looks at him, head tilted in confusion. The same look she gives when he’s trying to read directions. Confused, loving, patient. Why is she smiling?

“You didn’t hear the beginning of that did you?”

“No.” He pouts.

“Lando, love, light of my life - that was about Charles.”

His entire body freezes. It’s true that her friends like Charles and she hates when the fawn over him. Oh, he’s been an idiot. An Absolute asshole.

“I’m so sorry.” He throws himself at her and every ounce of anxiety over the past month is washed away as soon as her fingertips touch his skin.

“Charles is terribly clingy to everybody and he’s my brother. Of course he’s a whiny bitch in my eyes.” He would respond but his brain is mush at her hands in his hair.

“I just got so in my head. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you - George gave me the whole lecture about proper communication.”

“I Know. He said you were hopeless.”

“How encouraging of him.”

Lando pulls her on top of him. Her warmth, her skin, her full body weight is everything he ever needs to survive.

“I can’t believe you’re smiling at me.”

“I’m mad at you, but maybe we can make up.” She raises her eyes suggestively.

“I think I can make that happen.”

[brooooswriting]

Hey! Would be interested in R joining Essex after Leighton is already out and R is closeted. Would love to see how Leighton deals with it when she was just as closeted. Thanks<3

Oh I know

Being gay wasn’t fun, not when you were scared to tell people and had to hide who you really are. You hated it in high school which was why you made a plan for college. Since you despised the thought of coming out you decided to just go to a frat party and make out with a girl. Boom! Everybody would know and it would be fine.

Well, turns out you were too shy to do that. You went there extremely confident with your roommates but you ended up only chatting with some new people before getting drunk with your friends. At the end of the night you met a nice girl that was one year above you, Whitney.

Somehow Whitney kinda adopted you. She took you everywhere, made you meet her roommates and willow. It was nice really, Bella was hilarious, Kimberly was so caring it was crazy and Leighton, well Leighton was unhinged but so damn hot.

Seems like Leighton had a great gaydar because after meeting you like three or four times she decided to get you alone at the next frat party. When you went outside to catch some fresh air you suddenly felt a hand on your waist making you jump. Just as you were about to start a fight with the person you noticed that it was Leighton. “Hey” you mumbled out with a small blush covering your face.

“Hey” she just stared at you for a moment making the blush even worse. “So, what do you think we get out of here?” You choked on the sip you just drank, avoiding eye contact.

“I- uhm. How’d -how do you know that I’m…you know?” You whispered, your eyes flicking around to make sure that nobody would hear you.

“I used to be like you, a little richer and a lot less shy but I can tell when you look at me” you were about to scream when she bit her lip while looking you up and down “so, wanna get outta here?” This time you nodded, quickly pulling Leighton away.

What was meant to be a one night stand turned into a lot more, it was hard to see you and Leighton apart. If it was in private you were always with her and if it was outside you were always with the her and her roommates. Every time you saw a gay couple walk down the street you wished it could be like this with you two but the thought of coming out makes you shiver in anxiety.

“Damn look, this is such a good TikTok for the sorority” Leighton said as she came back to you, her phone in hand. She turned it to you so you could watch it. “I am definitely going to post that. It’s the perfect mix between rich, hot, sexy and perfect” she explained further. While you hated to admit it, because she was, just like Bella pathological overconfident, it was true. She was wearing expensive shit, her hair was slightly messy from your activities and her lip sync and movements were nailed.

“Wait, did you already post that?” You suddenly panicked, staring at the phone trying to figure out if she did.

“Yeah why?” Her voice was so normal and unbothered which nearly made you snap. It would be stupid to snap at her as she didn’t see the problem but in that moment you were just too in your head. I mean we are talking about THE Leighton Murray, that video would have thousands of views before you could do anything.

“You HAVE to delete that!!” You quickly said, trying to figure out how to do that.

“No, why would I? It’s perfect” she argued taking the phone from you.

“Because my letterman jacket is in the back! With my name on it and some cloths beneath!” You explained pointing to the problem which made her sigh.

“We are always together, people won’t figure out that this means anything” she first said, but when she looked at your panicked state she stepped back. “I’m sorry, I’ll delete it” she quickly did that before setting the phone down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t care about your feelings because I do and I get how you’re feeling. When I was still in the closet my ex flipped every time it came to this. We broke up because I made her take down a picture where you could see an inch of my bag” she laughed slightly at the end to ease some of the tension.

“I really want to show people that I’m with you, you know that right? It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it, I just don’t want everybody to see me differently” you explained as you laid back into her arms, your teary eyes breaking her heart.

“I know, I get it. You do it on your timeline and if you want any help coming out just tell me” she stroked your back and pressed a kiss to your lips. Your lips chased hers as she pulled away.

