#definitely no pressure at all since this really is late

[lucy90712]

Not enough- Jude Bellingham

Dating a footballer is fun until he becomes incredibly successful and all of a sudden there are rumours left and right of him dating someone that isn't you. That's what my life is like Jude and I got together 3 years ago now when we were 17 and have been together since but we never made our relationship public because until the summer we were still long distance and didn't want the extra pressure. Having our relationship private has been so nice as it has meant when we do see each other we get to just enjoy being together but it also means we have to deal with rumours of who Jude might be dating. Those rumours never really got to me while Jude was at dortmund but since he's moved to Madrid things have just got so much more intense it seems that every few weeks there is a million new articles and tweets. 

Having to read all of this and seeing how pretty all the girls has really started to get to me. All the girls Jude is rumoured to be with are either models or just incredibly pretty which makes me feel awful about myself. All these girls have made a name for themselves in some way yet here I am with my job in a cafe while I try and find a job in the area that I studied. Jude likes to tell me that he doesn't care what I do for a living or how much I make but I can't help but feel guilty when I can't contribute much to the house or get him expensive things like he does for me. I'm also definitely no model I'm definitely not as pretty or as skinny as a model which I used to be ok with but now I don't feel so confident in myself. The other wags are also so pretty I definitely don't fit in with them either which makes me feel even worse about myself. 

Jude doesn't seem to have any clue that this is all going on he wakes up goes to training then hangs out with the boys leaving me until late at night so he doesn't see all the rumours or how they affect me. He's not here for the time I spend scrolling through social media or looking in the mirror judging everything about myself. Even when Jude is home he always seems to have something else on his mind so he never really gives me compliments anymore. I'd like to think that he still loves me but at this point I'm really not sure I mean he's young and he's attractive why would he want to be tied down with someone like me he can do so much better. I simply don't think I'm enough for him. 

A few days ago Jude went out to celebrate a big win for the team while I stayed at home but the next morning all I could see was rumours that Jude was flirting with multiple girls all night letting them dance with him and since I haven't really spoken to him. I spent all of last night laying awake thinking about everything and I decided that I just think I need to break up with Jude so then he's free to do all the things everyone thinks he's doing anyway. It's hard to decide to end a relationship especially one that has been going on for so long and one you are so fond of but I don't see any other way forward. This is why I've been so distant with Jude because in my head if I didn't talk to him that would make all of this easier. 

As always Jude left for training just as I got up for work but by the time I got back he was home which only happened the first few weeks I arrived so it was strange to see him here. Like always I headed upstairs to shower and change and when I came back out the bathroom Jude was sat on the bed waiting for me. I still didn't say anything to him because I'm trying to stay strong until I find the right time to tell Jude how I feel. 

"Babe are you ok you've barely spoken to me the last few days" he said 

"Yeah I'm fine just been busy had a lot on my mind that's all" I replied 

"Please don't lie to me I know there's something more going on I see the way you look all the time I just couldn't figure out what was wrong and now I give up so please tell me what's going on" he begged 

"I didn't want to say this yet because I'm still figuring things out but I think we should break up I just can't do this anymore" I said 

"Please no baby no I can't live without you whatever I've done I can fix it and I'm sorry just please don't break up with me" he said 

"It's nothing you've done it's just me" I said 

"Then what is it please tell me if you really want to do this at least tell me why" he said 

"I'm just not good enough for you every day there is new rumours of you being with someone else and all of them are prettier and have more going for them than I do and you deserve to be with one of them or to just be free to do what you want" I explained 

"But I want you that's what I want I don't want any of these girls nor is there anything going on with any other girl incase that's what you're thinking I like that you live a more normal life you keep me grounded and I think you are the prettiest girl in the world" Jude replied 

"Then why are you never home and why do you never compliment me anymore?" I asked 

"I-I'm sorry babe you're right I haven't been home much but I will change that I will come home after training and I will invite you to more things and believe me I could sit here for hours and compliment you and I'll do that if I need to" he said 

Jude did exactly what he said he started listing all the things he loves about me while giving me kisses. It felt so good to have his attention again it felt like we were back to how we were before I came to Madrid. After he complimented every single part of me he asked if I'd like to go out on a date like a proper date outside where people could see us and I didn't hesitate to say yes. Even if people see us who cares it's about time that we went public with our relationship then the rumours can be true for once. We have talked about going public a few times but now feels like the right time just so we can stop the media getting too far out of control 

I got all dressed up in a pretty dress and my makeup and hair all done for once I actually felt really pretty. When Jude walked in he had a white shirt and some black trousers on which he looked so good in. He stopped as soon as he saw me and I think his jaw actually hit the floor which made me blush and that was before he started complimenting me. The entire drive Jude didn't stop telling me how beautiful I looked which honestly made me feel so good about myself. 

