#and I recognize I could become that again if I really worked at it

[deathbxnny]

So we know that Boothill had a daughter but what is he had a S/O that also was killed but their consciousness was put into a robotic body(?) and they work for the IPC. Not having any memory of what the IPC did to their family and they meet Boothill again after a long time. Maybe they didn’t even recognize Boothill. Just angst.

ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ congratulations on 1000!!!

Oooh, I really love this request, Anon!! I've been craving something angsty and tragic, so I hope you'll like this and thank you for the request!!<33

Content: Reader is similar to the Androids from "Detroit: Become human", spoilers to Boothills past!!, past romantic relationship, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, reader kind of is hinted to have a southern sounding accent, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

"You promised your next life to me." (Boothill x Gn!Reader)

"That was close-" "-Too close! I told ya not to shut the gates too hard! The damned hens nearly got us killed when they woke up!" A young Boothill hissed to you, although there was no malice in his voice, only a playful tune of amusement. You grinned, biting into one of the apples you had stolen. "But we're alive right now, aren't we?"

The sun was slowly peeking out from beyond the mountains, painting the skies above you in soft blues, pinks, and oranges. You leaned against the tree you were both hiding in, trying your best not to fall out of it or make too much noise, lest the swearing and enraged farmer nearby heard you. It was just supposed to be a little early morning fun, in which you both hopped your neighbors fence to get some of his freshly harvested apples.

Some may call it stealing, but you often liked to call it "borrowing". Served the old man right anyway. He always sold them for too high of a price at the market!

"God damn you, brats! Once I get my hands on you, you'll never think of crossing my damned fields again!" The farmer yelled, loading his shot gun, before he seemed to trip over the pots you had accidentally run into on your way to the tree. Both of you snorted at the cursing intensifying, your hands pressing against your mouths to weakly muffle the laughs that threaten to bubble out of you.

A door creaked open in the distance, the disgruntled old wife hobbling out in annoyance. "RANDY! WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH ARE YOU DOIN'? IT'S NEARLY 5 AM!" She yelled, the farmer quick to scramble up and pull on his hat with a gulp. "Those damned kids are back!-" "-I don't care! Get your ass back in here, or so may the Aeons help me!" The man only reluctantly did as told, trudging back inside in sizzling rage, yet decided that for today, the little rats could escape him just one more time again. He'll get them next time.

You two waited for a while after the door slammed shut before you finally let out a relieved giggle. "That's what he gets! Old man Mr. Roger had it, comin'!" You slid down the tree, skillfully landing on your feet, before you ran towards the cornfield you came from. "Let's get back to the horses!" You called out behind you, making the young boy follow after you quickly, albeit slower due to being the one carrying most of your "borrowed" goods. You had always been the braver one. The one with the most energy and the most strength to do things. He looked up to you in moments like these, nearly admiring you when you jumped over the fence with no difficulty. He struggled alot more than you did before he too finally reached your horses on the otherside.

"That was really fun..." Boothill trailed off as he helped you load up your half of the apples onto your mare, that was attempting to take one for herself. You hummed in agreement, thanking him right after whilst he helped you onto your saddle. "It's always fun when you're with me." You commented with a shrug, not understanding the weight of your kind words that made his heart beat faster. You rode next to eachother in silence for a while, your eyes glued on the sunset before you, and yet the boy found you more interesting to look at. He bit his lip nervously when the sun hit your eyes just right, making them glow.

"I'm gonna hit the bed the second I'm home... but we'll meet later today again, okay? See ya!" It wasn't a request in Boothills' mind. No, it was simply a natural demand, a requirement to be there, to see you. He watched you ride on the opposite path back to your home, wondering when he too could be braver than you and spill the words that were on his mind for his best friend.

--

That was one of the only memories of Boothills childhood with you that he could remember anymore now. It was odd to think that you two were once nothing more than little troublemakers ridding through the early morning hours together. Only years later however, you'd see eachother every day through marriage.

Your home was a small cottage near the oceanside, miles of fields and meadows surrounding it, in the distance, unexplored forests and mountains. It was your idea to move there as it was still close to his family, and he couldn't have been more grateful. Especially with the small bundle of joy he one day found whilst he was out checking on the cattle during a strong thunderstorm. You were resting at home that night, your fingers moving quickly as they crocheted a blanket you had been working on for a while, ears strained to listen to the music over the static that played through the radio. The fireplace was warm, eyes beginning to drop shut from the exhaustion of a busy day on the farm, when suddenly the front door creaked open and in came your husband, soaked to the bone.

You sat up, watching carefully as he set down his dripping hat and pulled off his boots with one hand clumsily, the other tightly wrapped around something you couldn't see from the dimness of the room. "Come here, honey. Look what a sweet little thing I've found out there." He chuckled gently, holding out the wrapped bundle to you, whilst he pulled away some of the cloth to show the face of a small, sleeping infant. You gasped in surprise, eyes widening, as you were quick to take her out of the wet cloths and wrap her into your own warm arms. "Oh she really is so little!" You whispered in awe, and Boothill could see the love you had for what would soon become your adoptive daughter from the start.

She was your everything ever since that fateful night, you two lovingly calling her "Lavender" after the fields her father had found her in. She was a lively, easy child, so loving and sweet, that your heart couldn't help but be filled with her the moment you met her. Boothill found alot of purpose in raising her with you, often times taking her on horse rides around the land he owned, or taking her out to fish, whilst you taught her how to garden and crochet things herself.

You and Lavender were his sweethearts, his everything. All that Boothill lived for... until eventually, you weren't.

--

The day came in which the devil's from above, also calling themselves members of the "IPC" came down to slaughter you all senselessly. No one survived, no one but Boothill. Your daughter was dead instantly, her small daughter hidden under the heavy rubble, never having stood a chance against the bombs.

He could never forget the relief he felt when he found you, even if it was short-lived. You were fatally injured, breath labored and short, as you tried to hold on for just a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, tears in eyes when he saw the fear for the first time in yours. No amount of bravery could save you now. "(Y/N)... you... please, you can't die." He chocked out, unable to comprehend the agony he was in. Yet you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears, your hand reaching up to grasp his shirt tightly with all the strength you had left. "I'll... I'll find you. I swear I will. In my next life. I promise... I..." Your arm dropped, the fear relaxing into nothing, as your breathing came to an end, the only thing left being the crackling of flames around you.

.....

....

..

"Mr. Boothill? Are you... alright?" Dan Heng awkwardly nudged the now Cyborg man, his head tilting in confusion. Aventurine raised a brow, his arms crossing as his gaze met your rather unamused one in thought. "My... he only seemed to malfunction once you arrived, (Y/N)!" He grinned teasingly, making you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Can we please continue? You claimed we didn't have any time to waste." The blonde raised his arms in faux surrender, knowing he shouldn't bother you any more than summoning you here has.

A high-profile IPC android like you surely had better things to do after all than to deal with a failing country, but here you were.

Boothill, meanwhile, blinked a couple of times, his head hurting and throbbing in agonizing pain. Just how was this possible? Just how were you alive?

Why did you not recognize him?

"... I... sorry, they look really familiar." He said, trying to compose himself when you gave him a sharp, uninterested look. Your eyes always held so much kindness for everyone. How could you forget even that? Pulling down his hat to cover his eyes, he sighed and shook his head. He supposed both of you had changed beyond recognition in one way or another.

"Anyways... let's get goin'... that nice, wing-headed Mister ain't gonna go down on his own..." He continued, trailing off for a moment, before he simply turned and left to fulfill his part of the plan. He heard you scoff lightly, obviously unamused by whatever seemed to have angered you so much before coming here.

His soul ached for you in ways he couldn't ever utter out loud again. And whilst you did keep your promise of seeing him again, this is not the life or the way he had preferred.

At least you weren't a liar, he supposed bitterly with a cold chuckle.

Alrightyy... I finally found the time to write this, and I'm unsure how I like it... BUT it's done, and I hope it was okay for you, Anon!! Thank you again for the request!!<33

[catchingdaydreams]

Dungeon Meshi spoiler

Theory time : Laios greatest desires

It's been bugging me about what Laios greatest desires are as there are different ways to portray it. So here's my interpretation.

Firstly I want to acknowledge that Laios is still or some what is still the ultimate monster. Whatever he wrote down in his book describing the ultimate monster abilities (not physical appearances I'm focusing on) came true in one way, shape and form. Firstly, the ability to consume the lions desire in the first place. Secondly, in the side stories his poop actually creates a forest. Now the quote "can change shape" actually occurs twice throughout the series (so far).

Firstly turning into the monster and secondary, turning back to a human. The second time was not an act of the Lion as said quote "no magic works on it", thus it is completely Laios doing to shape shift freely. It's also interesting to note that both times he sheds his skin when changing into a new form. Like why this specially? Funny enough we do see this other time, as he turns into a wolf in his dreams to save his friend from the nightmares.

Furthermore, while turning back into a tall man, he isn't completely monster free. His aura remains that other monsters still recognize and therefore fear him.

The idea that weaker monsters fear stronger monsters to the extent of avoiding them is mentioned many times throughout the series. For example Senshi talks about how delicate the food chain is and that a stronger monster (squid/ krachen one) caused an imbalance to the abundance of other species. Naturally dragons are known to be one of the strongest monsters in the dungeon, as Thistle set a variety of different species to kill his party. Yet a common thing arises, coexist is near non-existent as power overall dominates all (either by kicking others off their territory or eating the weaker one). This Laios presence being the ultimate monster is not only removing other strong-ish monsters but disrupting the overall food chain.

Now that I establish what I think Laios is I want to drive it back to what his ultimate desire was. Here are some common ideas that I've seen from others on what his curse was:

To never turn back into the ultimate monster again.

Laios has repeatedly mentioned that he wanted to be another race and fauns over Falins chimera form. So never being able to shape shift again could be his curse.

Never will be full.

This theory stems from when Laios is still eating the dragon despite his friends being full/stick from overeating. They make a comment of concern when Laios says he's not really full yet. There is also speculation from one of the panel of Laios being dramatic as he tried to eat a walking mushroom.

Monsters fearing him and/or fail to cultivate them

In my opinion all of these are correct. Yet how?

Laios cannot eat monsters anymore

It was the main driver/theme thought the series from him and his group to eat monsters to survive. Yet little by little Laios ambitious desire to eat monsters for survival quickly became for the pleasure of taste. This isn't a bad thing, as I would like to clarify. Yet the Winged Lion doesn't really have a grasp of humanity and sees desire as desire, thus is exploiting Laios to go down a gluttonous path. And it does this by offering/guide them to a variety of monsters and access to water and basic needs for cooking. This though doesn't work as Laios is Laios. He isn't selfish. His desires for monsters mixed with the need for acceptance is heavily stated with wanted to integrate and cultivate monsters up on the surface. Furthermore, as he's not alone unlike other dungeon masters such as Thistle or Mithrun, his actions are quickly dispelled if they are reckless. For instance Senshi makes a very important note of keeping the ecosystem in balance and to not over take/kill species as it would upset the food chain. Without his party, gluttony would further be his downfall.