“Are you sure that this isn’t too much for you?” Alicia asked, she didn’t know who Leigh was seeing but she knew that there was someone. They had decided to become friends again after a while as Leighton had to do charity work again. “I mean you’ve just come out of the closet and now it’s like you’re back in it again. She’s pulling you back in the closet and it’s not looking good on you” she added.

The blonde had to take a deep breath to calm down because otherwise she would have killed Alicia. There was no way she was going to talk bad about you and try to make her break up with you. “Look, in contrast to you I don’t break up with her over her being scared. I’ll give her the support and love she needs to show the world that she’s a badass bitch and if I ever see you talking to her or about her like that you’re gonna have a problem” with that Leighton stormed off to your dorm.

“Hey, is y/n there? I’m here for math tutoring” the blonde said, a disgusted look in her face to make it look like she was really coming for that. Your roommates didn’t know and if she came here happily instead of annoyed they would have known something was off. The youngest Murray wasn’t known for being happy and nice to everyone that walked her way.

“Yeah, she’s in her room. Just knock, she’s alone here. The rest of us got class. So bye” your roommate rushed out, clearly scared of the girl. Leighton bit her lip to hide her grin as she walked past the girl and to your room. After a quick knock she let herself in to a surprised you.

As soon as the door closed her hands grabbed your waist to pull you into her, her lips joining yours seconds later. The kiss was fast and heated as you could barely keep up, your arms wrapped around her neck while hers went under your shirt but they stayed on your naked waist. By now you realized that this wasn’t sexual, no it was Leighton trying to find reassurance.

Once you both ran out of breath you pulled away, a dreamy look on your face while there was a concerned one on hers. “What’s wrong?” You asked as your hand cupped her cheek, your thumb rubbing over her skin softly.

“Please tell me that you don’t feel pressured to come out by me. That I’ve been supportive and made you feel good about yourself” you were shocked, you had never seen her so insecure and desperate.

“Hey, where’s all this coming from? Of course you’ve been supportive, you never made me feel like I had to come out and I’m so thankful for that. What made you feel like you didn’t?” You asked as you pulled her to your bed, you rested again the headboard so Leighton could lay between your legs with her head on your chest.

“I had a talk with Alicia about us, she didn’t know that it’s you but that I’m with a girl who’s closeted and she started to talk shit about how it, about how hard it was to be a with someone who is closeted and shit. I got so mad because that’s what she left me for but now that I’m with you I don’t get it at all. I don’t think being in the closet with you is hard” she confessed and even though you tensed up at the name of her ex you couldn’t help but smile at her monologue.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry she made you feel like that. But you? Damn girl, you’re awesome and I’m happy that you’re my girl” you grinned as you said the corniest line you could think of.

“God, that was disgusting. Never say something like that again” she complained making both of you laugh as she snuggled closer.

“So, my roommates isn’t coming home tonight. Do you maybe wanna sleep over?” You asked as you rested your chin on top of her head.

“Yeah, why not”

———————————————————————————

Part 2 of reader coming out?

[purerae]

╭────༺♡༻────╮

YANDERE!DEMON X ANGEL!READER (GN) // PT1

warnings ;; possessive behaviour, yandere themes, i have no real knowledge of how demons nd angels work pls forgive me !!

req by ;; @kenji-sato <3

╰────༺♡༻────╯

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!DEMON who’s literally the most charming and prettiest demon in the whole dimension. He was made to seduce humans into giving into their lust and committing sins.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!DEMON who views both humans and angels unappealing to look at. Humans are too…morally gray and act like they know it all. While angels believe they know better than the ‘dirty little demons’. He thinks that angels are hypocrites

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!DEMON who was minding his business, sneaking around places in the spiritual world until his eyes land on you. You looked so innocent, so naive, so easy to corrupt.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!DEMON who slyly walks up to you when you reach a dead end and puts an arm against the wall. He gives you a wild cheshire grin, as his horns flare up and his devils tail tickles under your chin. “What’s an Angel doing out here? Causing trouble~? We don’t want another fallen one down here do we cutie?~”

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!DEMON who gets taken back when you’re literally the most friendly being on earth. Angels normally give him a dirty look and curse him for being on the devils side but..you…you’re just so nice????

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!DEMON who literally combusts when he hears your voice. You introduce yourself with the cutest smile hes ever seen??? Why does he want to go on his knees for you??? did you bless him with some spell??? If he had to make up a heaven, He’d just put your face and voice everywhere.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who goes redder than hellfire but covers it up with a smirk and goes back to his normal charismatic ways. Flirting with you while you just softly giggle at him. (stop giggling or he will whimper and scream, this mf is in love with you in first sight)

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who now follows you around everywhere. Unfortunately you tend to hang around the higher levels of angels who seem to be very protective of you so he has to be sneaky. You’re just so cute… Why do you have to be the purest thing in the world :( Let him corrupt you so you guys can be together forever in hell!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who snarls at the angels telling you to avoid him. Who do they think they are. You’re the only one worthy of the true definition of an angel. The rest are mindless followers. You are the only one who’s worthy in his heart.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who hasn’t visited the human world in a while. Too focused on you, he forgets to lure humans in and corrupt them. You made him dumb in love !