At the restaurant there was people taking pictures of us walking in which Jude tried to protect me from a bit but we wanted to be seen together. It was weird being in front of so many cameras as I've spent years trying to avoid all of this but now I'm happily letting them all take pictures and stare at me trying to work out who I am so they can get their exclusive headline. The people in the restaurant were lovely though they showed us to our table then left us alone as much as possible which was nice as we were able to have a proper date night together. As we finished dessert Jude showed me all the pictures all over Instagram and Twitter then he showed me a post he had drafted to tell everyone about our relationship and put an end to everything. He had a beautiful caption written which nearly made me cry and all the pictures he had I hadn't seen before as they were ones he took secretly but they were all so cute. He let me click post so that it was my decision to go public then he took my phone and turned it off so we could enjoy the rest of our evening together without having to see what everyone has to say.

[wildemaven]

fifth anniversary : a curated love | dieter x poppy

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader (nicknamed Poppy) words: 1260 warnings: 18+ blog; smut adjacent or the build of it (nothing really graphic depicted), fluff, dieter and poppy being smooshy and very much themselves, reader is non descriptive but goes by the nickname Poppy, I think that’s it notes: god I love these two! I’ve missed them something fierce, so it was nice to revisit them�� especially on such an exciting occasion. Thank you all for your endless love for them. It truly makes me giddy that you love them as much as I do!! Another big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for reading over this like she did every single chapter of the series 💕

series masterlist | celebration masterlist

Creativity continues to bloom endlessly with Dieter in your life. In all aspects.

The gallery has been lucrative and busy, far beyond what you had expected when taking it over. Juggling the rotating parts of running over-booked art classes and sourcing new artists to spotlight, all while you’re teaching a rambunctious class of first graders and Dieter gathers scripts for new roles left and right. The chaos of life has you both feeling like two worn passing ships in the rough sea. Each day only allotting enough time for a quick good morning and good night.

When Dieter is away on location and the sun has gone down, you find yourself tucked away in your little home studio late at night. Your phone propped against the window with his handsome face on the screen as he reads over his lines while your paint brush moves aimlessly over the paper.

No amount of distance could sever your need to stay connected to each other.

But it's when the universe seems to align perfectly, nights like tonight, both of your schedules free of duties and obligations, that's when you find yourselves collaborating on a thrilling endeavor.

Your little home studio dimly lit. Candles scattered around the room. Flickering distorted shadows project across the walls. A warm aroma of dusty cedar and woody citrus melds with the musky aura emanating from your steamy bodies.

The wooden tabletop is rigid and uneven beneath you. Layers and layers of color, added since Dieter’s arrival into your life, massage into your back. Each dried nodule of paint, pricks of memories you’ve created alongside Dieter, aid in the pleasurable sensations streaming through you.

“Oh— fuck! Dieter—” The bristles of the new paint brush Dieter had gifted you fan out pressed against your skin, an ample amount of pressure used when Dieter drags it across your hardened nipple. The course hairs of the brush paired with cool wet paint on your overly sensitive peak, has your back arching off the table and your head tilted back, making your enjoyment more evident.

“You look so fucking good like this, Pops.” Dieter muses.

He leans on his arm, supporting his upper body as it hovers over your exposed form. His attention alternates between the languid brush strokes he's creating and your reactions to his touch. The very definition of an eager artist with a newly acquired blank canvas, ready to create a colorful masterpiece.

Dieter’s eyes, brimming with creativity and ardor, study your form like a painter studying his muse. Each ardent stroke he paints onto your skin is an affirmation of his adoration— a testament to the connection you share. His fingers, stained with hues of love and longing, trace the contours of your body, creating a symphony of colors that only you two understand.