Yet becoming the ultimate monster can also be seen as a gluttonous ideal. He's a apex predator, thus like an actual apex predator no one is able to challenge him / prevent him on what he can or cannot eat eat. The only downfall to his survival is his abundance of prey. Heck being able to eat the lion's desire also alludes to his power of gluttony too.

So with the curse, wouldn't it be ironic to prevent his desire to eat monsters. Being the ultimate monster is now a double edged sword as prey escapes him. He cannot share his desires for eating monsters amongst his people anymore, thus the quotes or trial and error from the epilogue pages. Even if he gets his hands on a monster he cannot truly enjoy eating it, as it never makes him full, which can be interpreted from the epilogue page as well. One might look at the page and interpret as him getting ill from eating the walking mushroom too.

Basically, Laios, as a monster, cannot be a part of an ecological process such as a food webs. He wanted to be accepted and liked by his peers, now he's rejected by nature. Forced to crave for the taste of monsters flesh but it remains elusive.

Forever unsatisfied

By ones desire

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

[jonbene]

reading about puberty was really weird today. i wondered what it would be like to actually go through it and how long it will take? they gave us a little kickstarter pill after watching the video, but i was sure it wasn’t anything. it just made me tired. I just wanted to take a bath and go to bed.

but…by the time i got home, I felt weird in my body. it felt harder and heavier to walk. i knew i was tired, but even starting the bath was a struggle. it felt like my clothes were restricting me and it was harder to breathe. when i first looked in the mirror, it was so strange. it didn’t look like me. my face was more defined, fuzzier, and my hair was darker. it scared me at first, but then i remembered the kickstarter pill they gave us. omg! it was working! this was exciting now, what would we all look like in the morning?

i started to get undressed for the bath, but I stopped as I looked down at myself. My body was…prickly. hairs growing out everywhere. i thought this was only supposed to happen to men?

i lifted up my arm and watched as hair bushed out so quickly. it was as if being exposed to the air made it grow even faster. it was at this point i knew something was wrong. i was scared and panicked, trying to find a way to stop it.

i tried to put my clothes back on. maybe that would slow the process? but it was like the more i resisted the faster it went. i started shaking, everything hurt. my body hit its growth spurt. growing taller, wider, bulkier. packing on more and more muscle. I was bursting out of my clothes!

I had my dream body. The body i always wanted was looking back at me in the mirror, but it was all moving too fast. “StOP!!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “woah…what was that,” I said to myself in a, low, booming voice.

Terrified, my new man voice screamed out, “NO! MORE! ENOUGH!” as i watched the fine, prickly hairs, that once were there, burst out in thick, coarse hair intertwining over my now massive body. I backed away from the mirror in fear as my face matured. The full beard coming out of my face sealed the deal for me. I was no longer that kid in school. I slipped over the shredded clothes on the floor, and fell backwards into the bath. I looked down at myself in the water. I had no idea who this man was floating in the bath water.

Sitting there, I started to relax. I explored myself in this new adult body of mine. I started to enjoy the beauty of getting older and more mature. I never liked being a kid in school anyway. Acceptance washed over me as I emerged from the bath.

Drying myself off, I looked in the mirror again. Now recognizing the man I’d become. I wondered what would my parents think? What would everyone else in class look like? Do I even need to go back to school? None of these questions mattered to me anymore as I was relieved puberty had come and gone and I could begin my new life now.

[victory-cookies]

bro I’ll never again be able to do it like I was doing it in high school

[simcardiac-arrested]

no actually I’d like to hear your thoughts on the isat ending

Like i said it felt really tropey and by that i meant that it’s just Everything Good Happens forever and…..that’s it ? like idk we were building up to this huge catharsis sort of thing and then we got to it and it was so sudden and not a good payoff and just kind of nothingburger of an ending . the fact that everyone just forgives siffrin bothers me, or at least the fact that they don’t confront them about the shit they’ve said and done. call me a mental illness villainizer but i think if you’re a fucking asshole and doing the most insensitive things to the people you care about then hey, i think those ppl have a right to fucking tell you off for it. likeeee idk being at your lowest point …… not an excuse …. not feeling it chief ……. like sure the message is to move past your mistakes or whatever but ? that doesn’t mean just getting away with it ??? and i just really don’t understand Why everyone forgives him. honestly at the end of the day the ending is just one problem, the root of which are the characters. everyone feels like trope cardboard cutouts. oh, this is the smart one. this is the smol bean. this is the himbo. and they all care for each other btw. Did u hear that? they all care for each other. we’re not really going to explain to you why these people are so close or what they went through together but just trust me man they’re sooo found famy. like …. okay. i’ve played 30 hours of this game and not once did i buy that any of the characters really cared about each other. like??? why???? You’re telling me everyone super cares about siffrin even though they barely know them?? you’re telling me siffrin cares about everyone sooo much even though he never even bothered to find out their problems before ? Wat ? and this just breaks the ending more because literally whyyy do these people care about him so bad. and then it’s just whyyy does siffrin Have to tell them anything he doesn’t even seem to know them that well. everyone feels like colleagues and Just Friends at best. and so the ending just seems really forced. like it was written by that type of tumblr user who’s always talking about aww why does the found family have to break up after the end of the journey :( which is like fiiiiine. i guess. but u guys know that u have to build up to it right?? you can’t just tell me they’re Family Members(tm) 102829 times and that they super care about each other source: trust. you can’t just do that and then expect me to believe it ….. It feels unearned. the ending feels unearned and i don’ttttt understand what i’m supposed to take away from it . that it’s ok to fuck people up because you’re traumatized and insecure?? that you have to talk about your deepest problems with people you barely know??? i just dont know. Like i said if im being honest the problems with this game’s writing are more than just the ending, it just stands out so much because there’s a lot of build up and then just …… That

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[frmisnow]

˙✧˖ ?! — KEEPING YOU IN BED (CAUSE I'M DOWN BED). - MDNI !!!

— ‧₊˚ — 🍵 : "wonder where your colleges think you are, they'd never guess i'm balls deep into you huh"??"

summary. going to work on your boyfriends single day-off already sounds like a death sentence, things only become worse when he makes it especially hard to leave the bed.

notes. SLEEPY HORNY KOOK AASHHSSHSH my roman empire... 😭 SORRY FOR THE TITLE I HAD A LIL GIGGLE OKAY ???

warnings/includes: (NSFW) dom! jungkook x f! sub! reader, starts sleepy + wholesome, turns a lil unhinged..., pounding, overstimulation, he's just a bit mean in second half (but we love it)

you rub your eyes, the morning sunlight blinding you through the sheer curtains - soft and rhythmic breathing audible beside you when you look over you find your boyfriend's chest rising and falling slowly, one of his arms still wrapped around your waist, in pure peace still somewhere in the deep roams of sleep.

after all it was his day off, a rare sanctuary in the hectic schedule of hislife, and yet, there you were, inching away from the warmth of his embrace, preparing to face the day ahead.

but as you attempted to free yourself from the tangle of sheets and limbs, a sleepy murmur escaped him, a half-formed quiet plea, "just few more minutes" His arm instinctively tightened around your waist, drawing you back into his tight hug, nuzzling his face to your middle body. quick little peeks placed all over tummy, almost like rubbing his face over you, his hands lazily tracing circles over your sides, "just a little longer"

he shifts his position, now completly lying over you, trapping and preventing you from leaving, wrapping his arms around your neck, "love you so much" whispered into your nape.

you giggled in response, your hands hugging his back, travelling under his shirt, rubbing over the skin gently, "you're trying everything to lure me in longer huh"

kook smiled sleeply against your skin, his head moved to your shoulder so he could look at your face better, lips roaming over your collarbone, settling on them for a split second, "is it working?"

"don't know, might have to try a bit harder" you answered in a joking tone, your fingers tracing light patterns on his back.

he squints his eyes, a faint smile on his face, raising his eyebrows, "oh really?" fake innocence added into his tone.

you were stupid.

in fact very much so.

out of experience you should've known that jungkook has an unbelievable amount of sheer competitivness inside him and if you unleash that - you're pretty much fucked.

you should've recognized that familar grin, you should've recognized those wandering hands of his that would do anything just to prove you wrong, just to remind you that nobody doubts him without well- consequences!

those consequences may include: him in the beginning softly manhandling you (in his own way y'know) which turns into him throwing away any sense of tiredness or gentleness he had before, sentences like "feel me fuckin pounding, listen to it" or "so much fuckin cum" rolling over his tongue as he overstimulates you over and over again.

damn well keeping that clock on the night stand at the corner of his eyes, just to rub it into your face, "how easy it was to get you to do this" or "wonder where your colleges think you are, they'd never guess i'm balls deep into you huh"

and oh he's looking for answers from you too, "what are you gonna tell your boss now?" half mumbeled half groaned as he slams into you once more chasing that 3rd orgasm, obviously knowing you're way to brainfucked to understand think about even responding.

"should've kept your fucking mouth shut, don't you think?" and all you can do in response is whimper and moan like a little bitch.

weirdly enough that's what satisfies him - the slutty expression on your face, the way your mouth stays slightly parted, the way your pussy tightens around him, the way your tits just fit so easily in his hands like they were made for him (which he'll openly say 2!), the way you sound, the way your body looks when he fucks you senseless - everything about you like this is so endearing to him and worth repeating over and over again.

he can be real sweet after, acting like it never even happened, bringing you breakfast to bed while you were lying bare trying to regain your brain acess again, innocently saying smth along the lines of: "i called you in sick for today" then adding, "it's not like it's worth going anyway might just spend the day with me" okay whatever you say kook :3

[7ndipity]

Every Little Thing

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: When you overhear Yoongi talking about how clingy you’ve been lately, you decide to take a step back from your friendship to give him space. But your sudden absence goes far from unnoticed by him.

Word Count: 2k(wtf?!)

Warnings: angst, swearing, only partially proofread

A/N: Thanks so much to the lovely anon who requested this! This story, I... I don’t know what happened, I went from struggling to get it to work at all to getting waayy too carried away. I kinda had to stop myself at the end before it shifted into something else, but maybe if y’all want a part two, we can pick up from there?

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

As you got off the elevator, you couldn’t help the faint bounce in your step as you made your way to Yoongi’s studio, your bag slung over one shoulder, a grocery bag of snacks and drinks for the two of you to share.

Ever since you and Yoongi(and in turn, the rest of the members) had become friends, The Genius Lab had become a hideaway of sorts for you. Whenever you were feeling stressed or overwhelmed, you knew you could call Yoongi, and he would tell you to come over, letting you camp out on his couch while he worked, occasionally asking for your thoughts or opinions on a specific song or line.