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who always tries to take the lead, holding your hand, making you sit on his lap, whispering sensually in your ears. But you don’t get flustered. So why does he have to get flustered at the bare minimum you do! Why does he melt into a puddle when you smile at him?!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who thought being a demon was the best thing in the universe and he would rather burn in holy water than be an angel, thinks about being good for you. If he decides to change his ways back into being the pretentious angels then maybe he could be around you more. and protect you from the stupid angels.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who gets angry when he realises he’s not the only demon you’re nice too. What do you mean you scold other demons for hurting themselves?? What do you mean you have inside jokes with them?? What do you mean you hang out with the other demons and they act soft around you too?? It was supposed to be him. Just him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥YANDERE!DEMON who’s had enough of you being nice to everyone. He needs to have you all to himself. No demons. No angels. No humans. You don’t need anyone. You only need him.

“Angel~ Come here, I need to show ya’ something!”

purerae<3

[itsthewritergal]

Please can I hold you? - Bucky.Barnes x Reader

Hello my loves,

I'm trying to be better this year at writing.

Summary: Y/N leaves, and Bucky tries his hardest to fix it.

TW: Kissing, trauma, family trauma, shouting, swearing, (let me know if I've missed some)

January 1st, it was supposed to be their year. They had promised each other that this was it, Bucky and Y/N. Bucky had promised no more long missions away from Y/N, Y/N had promised that she would move in with Bucky so they could finally spend more time together. A good year was what they wanted, what they deserved, what they needed.  But here they were screaming at each other over Bucky not kissing Y/N at midnight. Y/N had explained to Bucky multiple times that she was at the edge, she couldn’t cope anymore with arguing, and whilst Bucky never admitted it, he hated it just as much, if not more than Y/N. Yet here they were. 

“And another thing, I didn’t even want to go to Nat’s stupid New Year’s eve party” Bucky screamed ‘I wanted to be at home with you’ was the bit he failed to include in his insult. 

“You told me you wanted to be with people you loved on New Year’s Eve, I thought it would be fun” She shouted back “You think it was fun for me? Because it fucking wasn’t. All I wanted to do was come home, the whole night, but you wanted to keep drinking” She seethed, Bucky wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. He didn’t want to drink, but he stupidly got caught up in the party. 

“Now you’re going to get at me for drinking? Like you don’t do it every single weekend” He shouted, “Thor never brings that fucking mead, I deserved to have a nice night” He was being mean intentionally, but he couldn’t stop. 

“I never said you didn’t Buck” She said her voice suddenly quieter, Bucky should have noticed it was because she was getting upset but he didn’t. 

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working? I just wanted one nice night” Bucky should have stopped himself, he knows he should stop but he couldn’t. He was angry at himself for not putting his foot down and saying he wanted to spend time with just Y/N. 

“One nice night?” Y/N parroted “The nights we have aren’t nice? Is that what you’re saying?” 

“No! You’re twisting my words” Bucky snapped, he spoke with insecurity but it came across as anger and Y/N didn’t like that 

“Because I’m the bad guy right? James Bucky Barnes can’t put a foot wrong, but I can. That’s all I do right?” Y/N said, her fears coming to the surface. The insecurity was all from her messed up childhood, Bucky knew that from their late night chats, when they’d lay next to each other and confess everything, but he didn’t realise that the fear was seeping into their relationship. 

“That’s not what this is about” Bucky said realising suddenly how far he had taken the fight, and how distraught Y/N was becoming 

“Isn’t it?” Y/N snapped, her eyes locked onto Bucky as a target.

“You’re making this worse than it needs to be” Bucky said, unknowingly adding more fuel to the fire 

“Yeah that’s me isn’t it? Making everything worse. Don’t worry Buck, I get it” She snapped turning away from Bucky 

“Where the hell are you going?” He called after her 

“Downstairs Buck, I need some space away from you right now” She stormed out of their bedroom and down the stairs. Bucky sat down on their bed with his head in his hands, he had just fucked everything up. 

Taking a deep breath Bucky decided to set an alarm for 10 minutes, and once it had gone off he would go and speak to Y/N calmly about his feelings. That was how they were going to fix it. He knew he had messed up but he would fix it. 

Y/N stood in their hallway, and listened to Bucky close their bedroom door. She knew she had blown things out of proportion, she had made things worse. The little voice in her head told her she had messed things up seriously this time. There was no coming back from this. Bucky hated her, she knew that much. The thought along was enough to almost break her, pulling on her trainers she left the house silently, following the little voice down the streets. She twisted and turned around the streets she used to love walking with Bucky, but now they just felt like they were taunting her as she remembered the kisses they had shared at the bus stop, and the stray cat they had wanted to adopt by the street corner.  She couldn’t cope with it, so she began to run. 