His breath hitches as he looks down at you, admiring his work. You. His masterpiece. A silent vow passing between you. The air in the room now rich with the scent of paint and the undercurrent of your shared intimacy.

"Beautiful," Dieter whispers, his voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the room. His eyes, shadowed yet shining, meet yours as his fingers slide through the drying paint, tracing the path his brush had taken, goosebumps erupting in their wake. Each touch sends an electric thrill coursing through your veins, amplifying the connection between you two.

You remain silent, wearing a faint smile as you look up at him, basking in the way Dieter is so consumed by the moment.

"Ah! Wait!! No!! Stop!!" A fit of giggles infuses the blissful atmosphere as your body jolts and writhes when Dieter touches a hypersensitive spot on your torso.

"What! Are you— Are you laughing?" Dieter's movements halt, taken aback by your sudden burst of laughter.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry— you know how ticklish I am right there. Sorry, I didn’t mean to break the mood.”

"Fuck—I'm sorry. I was so lost in the moment. I didn’t even think— I just wanted this to be perfect for you." Dieter hangs his head, dejected by the ruined moment.

“No! No— Babe, hey— it’s perfect!” You tell him. Your hand sliding up the length of his arm, then reaching up to cup his face, pulling his attention back to you.

Dieter surprised you with dinner at the same restaurant where you had your first date. You both laughed and cried, reminiscing about how far your relationship has come. After exchanging gifts and sharing a passionate kiss, Dieter took your hand and led you to the studio room. A romantic setup awaited you, a room filled with memories of the past few years. This was where you both shared your first 'I love you's, a marriage proposal, and countless hours of artwork and late-night conversations. Each memory etched into every corner of the space.

"Yeah, but you're laughing, not the reaction I was hoping for. I was hoping for some of those sexy little moans you do or even 'Oh Dieter, don't stop keep going you sex machine'. Damn, Poppy. I’m sorry I ruined this whole moment."

"Dieter, stop. First of all, I'm never going to call you a sex machine, no matter how much it turns you on. So you can forget about that fantasy. Secondly, you didn't ruin anything. I'm enjoying myself, completely— I promise."

"Really?"

"Yes, Dieter. You planned this whole special night for me. Plus, you went and got me those paint brushes I've been wanting. And the way you’re using them on me right now— everything is perfect.”

A few months ago, during a visit to a major art supply store in Los Angeles, you mentioned you wanted them. Dieter suggested you get them, but you decided you didn't need a new set right then and chose to wait.

"Not just any brush. They're made from wood too, which makes them extra special. Especially on a day like today." He loved how your face lit up when you opened the gift. You dropped the gift, threw yourself into his arms, and kissed him with endless gratitude.

"How so?" You ask, as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer until he's just a breath away.

"5 years. I looked it up and the 5-year anniversary is wood. I might have not figured that out until after I bought them— but that’s beside the point." He whispers, his lips softly brushing against yours.

"Oh— well, how apropos." You reach down between your bodies, grabbing a handful of Dieter's hard cock straining behind his comfy lounge pants.

Dieter's eyes flutter and his body tenses as you grip him firmly. "Fuck, Poppy!" His voice strained with pleasure.

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. Bravo. I'd appreciate it if you fucked me now."

"Mmmmm— I'd love nothing more than to make love to my wife." He says before his lips slowly mold over yours.

It’s a curated masterpiece. A creation of you both, crafted meticulously in slow unhurried movements and pure euphoria as the hours burn through the night on your fifth wedding anniversary. It becomes more than just mingled breaths and paint on skin, more than just vows reaffirmed five years later. It's persistent love. An ongoing commitment. A strong declaration to your beautiful connection. It's a tangible imprint of your shared moments, silently narrating your story together.

[winkwonkwankwenk]

Nanami Head-Cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)

SFW

Works like a dog to provide for you, definitely works overtime and stacks vacation days like change in a jar. Some weeks you only ever feel him peck your cheek in the morning and the next time you see him with be the weekend- if you're lucky.

He misses you constantly, so much that he'll often accidently type your email along with his usual ones and you end up knowing all the company's trade secrets. Oops.