As you neared his studio door, you noticed it was slightly ajar, allowing the voices from inside to slip out into the hall, quickly recognizing them as Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s.

“You wanna come to lunch with me and Hoseok?” Namjoon asked.

“Agh, I can’t, I told Y/n’s we could hang out today.” You heard Yoongi’s chair creak as he stretched, letting out a groan.

“Again? That’s like the third time this week, people are gonna start thinking you’re a couple or something at this rate.” Joon joked, making your cheeks flush lightly.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Yoongi replied, sounding tired. “They’re just being clingier than usual, you know what they’re like.”

You frowned at his words. What did he mean by that?

“I know it’s just cause they’ve been stressed lately,” Yoongi continued. “But honestly, it’s gotten to the point where it’s weirder for them to not be here.”

Joon chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t find that annoying.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t,” Yoongi said. “But it’s Y/n, so I let it slide. Anyway, on that track you showed me-”

You stepped back from the door, the sudden tightness in your chest making it slightly difficult to breathe as you quietly made your back down the hall to the elevators. As the metal doors closed, you replayed what you had overheard in your head.

Yoongi had always told you that he didn’t mind you hanging around, but maybe you had started to abuse that privilege, grown too dependent on him. Was that how he really felt about you? Had you become a nuisance? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you quickly found his number and hit the call icon, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat before he picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, are you almost here?” He answered, sounding much brighter than a few minutes ago.

“Uh, actually, I don’t think I can make it today.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concerned.

No, one of my best friends hates me. “Yeah, everything’s fine, something just came up, sorry.” You bit your lip, managing to slip out of the building without running into any of the other members and making your way down the street to the bus stop.

“Okay.” He sounded unconvinced. “Is it anything I can help with, or-?”

“No, no it’s-, it’s a work thing.” You said, the words falling flat on your own ears. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright.” He said reluctantly. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You hung up, letting out a deep breath.

You could tell he hadn’t believed you, but you didn’t really care at the moment. If he wasn’t going to be honest with you, why should you be any different?

Suddenly presented with the afternoon to yourself, you decided to head to the park, wandering along the river as you thought over everything.

You and Yoongi had come here together not long after you had moved to the city, the last few blooms of the cherry blossom season clinging on stubbornly to their branches. He’d promised to bring you back the next year, so you could see them in their full glory at peak bloom.

Of course, life and work had gotten in the way, as they often did, and before either of you had realized, the season had nearly passed again before he could keep his word. You’d told him at the time that it didn’t matter, you’d just been happy to spend time with him, a recurring theme for you apparently…

Had you been a bother to him back then as well? You didn’t believe so, but the earlier sting of his words had left you questioning everything, even if you knew it might be an over-reaction.

It was dark by the time you made it home, flopping down on the sofa with a tired sigh as you contemplated your options.

So you’d been bugging him lately, that was an easily fixable problem, right? Just leave him alone for a bit, it was as simple as that, wasn’t it?

You weren’t so sure as your phone suddenly buzzed on the cushion next to you, drawing your attention to Yoongi’s name illuminated on the screen. You’d forgotten you said you’d call him.

‘Hadn’t heard from you, just wanted to make sure you’re okay?’ The text read.

Now who’s the clingy one? Was your immediate first thought.

‘I’m fine, just tired. Talk to you tomorrow.’ You typed shortly before turning off your phone and going to bed, with no intention of texting him the next day unless he did so first.

For the next week, you tried to keep up with your new normal; you didn’t go by the studio, you avoided texting him unless he did first, and generally avoided his invites to hangout with vague excuses.

One place you couldn’t avoid him though was dinner with the other members. It was a monthly tradition that you usually looked forward to, but as you stepped through the door of the restaurant, you only felt a wave of nervousness, for what though exactly you didn’t know.

“Y/n!” Tae quickly hopped to his feet to give you a hug, the others all greeting you enthusiastically. You noticed Yoongi didn’t speak, only nodding to you politely, but his eyes never left you for a second, seeming to study your every move.

“Y/n, do you want my seat? I know you usually prefer to sit by Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook asked, starting to get to his feet, but you quickly waved him to sit.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to move for me, I’m fine over here.” You said, settling in the free seat next to Jimin, which happened to be directly across the table from Yoongi.

Everyone quickly settled into their usual routines and conversations, the mix of voices blurring into an almost comforting buzz, allowing you to zone out for a moment and relax, but a single low voice managed to snap you back to attention.

“I haven’t seen you all week.” Yoongi said quietly, a noticeable heaviness in his voice.

“Yeah, things have just been kinda busy.” You tried to say convincingly, but it was hard to pull off under his gaze. Luckily, Jin asked you about something from the show you’d been watching and gave you an easy out of the conversation.

You managed to get through the evening well enough, talking with the others, even making plans with Jimin for him to help you pick out some new furniture for your apartment. You’d felt Yoongi’s eyes on you all evening, but hadn’t said anything.

It was later that night when you were pulled from sleep by the sound of someone knocking persistently on your front door.

Cautiously, you climbed out of bed and padded to the door.

Who’s there?” You called anxiously, trying to remember where you’d put your old baseball bat, in case you needed to defend yourself.

“It’s Yoongi.”

You froze, staring at the door in surprise for a second before going over and peering out the peephole.

Sure enough, he was standing on your doorstep, causing a brief sense of relief that was quickly replaced with confusion and the same nervousness from earlier.

Not quite knowing what else to do, you cracked the door open slowly, taking in his slightly disheveled state; hair mussed and faint bags under his eyes. He looked the same way as when he would pull all-nighters at the studio.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Why’ve you been avoiding me?” He responded with his own question, staring you down.

“I-, I haven’t-”

“Don’t lie.” He stopped you.

Glancing around quickly, you pulled him inside, not wanting to have this discussion in the hall.

“You’ve been dodging my texts and calls, you wouldn’t sit with me at dinner, you asked Jimin for help with furniture shopping, which you know he’s terrible at.” He continued as you closed the door. “So, tell me please, what has happened to make you start ditching me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that I was annoying you?” You snapped.

He stopped, staring at you in confusion. “What?”

“I heard you and Joon talking last week,” You said, his face falling as the memory came flooding back. “About how clingy I’ve been, and how I’ve been annoying you by hanging around so much.”

“You haven’t been-”

“Don’t.” It was your turn to cut him off. “Don’t try to tell me that it’s not true or you didn’t mean it. What I want to know is why you weren’t just honest with me?” You hated the way your voice started to shake as you spoke. “Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off or something? Why do you put up with me if I'm such an annoyance?!”

“Because I fucking love you!” He blurted out.

You froze, staring at him in shock. “What?!”

“I-, I love you.” He said quietly.

“You love me?” You repeated, hurt and frustration still churning in your stomach, not letting you take his words to heart. “You love me, but you think I’m annoying?”

“I think everyone’s annoying!” He tossed his hands up in frustration. “The difference is that I like your annoyance!

“I like that you’re loud and weird and make terrible jokes, I like that you nag me to take better care of myself.” He said. “I like that you’re happy holed up in my studio with me. I like that you sing along to every song that you recognize, even without realizing that you’re doing it.”

He took a cautious step closer, pleading with his eyes as he spoke.

“I like every little annoying thing that you do, because they’re what make you you. I’m so sorry that I made you think anything otherwise.”

You hadn’t moved as he spoke, fighting the tremble in your lip as your eyes had misted over with tears.

“Y/n?” He asked anxiously.

You didn’t speak, choosing instead to lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him in a bruising hug. He staggering back slightly at the force of the collision, arms immediately coming up to hold you in an equally tight embrace.

“I missed you.” You sniffled, burying your face in his chest.

“I missed you too.” He replied, holding you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “I’m also sorry for telling you I loved you in a shitty way.”

“Eh, it’s kinda on brand for us, honestly.” You teased, making him let out a huff of laughter.

“I guess you’re right, fuck.” He shook his head.

“You wanna try again?” You offered.

He pulled back to look at you. “Really?”

You nodded. “If you want to.”

He nodded, pulling away enough to take your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as he pressed his lips together nervously, eyes shaking slightly as he met your gaze.

“I love you, Y/n.”

He’d barely gotten the last word out before your lips were on his, effectively shutting you both up for the next several minutes.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were blown wide, lips swollen and red from your assault, his breaths coming out in shaky puffs.

“I love you too, by the way.” You said, grinning at his slightly dazed expression.

“Cool, c’mere.” He said, pulling you back in, making you giggle as he eagerly reconnected your mouths.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[ramshacklefey]

It's amazing to me just how good the Mormon church has been at hiding just how bad they really are from public view. Even the shit that gets spread around is the relatively harmless bullshit. They had a crazy prophet with magic glasses. They believe in god-mandated polygyny. They think everyone who is good enough will get their very own planet after the world ends. They wear magic underpants. Mormon men are all paladins.

Here's one of the ones you hear less often:

See, like many other Christian sects, the Mormons really do believe that the existence of Christ obviates the existence of Judaism. Judaism was just a placeholder until the "real" church could be established by Jesus.

And the Mormons in particular believe, dead ass, that the entire inheritance of Israel has been given to them, because the Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when he was on Earth. They really do. They have this whole system where people are given a "divine revelation" about which of the Tribes of Israel they're a member of (don't worry, they decided that most people belong to the two tribes that are willing to "adopt" people. Only the most specialest boys and girls are members of the original ten).

Let's sum up so far. The Mormons believe that they are the people of Israel, chosen and protected by God. If Jews want to get back in on that party, they can always repent and convert to Mormonism, the one true church to which God gave all the rights and blessings that were originally bestowed on Abraham's house.

But it doesn't stop there!

The Mormons also believe, in all seriousness, that all Indigenous peoples of the Americas are descended from a small group of Jewish people who left just before the fall of Jerusalem (~600 bc iirc). Their entire weird-ass extra bible is a chronicle of those people's history in [unspecific part of America]. At the very beginning of the book, two brothers in the original family turn away from god, so they and all their descendants are cursed with dark skin, so that the good Nephites (who remain "white and delightsome") will always be able to tell themselves apart from the wicked Lamanites.

So, you've got supposedly Jewish people running around the Americas. And the "good" ones are white, and the "bad" ones are brown. Then, ofc, Jesus comes to visit them (I guess supposedly that's part of what he was doing during his dirt nap? Or possibly after he left again, it's not clear), and they all convert to Christianity, which they think is clearly the natural evolution of Judaism. Well, at the end of the book, all of them become wicked, in a kind of weird pseudo-apocalyptic series of events. They are all cursed with dark skin, until such time as they repent for their ancestors sins and return to the gospel.