The wind blew in her ears, the kind of fierce that stopped her from having to think, it was dark and the street lamps did little to ease her discomfort. She was on her way home, in the desperate hope that Bucky was asleep, or at Steve’s or Sam’s. She had no idea of the time,  having left her phone at home in Bucky’s jacket pocket most likely, but she sent a silent prayer to the sky that it was late enough that Bucky wouldn’t still be around. She couldn’t face him, not after everything she had done. Her mother was right, she wasn’t made for relationships, she would always mess them up, and now she had screwed up the only good thing she had going for her. This was it. She was done. Y/N didn’t notice the way her hands shivered a little with the cold biting wind, with her furious mood and growing insecurity she had forgotten a coat.  As she turned onto her and Bucky’s street the tears started again, this really was the end. Her and Bucky were about to be done, finished, ended. 

So much for their year. She mused to herself silently, revelling in the cruel twist of fate, her mother was right. 

Pushing the handle of the door down quietly, in the hope to not wake Bucky if he was in, Y/N creaked the door open. She took a shaky step into the house, listening out for Bucky. When she was satisfied that there was no sound of him she closed the door behind her and took off her shoes. 

“Y/N?” Bucky’s shaky voice called out, she froze. “Baby?” He said coming into the hall, Y/N put her hand back on the door handle, she was ready to run again, this was not a conversation she was ready to have. 

“Don’t you dare ever scare me like that again” He said wrapping his arms around her tensed body, Y/N kept herself tensed, she was ready to run if she needed. 

“I know you’re scared, I know you think you’ve messed this all up but I swear to you this whole argument is on me” he said refusing to let her out of his embrace, 

“Bucky stop” she said quietly 

“I’m sorry” He said dropping his arms, she looked up at him with red eyes “Could you come and sit down in the lounge for me?” He asked 

“I should go” 

“No” Bucky said “You’re going to come and sit down and we are going to talk about this, because we are bigger than your insecurities and we are going to fix this” he said, 

“Oh,” Y/N said “oh” She repeated once the words had settled into her head “You aren’t breaking up with me?” 

“Come on doll, come sit down for me?” He said 

“Ok” She said, following Bucky through their house. 

Y/N settled herself into an armchair, where she could curl her legs up underneath herself. Bucky opted for the sofa opposite her, picking up on the fact that she didn’t want to touch him just yet. 

“Before we start, the next time you need to get away you tell me where you’re going. I was terrified doll, I know the kind of people that are out there and if you need space, please let me come with you. I promise I won’t walk beside you or speak to you but I need to know you are safe.” Bucky said “Please?” 

“I’m sorry Buck” She said,

“No apologies. We have to make mistakes to fix them for the future yeah?” He said 

“I don think I can do this Bucky. All your friends hate me, I invited you to a party you didn’t want to be at, I asked you to cut down your missions. Everything I do, makes me the issue in this relationship” She said, 

“That’s not true, everyone loves you—”

“No they don’t, they put up with me” 

“No, no, Y/N. Please don’t do this. I know you’re spiralling, I know that you’ve always been made to believe that its your fault. But I swear to you this one is on me. I wanted to spend New Years Eve with just you. I wanted to kiss you at midnight, but I fucked up. I got drunk and neglected you. You should have been my priority at midnight, not that stupid drink” 

“I should’ve let you have fun” Y/N said 

“No, I should have kissed you” Bucky said, his tone was final and Y/N didn’t want to argue anymore. 

“I didn’t deserve it” 

“You don’t have to earn love” Bucky said, moving to the carpeted space in front of Y/N’s armchair, taking Y/N’s hands in his he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles “I love you, I want to spend my life with you and I will spend every single moment apologising to you for the way I acted” 

“I’m sorry for saying all those mean things Buck” Y/N said “I didn’t mean them I just wanted to make myself the bad person so you could hate me. I wanted you to hate me” 

“Why did you want that?” Bucky asked after pressing another kiss to her hand 

“So you’d end things, so my fears could come true. It’s sadistic, but I guess I’m always just waiting for the end so I just wanted it to happen. Like ripping a bandage off” 

“Oh Y/N” Bucky said gently “You never have to be scared of me leaving. We will always work through our issues, you’re my life. You’re my world, this is it for me.” 

“So you’re not waiting for me to fuck up so you can leave?” 

“No, I’m not” Bucky said 

“I’m sorry” she whispered 

“No more apologies” Bucky whispered “Please let me hold you baby? We can talk more in the morning I promise. But right now I just need to hold you”

“You never need to ask”

[egg-but-with-style]

Stalker Simon <3

He's been watching you for days and you don't even know. Well you do know, you just don't know it's him. It's kinda cute watching you get all paranoid. All the looking behind yourself in alleyways, like he'd be stupid enough to be right behind you.