He sends you gifts every day he's away, from flowers to cakes to flights to your favorite places- he gifts you so often you've got a closet just for all the teddy-bears and a greenhouse to preserve your bouquets.

The two of you stay in a massive house so it's very lonely when he's gone. He makes sure to call you at least twice a day, morning and night.

He knows what time you wake up and time you go to sleep because he's memorized your sleeping pattern. He knows when to send chocolates and shopping money because he has your period app on his phone too and pays close attention to the notifications.

He came home to you crying in bed one night and called out of work for a month to make up for loss time. Ever since then, even during busy seasons, he makes sure to at least spend a week with you.

During his days off, he treats you to expensive dates cute strolls through gardens. He wants to impress and please you daily, and worries if you don't seem to be enjoying yourself. "Do you want a different dish?" and "Honey, we can go somewhere else if you'd prefer to" are phrases you've often heard when he's getting into his head.

He has a photo of you in his wallet and several in his office. Your wedding photos decorate his desk, along with vacation photos and cute pictures he snuck of you when you weren't looking. You're his Lock screen, home screen, and background on all of his computers.

He's never raised his voice at you and he never will. Even when the two of you fight, he can't help but dote on you and promise you the world. Whatever has you upset, he'll fix, even if it costs him an arm and a leg. "I like when you express yourself, Honey." He'll apologize for anything he's done to upset you and when you struggle to communicate he patiently waits and praises you for every word you manage to say. "Tell me what's on your mind and I'll do everything I can to make things better"

He's a funny man, his humor a mix of sarcasm and corny jokes. He'll tell you knock-knock jokes when you're sad and awful dad jokes when the two of you have calmed down from an argument but you can't help but laugh when he pulls you into a warm hug. How are you supposed to stay mad at such a charmer?

He'll feel guilty when he comes home to see you cooked dinner days ago and he never got to eat it. To make up for it, he'll cook you breakfast and leave it out for you before he heads off to work- even if he's exhausted. It's the least he can do.

NSFW (Kinky stuff ahead per usual hehe)

He has...scandalous pictures of you locked in a drawer of his desk. They come in handy during late shifts when he needs to let off steam and doesn't want to wake you. He'll bite down on his tie and groan as he jerks off under his oval desk.

He gets so turned on when you pull his tie. One night, he came home tense to see you having a late night spa session in the bath. You asked him to join and he insisted on showering to get off the grime of the office but then you pulled his tie with those dainty little hands and pulled him into the water. You thought he would be mad, but then he stripped out of his clothes before you could blink and fucked you senseless. Something about the pressure around his neck really gets his blood flowing.

Nanami caught you listening to him working out once and made sure to invite you to join him. He pinned you under him as he did push-ups, making sure you heard every grunt and groan. "You like that?" He whispered into your ear as you squeezed your thighs together under him. "I'll make sure to be extra vocal from now on."

Phone sex- the two of you have it at least once a week. Sometimes the pictures in his desk aren't enough and he has to wake you. His breaths are heavy, voice husky as he shows you his boner. "Look what you do to me, Y/N..." He'll whisper as your groggy eyes struggle to focus, "Help me fix it, okay Honey?"

He found your toys in the closet one day when he came home and was pissed. Not because you were using them but because he wasn't there to watch. He asked if you'd be okay with him having a camera in the bedroom to watch you and was so excited when you said yes. From then on, you've made sure to give him his own special liveshow- always sending him a text before you masturbate.

One day, he had left his lunch at home, so you brought it to him only to accidently interrupt a meeting. Before you could apologize he had you in his lap in his big office chair, secretly fingering you. You buried your face into his thick neck to stay quiet and squeezed his shoulders for relief. The moment the meeting was over he bent you over his desk and rammed into you.

His voice is so soft and sweet during sex, especially when he coos and praises you while talking you through your orgasms. "Y/N, look at me, Honey." and "Such a good girl...keep clenching like that, okay?" along with "What a pretty woman you are...I'm so lucky to have you."

His favorite positions are Mating-press and Nelson because he gets so deep inside of you he can feel your womb eagerly opening for his release.

He's got a monster. It's not eight inches, not nine, not even ten- 12 girthy inches casually hangs between his legs. He always makes sure to prep you well before even pulling it out.