But of course, Mormons being the good and kind people they are, they want everyone to receive the blessings of God and be brought into the houses of Israel etc etc. And it isn't the fault of those poor little Indigenous children that their distant ancestors turned away from God and became wicked.

So what's the natural answer? Well, Mormons are real big on missionary work, as we all know. But apparently that wasn't enough in this case.

Because the Mormon church has been one of the big players in abducting as many Indigenous children as possible, in order to indoctrinate them into being good Mormons, so that they can turn white again and be blessed. My mother remembers hearing talks about this in the 70s and 80s. The church literally had a "Lamanite Adoption Program," where families in the church were encouraged to get as many Indigenous children as possible away from their families and not let them be reunited until they were fully assimilated and ready to go back and proselytize about how wonderful the church is.

The church leadership literally talked about how wonderful it was to see these children becoming whiter. Actually whiter. Like, saying that when they finally saw them with their families again, it was beautiful how much paler they were.

I'm pretty sure this program has been officially ended, but it doesn't take a genius to speculate about who might be behind the curtains on the movement in the western US to gut the ICWA....

So yeah. Next time someone tries to tell you that the Mormons are just harmless weirdos, please remember that they're an antisemitic cult that advocates for the forced assimilation of Indigenous children to help them escape the cursed brown skin of their ancestors.

[pucksandpower]

Best Laid Plans

Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader

Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that

Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation

Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …

So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas

The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.

How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.

He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.

The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.

An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?

Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”

You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.

“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.

Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”

Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.

“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.

You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”

That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”

With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.

“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.

You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”

There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”

The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”

You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”

The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.

The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.

But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.

With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”

His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”

For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.

You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.

Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.

“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”

In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.

He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.

Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”

You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”

The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.

With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”

He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.

“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”

And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.

“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”

You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.

Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.

The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.

The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.

“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”

You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.

You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.

Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”

The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”

You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.

“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”

“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.

Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.

With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.

“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”

The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”

Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.

The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.

Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.

Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.

“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”

You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.

Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.

You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.

“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”

He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.

Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.

“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”

As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.

Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.

“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”

You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.

“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.

Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.

You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”

“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”

The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.

If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.

When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.

“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”

Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.

He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”

For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”

A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.

There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.

For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.

“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”

That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.

You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.

Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.

Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.

“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”

You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.

He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.

“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”

His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.

And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.

By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.

When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.

It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.

As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.

For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.

He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.

***

Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.

Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.

He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.

You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.

He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.

Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.

He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.

Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.

When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.

He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.

Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.

Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.

With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.

“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”

Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.

Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.

How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.

The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.

Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.

But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.

Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.

“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”

Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.

“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”

That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.

“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”

Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.

He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.

When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.

“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”

Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.

“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”

He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.

Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”

The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.

He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.

Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.

And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.

***

The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.

You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.

He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.

The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.

He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...

Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.

With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.

“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.

You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.

You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”

He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.

“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”

The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.

“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.

Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.

Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.

Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.

Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.

Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.

This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.

You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.

“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...

He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.

“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”

You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.

With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”

Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.

He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.

You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.

The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.

“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”

You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.

“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”

You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.

“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.

He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.

Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.

You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”

A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.

Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.

“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”

The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.

“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”

His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.

“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”

He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.

There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.

Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.

He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”

Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.

Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.

Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.

“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”

The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.

As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.

That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.

“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”

Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.

For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.

When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.

“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.

“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.

When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.

“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.

The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.

Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?

So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.

“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”

You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.

And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either

[solarmorrigan]

It’s Eddie’s own fault, really, that things turned out this way (he says, as if he’s in any way displeased with the outcome).

It’s just that once they’d started dating, once Steve had realized that his touch was invited and welcomed, he’d become so open with his affection, whenever and wherever he could be.

He holds Eddie’s hand, he hugs him “hello,” he kisses him “goodbye” (and, frankly, any other time he thinks he can get away with it), he’s always pulling Eddie up close to him when they sit (or pulling Eddie right into his lap, or, once he’s been assured that he’s not that heavy, sitting himself on Eddie’s lap), he’s forever orbiting in Eddie’s space, and Eddie is living for it.

He’s never had anyone love him so openly before, so proudly. It’s fucking marvelous.

Naturally, Eddie starts looking for ways to return the favor; little ways to let Steve know that he’s just as loved.

And it starts with his car keys.

He asks Steve to grab them for him because they’re still on the counter and Eddie’s already halfway out the door. When Steve hands them over, Eddie makes sure to take a moment to lean in and peck him on the cheek with a quick, “Thanks, babe.”

And after catching the pleased, pink flush that spreads over Steve’s cheeks at that, there’s no way Eddie isn’t going to do it again.

After Steve brings him a beer the next time they’re watching a movie together, Eddie gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and tells him, “Thanks, angel.”

After Steve pays for dinner on date night (they take turns, no complaints, no skipping, no matter how much one or the other might argue I can get it this time), Eddie takes a furtive glance around the empty restaurant parking lot before pressing his lips to Steve’s cheek with a quiet, “Thank you, baby.”

After Steve brings him the towel he’d left inside the next time the kids are over to use the pool, he gets a big kiss on the cheek and a saccharine, “Thank you, sweetheart” (at which most of the kids groan and boo about PDA, which results in Eddie flipping them off while Steve kisses him full on the mouth, because they are mature adults).

If Eddie had stopped to think about it, he might have recognized it as a sort of (benign!) conditioning. He doesn’t actually stop to think about it, however, until one afternoon when Steve brings him lunch while he’s working on a campaign.

“Thanks, Steve,” Eddie mumbles, barely glancing up from his notebook.

It takes him almost a full minute to realize that Steve hasn’t moved – and only then because Steve pointedly clears his throat.

Pulled from his plotting stupor, Eddie blinks up at Steve, who is staring right back at him. “What?”

“Forgetting something?” Steve asks, glancing down at the sandwich and chips he’d brought in.

Eddie frowns, thinking back. “I said thank you.”

Steve raises his brows, clearly unimpressed that Eddie is still missing some kind of point, and then he tilts his head just slightly up and to the left, baring the side of his face.

Eddie stares, uncomprehending, for moment longer before– “Oh, shit, right!”

He pops up out of his chair and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then another, and another, until Steve’s smiling at him and trying not to laugh.

“Sorry, darlin’,” Eddie murmurs against his skin. “Won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” Steve chides, but from the way his arms wind over Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he turns his head to catch him in a proper kiss, Eddie can tell that he’s far from displeased.

[Prompt: Cheek kisses]

[yeonzzzn]

pleaseee im begging for your next sunghoon one-shot to be toxic hoon. maybe an exes to lovers type of situation where he's losing his shit seeing you finally move on shdhjwjd 🧎‍♀️

I hope this is what you were looking for anon🤭 this is sooo angsty but I hope you enjoy it anyways 🩵

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unsteady: park sunghoon

pairing: sunghoon x afab!reader word count: 2.6k

“I hope one day someone will love me as much as I loved you.”

Those were the last words you said to him as you stormed out of his apartment. Slamming the door in his face and leaving him alone in his living room.

Sunghoon stared at the door, counting down the seconds until you’d walk right back into his apartment and into his arms, apologizing for the fight, apologizing for breaking up with him.

But you never did.

He stood at the door for a good ten minutes before he finally realized you weren’t coming back.

It was the first time Sunghoon was actually scared of losing you. Scared he’d never see you again. Hold you again. Kiss you, take you to his bed, take you to your bed.

For half a second Sunghoon had regrets, but shoved it down with a smirk on his face, “She’ll be back.”

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him or spoke to him. You never once contacted him about the stuff of yours that still lingers in his apartment or your favorite hoodie you left in his car. You didn’t have the heart to try and get it back. Too afraid you’d fold right back into him.

Sunghoon was toxic, manipulative, and gaslit you daily. Was he a bad person? No. He was actually and honestly, a really good guy? Absolutely. You fell in love the moment you met him. Sunghoon had a reputation at college. The cool guy who slept with any girl who batted their pretty little eyes at him. The guy who was at every party, you’d never see him not at one. The guy who held a smirk on his face the entire time around his friends as they walked around campus.

But with you? He wasn’t that guy. He was sweet, loving, caring, and soft. He was the guy who worked at the local animal shelter to take care of the abandoned animals. He was the guy who would curl up in bed with you in his arms as he reread his favorite book. The one who’d whisper praises in your ear as he fucked you gently. Who’d cook for you and buy you flowers.

But on campus? He went back to the cool guy persona. Eventually, over time those lines got blurred. His two personas fused until the cool side overtook the sweet one. You didn’t recognize him anymore. He stopped being the sweet Sunghoon you grew to love, and become the one you hated.

You still loved him, but hated him all the same. When fights would break out, you always ran back to him. It was a repeated process over and over and over. Until you gave up and walked out that door for good, saying those final words to him.

And oh god did those words ring in his ears for that entire year.

You finally moved on, or well, tried to. You started finally going on dates again, meeting new people, and trying new things out. But unfortunately, it never worked out.

“I don’t get it,” you sigh, dropping yourself onto your best friend's couch, “They just—“

“Aren’t Park Sunghoon?” he said, giving you a teasing smile before waving his hand for you to quickly sit up.

“Sunno,” you pouted, waiting for your best friend to sit down so you could lay your head in his lap, “Sunghoon was an asshole.”

“I mean, yeah,” he shrugged, “But you’re looking for him in every man you’ve met, that’s why it’s not working.”

You roll your eyes, “It’s been practically a year, I’m so over it.”

Sunno rolls his eyes back, “Right. Keep telling yourself that YN.”

Before you can protest, your phone vibrates in your pocket, receiving a notification that you’ve gotten a new match on the dating app you’ve been using.

You sat up, scrolling through his profile, “I may have found someone.”

Sunoo raises his brows and glances at your phone and nods in approval.

—

You’ve been on multiple dates with Soobin since then. You haven’t been able to get over how sweet he was. Always opening doors (including car doors) for you. Pulling chairs out and waiting until you sat comfortably before pushing you closer to the table.

He always paid for your meals and coffee. Has even brought you meals and coffee to your workplace and when you’ve gotten out of class. He takes your hand before you cross the street. And walks you to your front door of your apartment, kissing you softly and not walking away until he hears the lock bolt shut.

He was everything you could have hoped for in someone. He did what Sunghoon did and more. You were lucky to have met Soobin.

But something still held you back. You didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t officially asked you to be his girlfriend yet, or that you hadn’t met his friends. Or maybe you were just scared.

But you clung to Soobin anyway, walking down the street with him as the late winter snow started to fall. Soobin stopped walking to step in front of you, pulling your jacket tighter around you, “Are you too cold? Need my jacket too?”

You shook your head, “Thank you, Bin, but I am okay. You need to keep yourself warm too.”

Soobin gave you his bunny smile that you adore so much, watching as his blonde hair waved in the cool wind as he bent down and placed his lips against yours.