All the times your eyes go wide the second you hear a strange noise when you're out late at night, or even in your own home. He doesn't make noises though, it's just the house settling.

What actually is him though, is the little gifts he leaves you. That guy at work who called you fat and not in a good way? His tongue is cut out and placed on your doormat. You call the police, of course.

It doesn't do anything though, they tell you whoever did it probably was proficient in knives. If only you knew. So you just head back home and cry, after throwing away your door mat of course.

You feel eyes on you in the subway, at work, in your own home. Then one day it all stops. The paranoia, the strange gifts that range from flowers to body parts.

For a couple months, your life is peaceful. You feel like you can actually go out, enjoy life. Not having to worry about what's behind you.

Then one horrible day a note appears on your kitchen counter. It read,

"I'm sorry for my absence, I had business to attend to elsewhere. I wish I could've stayed and been with you these past couple months, but not everything I wish for comes true. It's okay now though, I've missed you so much and I have something big planned, you'll love it. No, it's not a human tongue, saw how fussy you got about that last time. You've gotten real complicate since I left, huh? You aren't nearly as jumpy, since by the time you finished this note, I'm probably alrea-"

Then you're yanked away before you can read the rest, pulled into a bear huge from behind, you want to scream, but then something covers your mouth, and you hear a deep voice behind you

"Breathe, lovie."

And you do, you have to breath after all. Then it all goes black.

[yanderestarangel]

"My heart belongs to you alone..."

TW: insecurities, jealousy, reader has trust issues, make-up sex, dom!bi han, praise, v!sex, ftm reader, rough sex, smut, little angst, afab anatomy.

⸺ Your insecurity was never new to him, however, Bi Han didn't really understand why you doubted his conduct and fidelity, but he was an understanding man, who loved you and understood that certain aspects would have to be worked on in your core - From past relationships, he was proud of you and even if he didn't say it verbally, his heart cried out for every piece of you... However, not even the cyromancer's solid passion and love stopped you from feeling hurt and insecure again.

Your jealousy and doubts were so visible that it even hurt, especially when you saw several people - new ninja recruits - trying to flirt with the grandmaster, you tried to control yourself, tried to control that underlying sadness that was trying to climb back into your mind and dope your senses...

But it was too late, especially when I saw some of them whispering about how much they wanted to sleep with their man. Bi Han wasn't stupid and he knew they were trying to flirt with him, he wanted to be a polite leader but that disgusted him, especially because he said several times that you were his partner, but it didn't help and it was too much for you to bear - when he realized you had already left for home which led him to cancel the rest of the training for the next day and go run after you, you were his number one priority.

⸺ Your body was lying on the bed, wrapped like a snail in several sheets, while the copious crying was audible, sub zero was a patient man... But at that moment, he knew that words wouldn't help enough, so he decided to act, act in the best way you could think of - taking the sheets off you with a quick movement, and forcing you to look deep into his eyes, "-Look at me." he ordered sternly, your eyes boring into his, seeking understanding.

"-Do you really believe that I would betray you like that?" His tone softened slightly. "-I chose you because you make me feel alive again. Because you bring light back to my dark world. Do you understand?" This time, he didn't even wait for a response from you, forcefully tearing any fabric that still prevented him from seeing your pretty pussy in his hungry eyes.

You babbled incoherent thoughts to him, letting your insecurities speak louder, which made Bi Han angry. With a violent movement of his hips, he buried himself completely inside you, moaning deeply as he did so - He gave you a light armbar on your neck - reaching down, he slapped your ass hard enough to make you scream before returning to his merciless pace.

Bi-Han grew in frustration, seeing you continue crying because you were insecure, but he held you in place, even if painfully, his cock throbbing against your cunt. "-You know that's not true baby boy...," he snarled, his free hand reaching between your legs to roughly rub your clit through - He began to thrust faster, harder than before, asserting his dominance over you both physically and emotionally.

His pace didn't slow down even as tears continued to trickle down your cheeks, staining the sheets beneath you. "-Listen to me boy." he commanded between heavy breaths. "-I choose you every fucking time. No matter what anyone else says or thinks, it doesn't change how I feel about you." His pace didn't falter, if anything, it intensified.

His hips bucked faster, harder, driving him deeper into your tight channel. Your moans turned into high-pitched whimpers, muffled by the hold on your throat. "-You are beautiful," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. "-Oh- So fucking beautiful... How could I change you? How could I leave you for someone else- You are my husband, goddamnit! And don't you dare forget it!" As he spoke, he began to thrust deeper and harder, pounding into you relentlessly.