Your pleasure over his- always. Even if he can barely keep his eyes open he'll put his back into it to make you orgasm.

Vacations are always romantic trips to one of his beach houses. He'll feed you chocolate-covered strawberries and expensive wines, then lay you down on the beach and eat you out until your toes curl in the sand.

He's going to put a baby in you. Period. The two of you have already discussed expanding the family and the moment you were on board he made sure to empty his balls every time the two of you had sex. He made sure not a drop of his cum spilled out, sometimes plugging it in with one of those toys you would play with in the livestreams.

You're his priority, in and out of bed. He treats aftercare like his biggest responsibility. He'll run a warm bath, carry you to it, wash you, dry you, comb and brush your hair- the list goes on and on. He'll order your favorite food and feed it to you, then soothe you until you fall asleep in his arms. He likes your body, but he loves you.

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[helen-with-an-a]

You always have an excuse

Hi. So this is a request and I really liked the idea. Hopefully, I did it justice. I hope you enjoy

Barca Femeni x reader

Description: R always has excuses but eventually slips up.

Part 1 : Part 2

Word Count: 3.8k

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were late. You were so late. But it wasn’t your fault; indeed, honestly, it wasn’t your fault. Your parents were not the greatest at being parents. They had you when they were just 16 and far too young to be having children. Sure, they paid for your football stuff and gave you a lot of what you asked for, but it was to keep you quiet and out of the house. You didn’t mind too much. It was easier when you only had to look out for yourself, never telling your parents where or who you were with. You always had a range of excuses ready for anyone who asked – lying and telling your friend’s parents that someone else would be taking you home, saying your mum was just around the corner, she had work so couldn’t come to your matches. It was fine. You knew nothing different.

You signed for La Masia when you were 10. The training was intense, but you loved it. You thrived under the pressure, quickly working your way up the ranks. Your debut for the first team happened shortly before your 16th birthday. You had never felt prouder of yourself.

“And here we have it. At just 15 years old, Y/F/N Y/S/N, making her debut for FC Barcelona Femeni. She’s homegrown, working her way up La Masia ranks. She is definitely a future star.” The commentator said as you made your way onto the pitch. This is what you have been dreaming of since you discovered football. This was the dream that only some people achieved. And you were one of them. A professional footballer. Your life’s goal was achieved.

The game was an easy win. The other team was fighting a relegation battle, as Barca slipped 10 goals past their keeper.

“Vamos,” Patri shouted as she shook you by the shoulders. “A debut and a brace. Is that a Ballon d’Or I see in your future?” You laughed as she wrapped you in a fierce hug.

“Neña, what a performance, hey?” Mapi called as Alexia affectionately hit the back of your head.

“Where’s your Mamí? I’m sure she wants to see you after that performance.” You didn’t even bat an eyelid as you smiled sweetly at Marta

“Oh, she said we’d meet outside by the main gates – saves us from trying to find each other on the pitch and in the crowd.” You waved at the chaos surrounding you. You knew your mother was nowhere near the football stadium – you doubted she even knew you had a football match, let alone your senior debut. It was easy to slip away from the changing rooms; you had significant practice doing it most of your life.

And now you were running so, so late. You had woken up on time, but the food in the house looked a little off, so you rushed to get something from the bakery on your way to the bus stop. But the line was bigger than anticipated, so you were rushing to catch the bus. A man walking in the other direction wasn’t paying attention and crashed into you, causing you to drop your stuff and spill hot coffee all over yourself. That had disrupted your flow, and you missed the bus, having to wait 5 minutes for the next one, which wasn’t a big deal. However, the metro system was delayed. And now you were 10 minutes behind, and then the bus you were supposed to catch from the metro station to the training centre never showed up, so you had to catch an alternative one, making you 30 minutes late. You had texted Jona to tell you you were running late but you knew you had laps waiting for you when you actually got there. You arrived at the pitch hot, sweaty, and tired. This was not an ideal start to the morning.