Sunghoon just happened to walk out of the coffee shop across the street when he noticed your arm linked with someone he didn’t know. Watching as this man stops in front of you and then kisses you.

Even though his face was tight and non-activated, his heart was breaking. Chills were sent down his spine at seeing someone who was him kissing you.

Sunghoon watched as the guy cupped your face, giving you a couple more kisses before planting one on your forehead and then pulling you to his side to continue walking. Sunghoon ran back inside the coffee shop, praying to whatever god was listening that you didn’t see him.

He spent that night pacing in his living room. Fingers between his teeth chewing at the nail. It was driving him up a wall at the image of Soobin kissing you. It repeated in his brain over and over again and he hated it. Why did he hate it? Why did it bother him? It’s been a year. He’s already done his time of pouting over your loss in his life. Why did he care so much?

Sunghoon kept asking himself that question as his thumbs hovered over your contact information, the photo of him kissing your cheek and the biggest smile on your face was still his contact photo for you. A pink heart emoji was still by your name. His hands trembled looking at the contact.

So he locked his phone and tossed it onto the couch, deciding he wasn’t going to worry about it.

But luck wasn’t on his side as he continued to see you around town with Soobin. And the more he saw you with him, the more Sunghoon started to lose his shit.

Every time Soobin would lean down to kiss you, Sunghoon’s heart would stop beating. Anytime he saw Soobin practically eye fuck you, it took everything in him to not march over and start swinging.

He had to do something—ANYTHING—to get you away from Soobin. To break up with him. To stop smiling at Soobin the way you used to smile at him.

It all kept him awake at night. And one night, Sunghoon broke. Sitting up so fast in bed and grabbing his phone from the charger and dialing your number.

ring…ring…

“Hello?”

Sunghoon nearly had a heart attack, he wasn’t expecting you to answer, “Hey, YN…”

“Sunghoon?” you sleepy said, pulling your phone from your ear to make sure you indeed were talking to Sunghoon. You blinked a few times to make sure you saw the name correctly and then the panic set in. Why was he calling you? When your phone started ringing you just naturally picked it up, being too tired to check the caller ID.

“Yeah, it’s me, love,” he whispers, hands shaking, “Did I wake you?”

You yawn on the other end, “I mean, yeah.”

Sunghoon sighed, “I’ll let you go back to sleep, I’m sorry.”

“No, Hoon what do you want? It’s two AM.”

“I just…wanted to talk to you. Come over? Please.”

You wanted to say no. To hang up the phone and go back to sleep and act like the call never happened. But his voice, the tiredness, and restlessness in it…something was wrong. You felt it.

Now you stood in his living room, standing in front of him as he leaned against the back of his couch. His hair was a mess, heavy bags were under his eyes and he looked like he hadn’t eaten much lately.

“Hoon,” you whispered, “What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t look at you, “How have you been?”

You cross your arms, “I know for a fact you didn’t wake me up at two in the morning to ask me to come here just to ask how I’ve been. Texting would have worked.”

Sunghoon scoffed, immediately putting that barrier over his heart, the one he put up when he realized how madly in love he was with you all that time ago, the barrier that eventually caused you to leave him. Sunghoon has had way too much time lately to think about what went wrong, and after seeing you with Soobin…it was all clear to him, “Right, but I can’t text you if you have a boyfriend, right? Can’t chance him seeing it.”

You looked at him confused, “What boyfriend?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms now, narrowing his eyes at you, “Don’t play stupid, YN. The blonde guy you were making out with on the sidewalk two weeks ago.”

He saw. He’s seen you with Soobin. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you happy, knowing that Sunghoon knew.

“Are you stalking me now?” you raised a brow and scoffed, “Didn’t take you to be that type.”

“I’m not stalking you. I just happened to have seen you with him.”

You roll your eyes, “Soobin isn’t my boyfriend, but if that’s all you wanted to say, then can I go?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer, he just stared at you, trying to find the words to beg you to not go. To stay with him.

You poked your tongue in your cheek, starting to turn away, “Is he better than me?”

You whipped back around to look at him, “Excuse me?”

Sunghoon shrugged, “Is he better than me? There’s no way he is,” he chuckles, “If he was you’d be fucking him right now instead of standing here in front of me.”

Oh, you were heated, “You know what, Sunghoon, this reason right here is why I ended it with you. You’re so toxic and say such shitty and hurtful things and you don’t even care.”

He shrugs, looking away from you and to the hallway, “Can’t blame me when all you do is yell at me.”

There it was. That toxic side. That part where he tries to flip the tables against you.

Tears swelled in your eyes as you looked at him, “I don’t need this,” you turned and walked towards the door, “Goodbye, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon was immediately at your side, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him, “No, baby, please don’t go.”

You tried to push out of his grip, “Don’t call me that! It hurts too much!” The tears were now falling down your face, blurring your vision as you continued to try and push him off you.

Sunghoon gripped both sides of your arms, “Please don’t walk away from me again!” he gently shook you, “I am so fucking in love with you. I won’t be able to handle it if you walk back out that door again.”

Tears were now in his eyes, his body shaking and his knees weak.

You blinked a few times to regain your vision, seeing the man in front of you, seeing how the tears rushed down his face.

Sunghoon fell to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding to your waist and resting his head against your stomach, “I couldn’t stand seeing you with him. It hurt too damn much,” his voice became shaky, unsteady, “I need you, baby, and I am so so so sorry for how I treated you. You didn’t deserve it. I lost sight of who I was. I was scared to let myself fully love. To let you fully love me. And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I let you walk away. I was toxic, I was an asshole. But I can’t lose you again. Not again. I couldn’t handle it. I don’t know how I survived the first time and I sure as hell know I won’t this time if you walk away from me.”

He sobbed, not being able to stop his tears from drenching the carpet at his knees, squeezing his hands tightly at your side, begging and pleading with you to not leave him.

You slowly rested your hands in his hair, parting it neatly like how he likes it done and slowly sliding your hand down his face. He leaned into your touch, your thumbs wiping away the tears that stained his face.

You still loved him. Every piece of him. Sunoo was right, you looked for Sunghoon in every man you met. Didn’t want to commit because they weren’t him. Soobin was different, yeah, but he still wasn’t Sunghoon.

You knelt down in front of him, not at eye level with him, “Please stop crying,” you whispered, “I’m right here.”

He shook his head, “I can’t lose you again.”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, resting your forehead against his, “You won’t. I’m right here.”

Sunghoon pulled you into his lap, holding onto you for dear life as if someone was going to rip you from him. He dug his face into your neck, squeezing you tightly to him, “I love you and I am so so sorry.”

You leaned into him, “I love you so much, I forgive you.”

You’ve never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so open, and wearing his heart on his sleeve. He’s never held you so tight before. Never kissed your neck and shoulder like he was right now, with so much love and desperation to keep you.

You stayed in his lap until his crying slowly and breathing was steady again. You played with his hair until you felt his grip on you loosen, “You need some sleep.”

He barely was able to shake his head, “I don’t want you to go.”

You forced him to look at you, slowly placing kisses on his moles, “I’ll stay the night.”

Sunghoon slowly nodded, wrapping his arms tightly back around you and carrying you to his room, gently laying you down on his bed and cuddling up to you, pulling you to his chest.

“Baby?”

“Yes, Hoonie?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You looked up at him, giving a small smile and nod, “I would love that.”

Sunghoon didn’t waste a moment to cup your face and kiss you softly, completely breathing you in.

He was unsteady without you, and it took losing you for him to realize it. You kept him centered. And he’s not going to risk losing you again. 

— perm taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @kangnina @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @sparklovespink @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @psh9 @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez

[ladyrijus]

Skyward Sword Zelda is such a tragic figure in my opinion. Just put yourself in her shoes and imagine this.

It's the best day of your life. Your dearest friend, dork that he is, has finally become a knight. It's what every kid on Skyloft works towards and he finally did it. You're so proud of him. When you fly together, you muster up the courage to tell him you love him.

You never get the chance.

Instead you're whisked away into a world you believed was left behind, and saved by a woman who declares that she is your guardian, chosen by you. You have never met her before. You didn't even know there were people like you who lived down here, in the Surface.

"You must purify yourself if you are to transcend time and hold the seal," the mysterious woman with the painted tear remarks as she shepherds you through strange destinations unlike anything your books have ever taught you, "it was your will." No matter how many times she tells you this, in every iteration the language could allow, it doesn't make sense. Why would a goddess need to turn human? What could you do, that she could not?

Where does divinity and humanity diverge?

Connection.

A goddess is revered by her people who pray, in spite of her silence, for her benevolence and guidance. She is their unwavering stone, a higher power to rely on. But a girl? A girl is loved. She is someone tangible, a figure who people will see, and know, and care about, and fight for.

And that's when it clicks. Your friend isn't really your friend at all, but a hero, a pawn, who was intended to be used against an enemy of yours you no longer recognize.

You're using him. You've been using him all this time. It's sickening.

With each prayer, with each goddess damned spring you rush to, you are faced with your own marbled reflection, a testament to the fact your humanity is only a pretense, carefully timed to ensnare your friend into a hero's fate.

He doesn't seem to understand that though. He keeps running after you like the fool he is, hoping to save Zelda, his precious Zelda, that you no longer are. The smile you wear becomes harder to hold. You were Hylia first, and that is all you will ever be.

You play into the charade anyways. After all, Zelda was the reason why he went through his trials. To tell him now that she was gone would mean to destroy everything you had worked for. So you tell him everything he wants to hear: that you're your father's daughter, that you're his friend, that you're his Zelda.

And when you close your eyes, smiling from within the amber and ignoring the dull thuds of his fist against its surface, you wonder if you look anything like the statue you and your love had stood upon on the best day of your life.

"Maybe all of this is a dream," you wonder while drifting in between millennia. Time passes like the waterfalls in Skyloft, rapid, yet everlasting. Maybe you'd wake up in your bed in the Academy again. Your love would have been sleeping in (again) and everything would be how it used to be. You could be Zelda once more. And most importantly, Hylia would be nothing beyond a giant statue for you to ignore for the rest of your days.

... There's something to be said about how you fall again once you wake up.

"What kind of goddess am I," you think crudely, "to sever my own wings?"

But this time, your love is there to catch you. And he does. In that moment you pray, in your own name, he doesn't let you go.

[zephyrchama]

Writing prompt: If MC had been a sheep since they came to the Devildom and then suddenly became human again, would the brothers recognize them? (Under the cut, all 7 brothers, SFW, written in second person.)

Others might have written about this before, it's a fun concept. In the beginning of the manga it's explained that MC appears to be a sheep for reasons. I like to think that they gradually change back and their sheep characteristics slowly become more human, while maintaining sheep-like qualities for a while, but it's more fun to write about if they just. suddenly. change back all at once, ta-da.