The combination of pleasure and pain was overwhelming, causing new tears to well up in your eyes. But despite the carnal and mental pain, something inside you calmed down and you relaxed a little, as you looked directly into his eyes - He moaned deeply, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss. "-That's a good boy... Cum, cum for me, my angel." Sub-zero groaned deeply, his cock twitching violently inside you as your orgasm washed over him - he followed suit seconds later, filling your pussy with hot cum.

His hips continued to rock back and forth for a few moments before he finally released his hold on your throat, allowing you to gasp for air - panting heavily, he turned to look at you, you both sweaty bodies intertwined in a mess of flesh and fluids. "-That was... intense," he managed between heavy breaths. "-But I think we both needed that... Never forget that I love you... never despise yourself again, I love you, I fucking love you."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[cozage]

Could you write headcanons where luffy, sanji, law, and zoro react to their s/o shouting i hate you in a heated argument out of anger and it’s angst to comfort because she didn’t really mean it? thank you <3

A/N: Wow! Talk about complete opposites here with Sanji & Luffy vs Law & Zoro. This was a fun angst request! Thanks!

Characters: female reader x luffy, sanji, law, zoro

Cw: angst (but all happy endings!)

Total word count: 1k

Hate is Such a Strong Word

Luffy

You can see the shock in his eyes, the pain in his face. It’s so clear that he’s taken aback by your words and for the first time in your recent memory, Luffy is silent for a long time. He just stares at you, trying to decipher your words.

You instantly regret saying it. He’s like a little puppy who’s been scolded and didn’t even realize what he did wrong. Except he does realize what he did, he just didn’t realize it was such a big deal until this moment. 

His voice trembles when he speaks. “You don’t mean that, do you? You don’t really hate me, right?”

He wraps you in a hug, not giving you a chance to respond. He holds you so tight there's no chance for escape. “Take it back,” he begs. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around him too. “No, Luffy, I don’t hate you. I'm sorry I said that.”

He gives you an extra tight squeeze and then releases you. He’s not one to hold a grudge, so he apologizes again for upsetting you and promises to do better in the future, already forgetting your misspoken words. 

Sanji

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, Sanji knew his worst nightmare had come true. You were finally done with him.

He spent a moment deciding if he should beg for forgiveness or if he should accept your hatred, but you stormed out of the room before he could make a decision. 

He prepares the finest snacks for you and the girls to share. He silently sets them down while you all are chatting, even though you’re still giving him the cold shoulder. He lets you vent and get everything off your chest with them, even if it makes him look like the bad guy. 

He spends all afternoon preparing your favorite dessert, and when he sees that you’re finally done talking with the girls, he calls you over and apologizes for his wrongdoing that made you so upset. You accept both his verbal apology and his dessert one. 

But things are different between you two. He’s more distant, more nervous around you than before. Finally you confront him about it, and he admits your words have been weighing on his mind. 

It’s then that you realize how important words are to Sanji. You apologize with words and kisses and anything else you can think of to make it up to him. You remind yourself to give him more words of affirmation to help show your love, and you swear that those words will never come out of your mouth again. 

Law

His eye twitches when you scream it out to him, and his face turns to steel. “If you hate me so much, then leave.”

He storms out of the room without letting you respond. He wants the satisfaction of having the last word in this argument. You’re too angry to care.

He locks himself in his office for the most part. When he comes out of his room, he rampages through the ship. He’s slamming doors and cabinets shut, throwing things down harder than normal, everything he does is just super aggressive. 

“Why don't you just apologize?” Penguin finally asks. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong!” Law yells back, his words echoing through the whole ship. 

This man is too prideful to apologize first. It’s a waiting game between the two of you. You don’t sleep together, he stops eating meals with the crew.

You finally cave, and knock softly on his office door. He doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry I said I hated you,” you say through the door. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said that. It was a really stupid thing to say”

The door finally opens, and you can see dark circles under his eyes. He pulls you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head. “And I’m sorry for what I did. I’ll do better in the future.” 

The whole crew breathes a sigh of relief, knowing you two are okay again.

Zoro

At first the words didn't faze him. You continued screaming at each other, voices rising louder to outdo one another. 

And then the words came again. “I hate you Roronoa Zoro. I’ll never forgive you for this!” you screamed, and you stormed out the door, slamming it behind you. 

It was in the silence after that he realized the impact of your words. And he realizes that he’s scared. 

He tries to push down his anxiety by hiding in the crow’s nest and working out relentlessly. He’s avoiding everyone, but mostly you and your wrath.

He prays that you’ll come apologize to him, but after two days you still haven’t appeared in the crows nest. He’s constantly glancing out the deck, trying to find a glimpse of you whenever he can without getting caught. 

On the afternoon of the third day, he realizes he’ll have to spend another night without you if he doesn’t apologize soon, and he finally gives in. He climbs down the ladder and walks over to where you and Nami are sunning in some lounge chairs and stands over top of you, clearing his throat. “Can I talk to you alone?” his voice comes out irritated unintentionally.