It was a known ‘Alexia Rule’ that every minute late to practice without a reasonable excuse was a lap. As you arrived at the huddle, one boot on, one still in your hand and your shirt stained with coffee, you could tell she was unimpressed. With all your rushing, you had forgotten to think of an excuse. You didn’t want to tell her the real reason; you had a feeling ‘Oh, sorry Alexia, I’m late because my parents are really shitty, forget they have a kid sometimes, and they haven’t been home in over a week, and the food in the fridge looked a little funky’ would not go down too well. She arched an eyebrow at you.

“Um …” You floundered, thinking about what to say. You could tell her the semi-truth that the metro was delayed and you had missed the buses, but they thought you got dropped off at the top of the road by your dad on the way to work. You could tell them there was traffic, but they all drove, so they knew you were lying.

“You have 30 laps to run at the end of training,” Alexia had a stern voice that you knew meant she was serious. 30 laps? That was basically 10k. Your eyes widened to comically sized proportions. 45 minutes of running around in a circle … after training? She was trying to kill you; you were convinced of it.

“You can’t be serious?” You gawked at her. Her other eyebrow rose to join the other one.

“Deadly.” She said icily and walked away.

Holy fuck. You were really, royally fucked this time. You were so dead. You had to miss training. But again, it hadn’t been your fault. The boiler had broken in your house, which wasn’t a big deal – it was late spring in Barcelona, and you didn’t need heating. But you did need the hot water. You had tried to ask your parents to stay home whilst someone fixed it, knowing that you had training and they could definitely work from home for a day. They had dismissed you with a flippant wave of their hands and continued what they were doing. You phoned the company, asking them to come and fix it as soon as possible. But, as expected, they told you they would be there before lunch, which was the best they could offer. It was now 2.30pm, and there was no sign of them. You had texted Jona this morning, offering a weak excuse of feeling a little rough. You hadn’t expected him to tell Alexia that you were feeling bad, and it sounded like you were home alone.

The knock on the door had you running towards it – thinking it was the person coming to fix the boiler. “Gracias, Gracias. Es el …” You rushed the explanation, not realising that it was not a plumber but rather your irate captain. You froze as you looked up. Shit.

“You look fine, neña. You don’t look like you’ve … what was it? Ah, yes, ‘picked up a little something’.” She was far too calm. You could see her anger bubbling under the surface, though.

“Ale, I-” you tried to explain.

“No, no quiero escucharlo,” she cut you off, a hand raising to stop you. “You lied. You skipped training. Was it worth it? Was it so much more important than training?” She hadn’t bothered to come into the house, standing at your front door, a bag of things meant to help you feel better in her hand. “Here,” she shoved it at you. “You’re on the bench until you can prove that you want to be a part of Barcelona Femeni.” And with that, she stormed off.

Tears welled in your eyes. She hadn’t let you explain … but what could you say? ‘Sorry, Ale, my parents are arseholes and don’t realise that I have a life and a job as well’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I had to wait for the plumber to come and fix our heating and hot water, and no, my parents – the adults in the house – couldn’t do it because they think their time is so much more important than mine’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I’m currently trying to raise myself, and whilst I’m usually ok at it, sometimes I fuck up’? You couldn’t say those things to her. You couldn’t tell her how tough your life could be sometimes … most of the time. You couldn’t tell her that your parents don’t even know you have a game, let alone watch it or attend it. You couldn’t tell her you often wake up in an empty house for weeks because your parents jetted off somewhere again. You couldn’t tell her that you doubt your parents could even tell you your full name and birthday.

She thought you didn’t want to be a part of Barca. Barca was your saving grace. Barca was the only thing that got you out of bed. The friendships you made were the closest thing to a normal family you had. Jana, Vicky, Martina, Patri, Claudia, Bruna, Esmee, Salma … they were your crazy cousins, always making you laugh and willing to go along with your mad ideas. Ona, Aitana, Lucy, Cata, Mapi … they were your big sisters, always protecting you on and off the pitch and lightly teasing you. Ingrid, Caro, Keira, Mariona, Frido … they were the calming aunts that helped you through any predicament. Marta, Paños, Irene … Alexia … they were your motherly figures, the people you could always rely on to love you regardless of what else was happening in your life. Did they think you didn’t want to be there? Barcelona was the single most greatest thing that had ever happened to you.