Humans sometimes face adverse effects when traversing realms. The unnatural spatial movement has equally unnatural consequences for human bodies, which is why you found yourself in the body of a small pink sheep when meeting the brothers for the first time.

Solomon and Diavolo say it will wear off in time, as you adjust to the Devildom. Your body will return to normal eventually, but they don’t know exactly how long. Its been quite some time now and everyone just accepts that this is how things are. You are a small pink sheep, and you are family.

You expected a gradual transformation - to slowly regain human features over time as you got used to life in the Devildom. That didn’t happen. Day by day nothing changed, until the transformation happened all at once.

Lucifer

Lucifer had seen your photo on the exchange student paperwork months ago. A generic little square image stapled to the application, hardly better than a driver’s license photo. He might have taken your paperwork out of the student council room and put it in his private office desk for safekeeping, or to look from time to time to remind himself you really were human.

He was the first one you thought to tell. A big change like this was surely worth a visit to his room, even if he was busy. You knocked your usual knock. Now that you were human-sized, you could reach the middle of the door, but the lack of hooves meant your knock was quieter. There were several seconds of silence. Maybe he didn’t hear you. You went to knock again, but a familiar gruff voice called out “come in,” from the other side so you reached for the handle.

There were piles of record book and stacks of forms upon the desk, but the eldest brother was still visible from the doorway. As if sensing something was different, he paused mid-writing and looked up. Lucifer was taken aback for a moment but quickly regained his usual composed poker face. You tried to hide a smile. Seeing him surprised like that was a rare occasion.

“I see you’ve finally gotten used to it here. Congratulations.” Maybe it was the soft light inside the House of Lamentation, but Lucifer thought you looked far better in person than in that photo. He put down his pen and crossed his hands under his chin. It almost masked the way he leaned slightly forward to get a better look at you over the large desk. “Do you feel alright?”

You nodded, it was strange to adjust to your old height again but you were glad to be back in your body. “You’re sure you feel fine? Come here,” he commanded.

Sitting next to him as a sheep while he worked had become so natural, yet doing so now as a human made you feel so self conscious. Your eyes wandered around the room, avoiding his gaze until he grabbed your shoulder and said “look at me.”

To you, he was just being overprotective. A routine check up on the exchange student to make sure they’re healthy after a sudden transformation. Maybe being close enough to feel his breath each time he exhaled was also necessary. To Lucifer, it was the time he’d been waiting months for. To see your glossy hair, not just a ball of wool, and study the contours of your face. How smooth your cheeks were and the way you politely kept up an embarrassed smile. Yes, the real deal was much nicer than a photograph.

Mammon

Mammon had no idea who you were, at first. You were sitting on the couch, wasting time while waiting for the next family meal. The front door slammed open loudly and closed with a bang. Mammon finally strolled into the living room after a long evening of make-up lessons at school.

“When’s dinner ready? I’m starvin’!” His boisterous voice made the house a little livelier. “And hey, where’s--”

He stammered when his eyes met yours and his voice faltered back down to a normal indoor volume. “Didn’ know we had someone vistin’. Hmph.”

Your jaw dropped. Was he really this dense? He couldn’t recognize you despite all the time you spend together? You turned around to watch over the back of the couch as Mammon walked to the dining room, then left to go down the hallway that led to your room. Several moments later he was in the kitchen. You could hear voices, but not what was said.

After some time he came meandering back to the living room. With one hand on his hip, he remained standing and leaned against the other couch. He was agitated and impatient, and with no one else around he turned to you.

It must have been five seconds, max, but it felt like you stared at each other for an hour. You pouted, glaring at the idiot who thought you seemed like an oddly familiar and comforting presence. “Who’re ya here to see? If it’s The Great Mammon, I’m a busy guy. I can’t just stand around. WIthout compensation, I’m leavin’.”

“Mammon,” you said. Just one word. You sounded hurt. It made his heart skip a beat, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Huh? What’d you say?” He heard you loud and clear. He just wanted you to speak again, to hear your voice once more and confirm he wasn’t imagining things.

Of all the ways you imagined showing off your human body to him, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Maybe you were wrong for expecting him to recognize you no matter what, but just like him you would never admit that.

“Oh my gosh, you’re a fool! Here’s your ‘compensation!’” Swiftly, you launched a decorative cushion square at his stomach. Your strike is nothing to him, but you landed an emotional blow when you went to storm off.

He grabbed your wrist before you got out of arm’s reach. Forcefully at first, but quickly realized he had to loosen up to avoid hurting you. “Wh- huh? Is that you? Why didn’t you say anything!? When did this happen?”

Walking away was futile as Mammon was rooted to the spot. “That’s really you, right? This ain’t a joke?”

He pulled you in towards him and spun you around to look at your face. You were mad and upset and relieved that he stopped you and embarrassed at having so many emotions at once. He finally knew, you're his human, alright.

Leviathan

It took a while for things to click for Leviathan.

He first saw you from afar on campus. He wanted to steer clear from you., like with every other student. Though he did do a double-take and stare.

He’d never seen you (well, proper human you) around before, and you looked just like the customizable characters you always created in his games. Same hair style, same eyes, same sense of style. His P2 was real. It was uncanny and he couldn’t wait to tell you all about seeing your player character wandering around campus.

That’s when he realized he hadn’t seen you all day. The sheep you. You were always easy to find due to being bogarted by his flashy brothers. You were one of the few to casually greet him every day as assurance he was welcome at RAD. You were human, and humans weren’t sheep. Didn’t Lucifer say something about that when you first arrived? Oh.

When Leviathan didn’t show up to classes after lunch you went looking for him. It was a tough quest. He wasn’t in any of the usual hiding places and wasn’t answering his DDD. He really didn’t want to see you. Or, well, he really did, but clearly wasn’t prepared to. You finally found him on a bench, shrouded by overgrown tree branches and isolated far on the outskirts of RAD’s campus.

Low muttering gave away his hiding space, unintelligible as he was biting down hard on his thumbnail while he raved. His hair was a tousled mess and from time to time he’d jump up to flail or shake his head.

“Lev-”

You tried to greet him and got met with a glorious, high-pitched shriek. You pushed on anyway.

“Levi! I’ve been looking for you. Notice anything different today?”

“You! Y-y-y-youuu!!” He could not look you in the eye, or look at you at all, but your familiar voice made everything clear. It took some time for him to speak again.

”You sat in my bed! You sat in my lap!” He referenced all the times you’d stay up late gaming with him. He never objected to that before. “You! You did all that! How could you?”


”I… thought we were friends?”
”Well I didn’t know you looked like that!”

All the wholesome memories Levi had of you two bonding, demon and sheep, suddenly changed. No longer were you a cute fuzzball sitting on his legs or snug against him like a plush while he slept. You were a cute human, with human features, sitting between his legs and being held against him in bed. Overnight you went from essentially a security plush to a real person, and he was having trouble adjusting.

“You lied to me! Aagh!” He kicked his legs and pulled at his hair in anxious frustration, his thoughts branching in dozens of conflicting paths at once, so you did the only thing you knew to calm him. A big hug.

He froze right up. You stubbornly told him “I’m still me, you know.”

“But you look…” For the first time he tried looking right at you, but all you noticed was the intense blush across his face. It made you smile.

Satan

Great Detective Satan picked up on your change quickly. It wasn’t hard to deduce for anyone who paid close attention to mysteries, like he did.

You hadn’t asked for any help that morning reaching for things high up. You didn’t ask anyone to carry your heavy school books. Most obviously, you were sitting in the dining room enjoying a hearty piece of toast when he also sat down to eat breakfast. Even though he didn’t physically recognize you, who else would be fearlessly sitting at the House of Lamentation’s breakfast table and happily greeting the Avatar of Wrath?

Rather than the scrambled eggs, Satan was most interested in you. He didn’t hide the way he stared. “You look different.” Slowly, eyes never wavering, he took the chair beside you.

”Oh yeah! Check it out, I changed back!” You went to stand up and show off, but first needed to wipe the crumbs off your face. Too bad the napkin just slid off your lap and onto the floor. “Ah, hold on, I’ll show you in a sec. It’ll be worth it.” You didn’t want to look sloppy on your first day as a human again, and although hands were easier to eat with than hooves, you had prioritized munching on delicious breakfast food over eating cleanly. Without another clean napkin in arm’s reach, you went to pick up what had fallen.

“Allow me.” Napkin unfolded, Satan leaned in close. Before you could acknowledge his offer he had a hand wrapped around your chin. The heat of his fingers could be felt on your lips through the cloth. He spent an unnecessarily long time tracing the contours around your mouth. A cleaning this thorough would surely ward crumbs off your face for at least a week.

A full minute later, Satan was satisfied and leaned back in his own chair. He didn’t stop staring though. You gave a heartfelt, “thanks! Now let me show you,” and stood up to twirl.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus recognized you right away. He was the only one not taken aback, and was thrilled to see you returned to full glory. “You look just like your socials!”

Not one to miss out on trends, Asmodeus had signed up for a few human realm social media sites. He considered it to be the cultural exchange aspect of your exchange program. On particularly slow evenings he’d even scroll through several years of your image posts and save the cutest ones. Asmodeus was very well acquainted with both your human and sheep looks.

“Do you have anything to wear other than your uniform? We really should trim your hair, too. That didn’t stop growing while you were a sheep, huh?” He was immediately all over you, twirling your hair in his long fingers while circling like a predator locked on to its prey.

“Oh really?” You hadn’t noticed your hair being overly long. You were just happy to be back to normal. “Yeah I’ve got plenty of clothes, but my hair? Are there, like, demon barbers around here? Can you help?”

“Leave it to me! And your nails!” His hand found yours and soon your fingers were entwined. He lifted them up, cheerily exclaiming “how about matching with me?” as he pulled you towards his room. It was hard to keep up with him, but at least you stood a chance now unlike before in that small body. He noticed, and with a cheeky grin turned to ask “you're not still having trouble? I’ll carry you, you know. And when you need another trim, you come to me first.”

Beelzebub

Beelzebub lucked out. He came into the dining hall for the most important meal of the day, just in time to see you twirl for Satan, proclaiming “I’m back!”

Your voice was the same, and you smelled the same as ever. He let out an astonished “woah” while taking the seat across from you. This new form was much better than the sheep one. His fears of accidentally hurting you with too much strength somewhat abated. Though, in his eyes you were still tiny.

“Morning!” you greeted. “Notice anything new?”
”Boy, do I.” Through a mouthful of food, he asked “how did this happen?”


“Dunno, it must have happened overnight. I just woke up and bam.” You flashed a pair of finger guns at Beel and he laughed.

After breakfast, you two became alone in the dining room. You piled up the dirty dishes and Beelzebub carried them into the kitchen as you followed behind, saying “we better hurry, I didn’t realize it was this late already.”