“Not with that tone,” you shoot back, still mad at him. He grits his teeth, and you see a blush start to appear over his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear that he’s being genuine. “I didn’t mean to make you so upset.”

You sigh and get up from the chair, leading him away to talk in private. He continues to apologize, asking you how he can do better in the future. 

You’re pleased with this development, and you give him a quick peck on the lips to show all is well again. “I’m sorry too,” you say. “I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”

“So, we’re okay?” he asks, looking at you inquisitively. “We’re okay,” you assure him.

[onakomiyaki]

HEY, THAT WAS NOT A BAD IDEA! | op81 x reader

summary : you and oscar trying to sneak up to daniel's farm after he invited both of you to his house in perth. and something happen when you least expected.

pairing : reader x oscar piastri

a/n : this is originally mick schumacher x reader fanfic, but i figure oscar made more sense since he is from australia so yeah :D. also, my first oscar fic i ever made!

"Y/N this is a bad idea! C'mon lets go back before someone find us." Oscar said while hoisting your feet as you climb over the fence with a grunt.

"Hold up–we'll be fine! I'll open the gate once I jump over this stupid gate."

"Y/N it is locked from the inside for a reason!"

"Boo, you such a chicken." you said as you finally sat on top of the gate.

You jumped down with a small yelp, thankfully still in once piece before walking towards the gate door. Oscar watch in silence as he scan the parameter, afraid that someone will find you here.

You open the gate with ease, thankful that the gate is not locked by lock. Oscar carefully follow you, not forgetting to lock the door back.

"I know we should've steal Daniel's dirtbike as well." you said, determined to explore the area.

"We definitely should NOT do this or that." Oscar said, walking ahead of you before turning his body to face you.

"Why not?"

"Because–Y/N, because we are a guest. Guest should just stay put." Oscar said, stopping you by holding both of your shoulder. He tried to be the voice of reason.

You rolled your eyes at the Oscar, patting his chest before walk pass him. He let out a exaggerated sigh then harshly wipe his face before turning his body as he follow you.

You let out your phone as you took few pictures of Daniel's massive farm, smiling as you trail the path happily. While Oscar turn into grumpy father, following you and watching over you so that you didn't do anything more reckless than this.

"Daniel will notice us missing from his house by now" he said, taking his phone out as well.

"Ah, he won't. You see how busy that man is with his new wine development and his new merch release." you answer, dismissing the Aussie.

Well what you said its true, the older man is quite busy even in his break. While he had invited you both to his house for a dinner, he apologize for leaving you both behind to finish his meeting with his team.

"You guys can look around the house!" He said.

And you being a good friend, went and did that. Well, technically you and Oscar are looking around his farm which is also part of his house, right?

"Y/N the sun is almost down, we really should get back now." Oscar look at his phone with concern while you happily skip away.

"C'mon what could possibly went wrong– AHHH!"

You let out a scream as you fall ungracefully to the ground. Oscar had call your name before running to you, immediately kneeling beside you.

"Y/N are you okay?" he said as he sat you down.

You wince as you sat down, one of your leg is clearly trapped in a small hole. And when Oscar help you out by pulling your leg, you scream in agony making the poor boy drop your leg immediately.

"I think I sprained my ankle." You said, tears starting to collect in your eyes.

Oscar calmly stand up and search around for something to help elevate your leg. He found a small log and he prop your hurting ankle on top of it carefully.

You let out a sigh as you put both of your hands on your side to support your body, silently watching as Oscar untying your shoes.

"See, I knew this would happen." Oscar grumbled as he manage to take off your shoes. You let out a laugh.

"I didn't see the small burrow. I feel bad for whatever animal made that burrow, I just destroy their house." you pout.

Oscar finally look up to your face, mouth open in disbelief. He then shake his head as he sat beside you.

"You're hurt and you still care about animals. I really want to know what's going on inside your little head." Oscar said.

"I can't help it! I just love animals, okay? Blame Steve Irwin for that, I grew up watching him. Rest in peace king." you answer as you send the sky a kiss and a peace sign.

Oscar let out a scoff as he lay down on his back, using both his arms as a pillow. He close his eyes, facing the sky. He hear a rustling, before feeling your arm touch his elbow. Oscar cracked an eye to watch you mirroring him.

"Now what?" He asked, voice dejected.

"We call Daniel." You simply answer as if its not a big deal.

"You call him then!" He nudge your elbow with his.

"Fine..." you said as you let out your phone from your pocket.

Oscar once again close his eyes, enjoying the breeze while you fumble with your phone. But the peace doesn't last long. He heard you tapping your phone aggressively before let out trains of cursed words in Italian.

"How is it?" Oscar asked.