You looked at the bag Alexia had shoved at you. It was full of healthy smoothies, nutritious snacks, and your favourite chocolates. You could even see a soft teddy instructing you to ‘Get Well Soon’. It made you sob even harder. Eventually, you moved to the sofa. Once you started crying, you couldn’t stop. You cried over everything – disappointing Alexia, having no hot water, being benched, your parents' dislike of you, your seeming lack of support system, how you appeared to fuck up the one good thing in your life. You cried yourself to sleep on the sofa, clutching the bag to your chest and feeling so incredibly sorry for both you and the girls you had failed.

The next morning, you looked horrific – puffy, red eyes, dishevelled hair, blotchy skin. You didn’t even try to hide it as you made your way to the bus stop, ignoring the weird looks thrown your way. You were in a daze as you walked through the metro system and onto the second bus, forgetting to hurry down the side alleys instead of the main road. You didn’t see Ingrid’s car as it drove past you, a concerned Mapi, Ingrid, Ona, and Lucy in it.

“Era que?” Mapi asked, pointing over her shoulder.

“Y/N? Sí, fue” Ona nodded.

“Why, though? She said she gets dropped off by her dad on his way to work.” Ingrid was just as perplexed. You seemed to know exactly where you were going and had stepped off the bus with an ease only known to someone who took the same route every day.

“Maybe it was a one-off? He couldn’t take her today, so she had to get the bus? Although I don’t know why she wouldn’t just ask one of us – she lives on most of our routes to work.” Lucy pondered, all of them confused over you.

“Hey,” Ingrid said as you walked into the changing rooms. You didn’t even smile at her, just nodding and moving to your cubby. “Um … so, how come you were on the bus?” You froze. How did she know you got the bus?

“It’s just that we saw you as we were driving in. If you needed a lift, you could’ve just asked; you know we’d all be more than happy to —” Ona explained.

“Yeh, my d-dad only told me this morning that he couldn’t take me the whole way, so … he dropped me off near the metro, and I just got the bus from there,” you lied, rushing to gather your boots and head to the pitch. It was a blatant lie. Your voice was too high, and your hands shook slightly as you tried to devise a realistic excuse.

“Todas sabemos que era una mentira, verdad?” Mapi looked around as the door swung shut.

The following month in training was awkward, to say the least. After your slip-up with the bus, you made sure to take the earlier trains, getting to training before most people had even left their beds. You figured you’d use the time to prove to Alexia and the others that you wanted to be there. You were still benched, but your name was still on the game day sheet, so you liked to believe they weren’t thinking of selling you or cancelling your contract after the season ended. The issue was getting home. If you stayed late, you were often questioned, but if you were seen walking out of the car park, you were also questioned. You really needed to learn how to drive ... quickly.

Eventually, Jona could no longer justify you sitting on the bench. Barca had the Champions League semi-finals coming up, and everyone noted your absence on the pitch.

“Y/N, you will be playing the next match. You’re going to be a sub around 60 or 70 minutes.” It was a short announcement, but you couldn’t help your heart soar. Did this mean they finally believed you when you said that Barca was the best thing that happened to you? Alexia still hadn’t looked at you since That Day, but she was no longer actively seething, which you took as a win. But now you would be playing in the home leg of the Champions League semi-finals. You were nervous, but not because of the match; you were on a 0 – 3 aggregate, and you were going to be playing at Camp Nou – it was an almost guaranteed win –but because you knew the team would be more suspicious of your lack of parents.

You decided to do what you always did – never look to the crowd, do a lap of the stadium for the fans, hurry back into the changing rooms, and slip away. Simple. Easy. You had been doing it all your life. But you hadn’t accounted for how attentive the team would be. They watched you wearily from a distance, concerned when you made no effort to look to the friends and family section during warm-ups or after the match when everyone usually went to see their loved ones. You stayed back, signing more things for fans, and then headed straight to the tunnel. After the celebration in the changing rooms, you gathered your things and disappeared before anyone could bring them up. You had mastered the art of vanishing like a ghost after matches.

But now it was the final. It was obviously an away game, but everyone’s family came. Even the coaching staff brought their loved ones. Not you, though. Your parents hadn’t known you’d left the country, let alone understood that you were playing in the most prestigious match in Europe for clubs. You were in the Starting XI, but you weren’t nervous. You knew you could win this match; this Champions title was yours for the taking. You didn’t realise that the fact that you had no family would be exposed the minute the final whistle went.