“Yeah.” He placed everything in the sink, then turned to face you. He held out his arms. “Ready to go?”

Carrying you to school appears to have become a habit. Beel didn’t even hesitate to gently lift you up like you were weightless. It was an everyday occurrence when you were a sheep. But back in your old body with longer legs, having his arm wrap around your waist without a layer of thick wool to cushion you, things felt different. “Y’know, I might be able to walk to school today.”

“Hm?” Beelzebub took a moment to process this. Like he had completely forgotten you got your body back in that short span of time. “Oh! Sorry. Force of habit.” Almost dejectedly, he crouched to set you back on the ground. You reached around to grab his shoulders anyway.

“Well, I never said you had to let go.”

Belphegor

Belphegor thought he was still sleeping. Your human figure was a familiar sight he had seen multiple times. It was how you manifested in your dreams, after all. Sometimes when you napped together he would pick up glimpses of your dreams. On this day he had made it to RAD with time to spare and was dozing off in his seat when you arrived.

Unreservedly, he dragged himself several feet over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, head on your shoulder right next to your ear. “Hey.” This was a dream anyway, might as well enjoy it.

“Belphie, are you still asleep?” you asked. Physical contact wasn’t so bad, but it got embarrassing in public like this. With a futile shake you tried to rouse him. “Look! Did you notice? I’m not a sheep anymore!”

“Mm, yeah. You’re you.” Avoiding the lights, he buried his eyes in your neck, wishing it was a little darker. He liked you like this. But if this was a dream, why did the light bother him? Why was he still so tired? “Is it… Hm? What time is it?”

“Time for class to start soon. If you fall asleep again Lucifer is gonna kick your butt. Wake up.” You roughly ruffled his hair, causing him to groan and cling to your waist tighter. It did succeed in getting him to raise his head, at least.

After a sleepy pause, Belphegor seemed to grasp his surroundings. He squinted and leaned back, sizing you up. You couldn't tell if he was waking up or preparing to slouch down again until he spoke. “You really changed back? For real?”

“Yep!”

“Heh, good for you.” He pat your sides and let go. It tickled a little. Now, while you were distracted, was his turn to ruffle your hair. Payback disguised as playful praise.

[gremlingottoosilly]

König who cheats on his wife with reader? (Whether reader knows or not is up to you.) His relationship with his wife has become rather stale now and the two can’t even sleep in the same room without an argument starting, or maybe he didn’t even want to marry her in the first place. If reader does know, he’s constantly telling her that he’s going to divorce his wife eventually.

You thought you knew better than to get involved with a military guy of his rank. It's only obvious that he had a wife - probably someone he married to get out of the barracks and to make his family shut up about settling down. Probably someone older, someone mature and respectful, and someone who could give you a few pieces of life advice before she'd known you were fucking her husband. Dick isn't even that good to betray the sisterhood, but you wanted money and you wanted attention - and getting with Konig provided you with both. You didn't know he was married, you didn't really care about him besides his money and his cock buried deep in your wet, tight pussy, but he really liked using your boobs as a shoulder to cry on. As something to bitch and moan about his failing marriage or his desire to shoot half of the KorTac personnel, or his therapist threatening to up his anxiety medications again. Now, you were honestly trying to break up with him once you realized he was married. You didn't want to be a homewrecker and you wanted something with a bit of a future instead of endless promises to leave his wife - so, you talked to Konig. Said that it was really fun and you enjoyed sex and having everything paid for, but you really needed a clean slate right now, and you wanted to quiet being the mistress from now on. He pulled out divorce papers that he prepared ever since you started the conversation with "I need to talk about our future". He pulled out the ring he had prepared since you really wanted to talk about the perspectives of your relationships. He pulled out a conversation with his wife where she is really fucking thankful for him finally signing on the divorce. You really, really started to understand how he ended up in a weird and loveless marriage in the first place. You also recognized the way his wife had barely even shown up in his life before. You can kinda see your future in her - maybe just a tad bit more pampered at first. Maybe, if you manage to last a few years, he would find himself a new obsession with longer legs and younger posture. You stare at the obsessive glint in Konig's eyes as he promises that his wife "was already taken care of" and that you can have his mom's wedding ring now. It feels awfully rusty. Maybe, you'd last more than a few years. You just hoped that "second time - the charm" won't actually work in this situation.

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue

Theseus Scamander x Reader

The word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.” He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

summary: you're a personal assistant at the british aurors office. you accidentally call your boss, theseus scamander, "daddy."

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, ddlg themes, (light) mdom/femsub dynamics, (light) size difference kink, unprotected penetration

It was mid-November. London was dark by four in the afternoon and you were out of the Ministry by five, pulling your trench coat around you and shouldering your way out into the stone streets and coal black skies. It wasn’t bitingly cold yet, but you kept your arms tucked close to your body regardless. Dipping in and out of the indistinct crowds, moving with purpose.

You had about fifteen stacks of classified documents on you, but they were safely magicked away into the lining of your coat, and they weighed nothing. Magic almost always weighed nothing, cost nothing. 

For you, at least. 

“A natural.” “The brightest witch of her year!”

That’s what they’d called you at Hogwarts. Even your closest friends in [your House] eventually grew bitter and irritable, so you had to feign stress before exams and pretend to practice your spells alongside them in the common room, in a display of camaraderie.

The truth was you didn’t need to practice, or study. Ever.

You were muggle-born, everything in your life before Hogwarts had been so difficult to bear, your parents’ death, the streets of East London, the orphanage. Even talking to other people, simple conversation, bore some inexplicable strain for you.

But magic had come as easy as breathing. Your wand was like a limb, an extension of your body, you didn’t even have to reach for magic, it just sprung forth, dancing into the world. 

You wanted to be an Auror since you were fifteen. You were good at magic, and little else, and you were curious, had a talent for dueling and abhorred those who took advantage of the weak. It seemed a natural path.

You were hired straight out of graduation. You were only meant to work as an Administrative Assistant at the Ministry of Magic for a few months. But that was nearly a year ago…

In truth, you’d already been offered a position as an Auror. You turned it down discreetly. Theseus Scamander, Head of the British Auror Office, was the man you’d been assigned to as an assistant. He was the figure you answered to, and you’d been his sole, personal secretary.

Before you loved him, you liked him, but even then you could recognize that you liked him too much for what was appropriate to feel for your boss. He was nothing like you in that he was maddeningly easy to become fond of. He was funny and charming, kind and handsome. Sarcastic and a bit of a straight edge. You glowed in his praise.

Every “Excellent work, Y/N” or “Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” or casual introduction beginning with “This is my genius assistant-” swelled inside of you with happiness. Once he’d even, absent-mindedly and only half-looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet, said “Good girl,” and you’d nearly fainted. 

The first time he hugged you, after some successful project of yours, he’d braced his arms around you and spun you around, and you’d gone wide-eyed and stiff. He set you down in a flourish.

You were terrified your reaction would put him off touching you forever, but he only laughed aloud, the sound like bells in the wind.

“Not scared of the death threats we receive from dark wizards but you’re scared of a little hug from your boss?” 

Your heart seized, though you returned his laugh in relief. If he only knew what you were really scared of.

“Try it again,” you smiled and met his gaze defiantly. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.” 

It always seemed to shock and delight him in equal parts, the way you responded to him. You liked to challenge him, and to make him smile just to see it spread across his face.

When Theseus hugged you the second time it was him who hesitated at the feel of your warm body pressing into his, his large hands hovered in mid-air before resting delicately on your upper back. 

When you were hired he was still engaged to Leta Lestrange, as he was when you turned down the promotion you were offered. Pathetically, being his assistant was the closest you could get to him. You weren’t about to walk away from that, walk away from him. Between late-night talks at the office and laughter-filled afternoon teatimes at his house, he’d become something like a friend. You couldn’t have him, but this was enough to sustain you. You weren’t her, but you knew you meant something to him…

When you entered his dark apartment, slipping the key out from under the welcome mat, it was no warmer than the outside world. Barren and cold as death, no signs of life. You whisked your wand out and spelled on the lights, spelled the documents free and they fell heavily from your coat, thunking unceremoniously on the hardwood floor.

Since he broke up with Leta, Theseus hadn’t been home, that was clear from the state of his place. He had hardly been at the office. You covered for him without even having to think about it, without even blinking you spewed out excuses and deftly dismissed the Aurors who came to call on him.

You didn’t think about what that meant about your loyalty, to the Ministry and to him. 

"Y/N," he’d prefaced in a letter, an owl sent to your house. "I trust you with my life. Not in theory, but in practice: with this letter you hold my life in your hands. You’re my assistant, but you’ve also become my closest and most cherished friend."

He’d mentioned Grindelwald, going behind the Ministry's back, “choosing sides,” and that he was with his younger brother, Newt. He told you to tell the Ministry he was on business if they asked, to make up something about a dark wizard lead in Romania. And he mentioned that he would need you to make copies of some confidential documents from the archives for him. He asked you to set them aside "but not in my office. Not safe. Bring them to my apartment. Key under the mat. I’ll be in touch soon. I owe you."

And so here you were. Still in your work clothes, a navy blue pencil skirt and chiffon blouse, black tights and your [hair color] hair pressed into loose finger waves, your heels scattered somewhere across his floor. You were organizing the documents into piles.

He’d requested the strangest things, all top secret, in the most restricted section of the Ministry Archives. Old maps and travelogs pertaining to sightings of some ancient creature with certain prophetic or spiritual abilities. Topographical maps of Bhutan and Austria. Classified research on dark magical objects that bound promises in blood.

It made you feel like you were in school again, made your head spin.

Wishing always hurt for you, coming from your background, you hardly let yourself indulge in it. But right now you wished he would’ve told you more. You wished, more sharply and painfully, that he was here.

In the middle of organizing the endless piles of parchment you began to drift off. The words on paper began to cross and blur in your vision. You didn’t want to disturb his apartment or his things, so you hadn’t put on the fireplace. Cold and tired you padded to his empty room. 

Just a little rest before I finish up here. You thought to yourself. Just going to rest my eyes.

You crawled under his crisp bed sheets and your eyes pricked at the overwhelming smell of him. If you didn’t allow yourself to miss him before this, you couldn’t help it now. You’d never been in his room before, you thought distantly, fatigue already claiming you, dragging you down into a black sleep. 

-------

You weren’t cold anymore. Someone had put the fireplace on. You became aware of this before you heard him.

“Y/N,” Theseus’s voice was rough and low and sweet. It must've been past midnight. He was dressed in a suit still, bending over the bed, his eyes tender and tired. “Did you fall asleep, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You stirred. That word undid something in you. Unfettered any tension or stress you’d been holding in your body since he’d been gone.

“Theseus,” you muttered, still half-sleep. Your eyes were swollen, you would’ve been mortified, but he was here, at last, and he was looking at you with a gentle smile, so affectionate.