"Stupid phone got no signal. Try yours." you grumble as you put the phone down.

Oscar sigh as he fished out his phone from his pocket. He quickly type Daniel on his contact and press the green button. After a few minutes the call didn't even connect and he just shake his head.

"Oh okay, we're just gonna die in here then." you said.

"Told ya' it was a bad idea." Oscar said.

"Okay, shut up Osc."

The sky slowly turn into an orange hue, and you start to get restless. You picked up some grass beneath you and play with it. Oscar had just left, looking for some help while you wait patiently.

You look around the farm, trying to find some animal to keep you entertain. But there are not even a single animal on sight, adding more disappointment in your short-lived adventure.

"Okay there's only bad news." Oscar said as he run towards you and you sigh again.

"Oh c'mon! What is it?"

"We are actually far from the track."

"What?"

"Okay, we are lost. I can't find the path back to the gate."

And you almost faint at that information. You ruffle your own hair in frustration as you let out a silent scream, this day could be worse. Oscar sat beside you once again, this time clicking his tongue. He knew Daniel own a big-ass farm but he didn't expect Daniel's farm to be this big.

"This place is basically a sanctuary." he said.

"Yeah, now I regret not listening to you."

"See Y/N, you should listen to me. I am the good angel on your shoulder." Oscar said with proud tone.

"Oh shut up Piastri." you response, looking away from him.

And then there is a silence between the two of you as you both watching the sun slowly disappear behind the horizon. Despite of the mess, this is actually nice place to watch the sunset. Hey, maybe this adventure was not bad after all.

Oscar clear his throat, making you turn your gaze to him. You raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him with confused expression.

"What's up Osc?" you asked.

"Since we're certainly will die here, I would just say this. Brace yourself okay?" he answer with serious expression.

"Okay...?"

He nervously inhaling a deep breath before softly letting the air out from his mouth. Then he stare directly at your eyes and you smile at him.

"Go on." you encourage him.

"Okay. Y/N, I've been wanting to tell you this for a long time. Ever since Daniel introduce you to me back in January 2023, when I lay my eyes on you."

"Alright." you smile at him, head titled.

"I–I like you. Like a lot. And although you drive me crazy sometimes, I still like you. Yes, you are the most stupid and reckless girl I ever met but somehow that makes me like you even more." he confess, and you wait for him to finish.

"I like the way you always ramble about how you want to be an adventurer or how cute baby meerkats are. And what I like the most about you is how stupidly brave you are."

"I like the way your eyes lit up every time you saw a wild cat and the way you stop everything you do just to give them a pat. That is adorable, I can't lie."

"Point is, I like you a lot. And you don't have to like me back, that's okay. But I feel like I have to tell this okay because I can't–"

Before he continue his rambling, you lean forward and kiss him. His eyes widened in surprise as his brain short-circuited, but after that he closed his eyes and kiss you back. He cupped your face as he deepen the kiss, tilting you head and sitting closer to you.

After a minute or so, you break the kiss staring at him silently. You can see how his cheeks turn pink under the orangey sky, and you shot him a smile.

"Took you long enough." you whisper.

"Sorry that it took us stranded in Daniel's big-ass farm to say that to you." he chuckled, and you followed.

"KIDDOS ARE YOU THERE?!" both you and Oscar perks up at the familiar voice.

He immediately stand up and shouted back. "OVER HERE DANIEL!"

Daniel and one of his friend let out a relief breath as he saw you and Oscar still in one piece. He run towards you with frown.

"Guys I told you to look around the house, not the farm!" He sternly said, standing with both hands on his hips.

"Blame her, I tried to stop her." Oscar said.

"Hey! I thought you won't snitch on me!" you protest.

"I already snitch on you after you climbed the gate. I texted Daniel but I guess he just read my message just now." He simply said and you let out a gasp.

"Traitor."

Daniel kneel down in front of you, examining your ankle. He touch your ankle slowly and you let out a sharp hiss.

"Well, I hope you learn your lesson Y/N. And also your ankle is twisted but its not that bad, we can compress it with ice pack and put some ointment to subdue the pain," Daniel said as he rose. "Now lets get you outta here. Oscar you carry her, I'm gonna help and prepare some ice for her."

"What? Why me?" Oscar whine.

"Because you are my boyfriend now, Osc. So suck it up and carry me." you said, smirking at him.

Oscar let out a groan but then carry your body bridal style. You let out a yelp as you hold onto him.

"Oscar I mean piggy back! Not this!" you said, face turning red.

"Nah this is easier, beside you are not heavy at all. So stop complaining and just sit still." he deadpanned.

Daniel grab your left shoe as he follows you and Oscar behind as his friend lead them out of the farm. He watch at how you and Oscar basically bite each other ears, but still manage to look fall in love with each other. He shake his head at the young lovers and smile.

"These kids I swear."

-fin