“M’sorry, the documents—I fell asleep-"

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. He dragged a hand over his face and stood. You felt guilty for stealing his bed, you didn't know where he'd been, but he looked positively wrecked. “Rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

He turned to leave, presumably for the couch. You reached out for him, any part of him, and your hand caught the waistline of his pants, a finger hooked there.

He looked down at the offending hand and raised a brow.

You were half dreaming, his arrival was so unexpected, so surreal. Your face felt hot, something like fever. 

"Mm, don't go," you mumbled. And then, the word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.”

He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You were suddenly terrifyingly awake. 

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified, and rolled over in his bed so that the pillow concealed your face. Consciousness seeped in gradually and with every sober second you were swallowed by dread. 

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “Oh god, I have to leave. I'm sorry, I was sleeping, I don't know why I said that."

You stood as clumsily as a drunkard, taking half his sheets to the floor with you. Your hair was a mess and your skirt had hiked up nearly around your waist, revealing your black panties through your sheer tights.

“Oh god,” you said again. You couldn’t look at him. You began to fix your skirt and pat down your hair when he stepped forward, eyes dark, hand gripped around your wrist. 

You startled, confused. But he looked the opposite, an absolute calm washed over his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Coming home to you in my bed,” he let out a sharp breath, something like a stifled groan. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to you.”

Your stomach fluttered. You searched his face for any signs of confusion. He looked tired, a little undone, but more himself than ever.

“I don’t understand,” you didn't know why you felt on the brink of tears, when this is all you’d wanted all along. “You… you want me? But you were engaged, you…”

The look in his eyes was blazing and still, fire in water. It was enough to silence you. 

“I want you. I ended things with her because I couldn’t live with it, wanting you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not at your job, and I’m sorry to bother you with it now, but it can’t be helped. You can leave if you want, things can go back to normal. Me, wanting you, and you knowing nothing about it.” 

He seemed to return to himself now, he sounded like the Theseus you knew. Poised, sure of himself. Mercifully kind. But his chest was heaving and the desire, plain on his face, was enough to make your knees buckle.

He wants me. He wants me. With each beat of your heart you felt the truth of it swell inside you. You could see it, unmistakable, the look of want that mirrored your own. Ready to worship and renounce and claim.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted, weakly. When he spoke again his words were terse, strained.

“Get back in bed,” is all he could manage, and then, “And call me that again.” 

And for the first time since you’d known him, you defied him.

Like the possessed, you fell into him, kissing him. He stumbled back in surprise, catching you with his hands crowded around your face. And you were both kissing and grabbing at each other, you fell to your knees and he followed you down.

You couldn't stop kissing him, not even to regain your balance, to catch your breath. He tasted so good, and his mouth on yours would've been enough to sustain you forever. The two of you were so desperate with need, you were half-kneeling on the floor. 

You began to whine in protest when he pulled away at last, but he stood and pulled you up from under your arms. When he threw you back onto his bed, your stomach flipped. He was looking down at you, pulling off his shoes and jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. With him looking at you like that, you would've let him do anything to you, anything at all.

“Sweetheart, I said,” he pulled off his dress shirt and your head went dizzy at the sight of his bare chest, his shoulders and arms. “Get back in bed.”

His voice was stern, but fond. You knew what he wanted immediately, and it thrilled you to give it to him.

“Yes, daddy.”

You could see him struggling to control his expression, he just bowed his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The knowledge that it was you doing this to him, driving him crazy, turning him on, heightened your arousal. Submitting to him strangely felt like power in your hands. 

“Good girl,” he said at last.

He was in his boxers now. The shape of his dick through the thin cloth made your mouth water. You wanted to press your open mouth against it there, wanted to pull it out and kiss it. You don’t know what had come over you. You couldn't think straight.

He got into bed beside you.

“Come and sit in my lap.” 

Your body purred and thrummed in delight. This is all you’d ever wanted at the office, to drape yourself over and onto him like this.

You crawled over him and sat firmly in his lap, legs splayed around his thick thighs. His hands came up around your waist, sliding further up to your chest. He looked up at you unblinkingly, eyes hooded and reverent, but his fingers moved of their own accord, unbuttoning your shirt.

You reddened, suddenly self-conscious. “Wait, don’t-“

“Don't?” he raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to stop?”

He made a tutting noise and continued to remove your shirt, you had to look away when he flung it across the room, you were so embarrassed. He had your bra off in seconds.

“So cute. So shy.” he said dotingly, but his actions were anything but cute, massaging and running the rough pads of his thumbs over your nipples over and over again in circles. 

You moaned without meaning to, and the sound embarrassed you further. You felt him grow even bigger beneath you, between your legs.

“No, you don’t want me to stop.” He sounded so cocky you wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't, not with him playing with you like this. You could only moan weakly beneath his hands.

Your hips began grinding against the outline of his cock. It was so big your entire body thrilled at the feel of him, at the ludicrous idea of fitting it inside of you.

He seemed determined to humiliate you, he kept talking you through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can you feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

“Tell me what you want. How you want me.”

“Inside me, please.”

“Please, who?”

You were so frustrated you could've cried. You wanted to come so bad, your legs were trembling. Up and down grinding and rubbing wasn't enough when you knew he wanted to be inside of you, that you could've had him inside of you.

“Please, daddy," You cried, feeling broken. 

Theseus pushed you back onto the bed roughly and crawled over you, reaching down to hike your skirt even further up your midsection. You were already topless, but he gripped into your tights with both arms flexing and ripped them apart at the seam.

You gasped and instinctually tried to cover up, bringing your legs together, but he was already pushing your panties down past your ankles, and then his broad hands were covering your kneecaps, pushing them apart.

“No, no, don’t do that. You’re mine," He reprimanded.

It felt so vulgar, him seeing this part of you. But you were only half a person now. You needed Theseus inside of you to be complete, you were dumb with want. A whining, needy mess and he couldn't get enough of you.

Tears stained your cheeks.

“Please, pleaseplease-" You started to beg, but he silenced you with his mouth on yours, wet and warm and perfect. When he shushed you this time it was surprisingly caring, he caressed your face reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay, I’m not trying to tease you, hold on.” 

When he pulled out his length, your mouth went dry. You instinctually spread your legs wider. It was big, bigger than you thought. Both thick and long.

He reached a hand down between your legs to find wetness. Your back arched, your whole body curled and keened in pleasure against his hand, his touch.

But when he pushed a single finger at your entrance it met resistance. You moaned in pain and contentment when it finally slid in fully, past the knuckle.

“Ah,” he said with a grunt. “You can barely fit my finger, baby. You’re so tight.” He said this in equal parts admiration and lament. 

“No!” you whined. “Please, please, I can take it-“

Theseus shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“I know you can, pretty girl. I don’t wanna hurt you, though.”

“I want you to. Please, please.” 

He hissed something like fuck under his breath and began to add more fingers, a second and, then, absurdly, a third. You already felt like you were being split in half. He could barely move them, but soon enough he was pumping them deep and slow, in and out, and the act was so lewd you wanted to cry again.

“Fuck, that’s tight," he said to himself again. “Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

When he removed his hand you wanted to cry out at the loss, but then he was moving his body up, his hands clasped around the inside of your knees and he spread your legs up and open and wide, just for him.

When he sank down into you, his dick was so big and hard that your eyes bulged and your mouth opened pathetically.

“Oh,” you said, stupefied.

Then he pushed in and in, endlessly, until he bottomed out. You were already throbbing around him, so overstimulated from before, coming and fluttering around his cock before he’d even fucked you properly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed again, throwing your head back against the pillow and bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to bite, hoping to stifle the moan as your orgasm washed over you hard. Waves of pleasure ran from the crown of your head all the way down your legs, you could see it coming from a mile away but were nonetheless overcome, completely. 

He made a small noise at the sensation of you tightening and pulsing around him and ripped your hand away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you,” he ordered, and so you let him. It was almost an out-of-body experience, the way he materialized in front of you, inside of you, when you finally came back down to earth, blood roaring in your ears.

“I just stuck it in, and you already came?” His tone was dark and teasing. “That’s all it takes, darling?”

He leaned over and kissed you deeply, passionately, and then straightened your legs and threw them over one of his shoulders, bending you in half. He began to fuck you in earnest, fucked you limp. You really felt like a rag doll now, helplessly pinned beneath his weight, his hips pounding into your backside. He drilled into you, growing impossibly harder by the second, it was almost like being filled for the first time all over again. 

You couldn't stop moaning, he kept telling you how good you were doing, how you were almost there. Kept asking you questions that made you blush, making you answer them.

Every thrust of his hips was pure ecstasy, vibrating shocks of pleasure were sent straight to your core, your whole pussy throbbing with it. He was fucking you and it was the best thing you’d ever felt, you never imagined sex could be this good.

You felt his dick stretching you wider and wider when he said, “Where do you want me to come?” 

You didn't even think. The word preceded any thought.

“Inside. Please, please-"

“Fuck.” 

The feel of him shooting into you, hot and warm and pulsing, sent you tumbling into another orgasm, it hit you so hard your vision went white and spotty. You had the impression your whole body was vibrating with the force of it.

He rolled your sweat-slick bodies over so that he was cradling you, holding you. You could feel his heartbeat, feel the air rushing in and out of his ribcage. He held you for a few minutes before finally relenting and pulling out with a hiss.

“You’re so perfect,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple, your chin, your neck. 

You felt overwhelmed with emotion. Overstimulated. Completely at his mercy.

“I love you,” you said. Powerless. All your life you had clung to power, whatever power you could cling to and not be kicked off like a dog. But for him alone you allowed yourself to be weak.

Utterly and devastatingly weak. 

You always imagined him saying it to you, first, but the thought barely had the chance to dampen your soaring heart because then he said, “I love you more. I promise you, whatever love you have for me, Y/N, I'll always have more for you.” 

-----

He cleaned you up and gave you some of his clothes to change into. Soft and oversized, you were almost drowning in them. He changed into his own pajamas, changed the bedsheets and threw the old ones on the floor. Gave you a toothbrush to use and soon you were both cozy and tucked back in his bed.

“I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you," He admitted. “Even though I was your boss, and your friend, and I was a taken man at the time. It made me feel ashamed, sick with myself. How badly I desired you.” 

Hearing Theseus say these words was like a dream, or something you wouldn’t even dare to dream.

“Are you staying here for good now? Or are you leaving me again?” You asked.

“You’re coming with me. With us.” He said in a way that was so sure and simple, it made you feel safe. Made you forget about the Ministry, and the world falling apart. “We need your help. And besides, I've missed you.”

-----

part two here

A/N: woohoo first fic ever! let me know if you have any requests or if you'd like a part two. right now i am only writing for theseus and no one else.