You played the full 90 minutes and an extra 5 for injury time. You were exhausted, but that didn’t matter as soon as the clock ran out. You had done it. Champions of Europe. The screams and shouts were so loud it hurt your ears, but you didn’t care. You felt unstoppable.

“Vamos, pequeña. Donde esta tu mamí? Quiero finalmente conocer a la mujer a la que debemos agradecer por regalarle al mundo contigo.” Mapi said as you sat on the grass, your medal around your neck.

“Más tarde. I just want to sit here and soak this all in.” You waved her away. She took you at your word but made meaningful eyes at Alexia, having an unspoken conversation as you moved away. Alexia watched as you leaned back, resting on your arms, legs outstretched, and eyes shut – head tilted to feel the sun on your skin. She waited for 10 minutes, watching you make no effort to see your family. It was the first thing she had done after the trophy celebration. She had run straight to her mother and sister, thanking them profusely for all their sacrifices and expressing so much gratitude towards them – throwing her sweaty body at them and tackling them into long, tight hugs.

“Do you want to see your family now?” It was the first non-football-related words she’d said to you in well over a month.

“No, I’m ok. I’ll see them later,” you dismissed her quickly.

“Do you know where they are? We could bring them down onto the pitch if you don’t want to stand up.” She wasn’t letting this go. She had an inkling that she hoped was wrong.

“It’s alright, Ale. Honestly. I’m fine sitting here, soaking this all up by myself.” You hadn’t opened your eyes, so you had assumed from the quietness she had moved away. “It’s not like you’d find them anyway,” you whispered as an unwanted tear escaped you.

“Qué quieres decir, cariño?” Your eyes snapped open, coming face to face with Alexia, Ona and Keira. You sat up, trying to hide your face.

“Oh, noth-”

“No me mientas. Dónde están tu mamí y papí?” Alexia asked sternly. You misunderstood her, thinking she was angry at you. You shook your head, refusing to answer.

“Neña, are your parents here?” Ona asked quietly, coming to sit next to you. You took a deep breath.

“No. They aren’t.”

“Do you want to phone them?” Keira suggested, hoping that it was just because they couldn’t take time away from work to attend in person. She also sat down, gesturing her phone to you as an invitation to use it. You took another deep breath.

“I don’t think they even know I had a football match, let alone a Champions League final.” Another tear slipped down your cheek. Alexia sat in front of you, reaching for your hands.

“Qué quieres decir?” She asked again, thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of your hands.

“My parents … I don’t really know how to say it,” you paused, Ona gently rubbing your back comfortingly. “My parents don’t really … parent?” You chuckled lightly.

“They don’t support you?” Keira asked, her hand resting on your knee.

“They don’t care enough. They leave for weeks on end without telling me. I get food and stuff like that on my own. I’m basically raising myself at this point. I don’t think they know I have a contract with Barca. I doubt they even know I play football. They just let me do whatever I wanted as long as I was out of the house, not causing trouble and quiet; they didn’t care. They’re lucky I haven’t turned into a criminal or something.” You tried to add a joke to lighten the mood.

“But you said you meet up with your parents after home matches,” Ona couldn’t imagine achieving half the things she did without her family supporting her from the sidelines.

“And you told us your dad drops you off every morning on the way to work,” Keira added, equally disbelieving – her parents were her biggest fans.

“Yeh, I lied. I just go home after matches. And I get the metro to training.”

“But training is nowhere near the metro, and you don’t live near a metro station either.” She still didn’t want to consider what you were saying to be true.

You explained, “I get a bus from mine to the metro and then a bus from the metro to training.”

“That’s why you were getting off the bus that day when we saw you,” Ona realised. She hadn’t trusted your story but had considered no other possibilities.

“That’s why you're late to training sometimes? Because of the buses and trains?” Alexia asked, her hands never leaving yours.

“Yeh.” You looked down, ashamed of your situation and lying to them.

“And that day when you missed training. You weren’t sick. What happened?”

“I … um … the boiler broke, so I had to wait for someone to come fix it. Which they never did, by the way. I had to phone some random company that massively overcharged me, and the water definitely doesn’t get as hot as it used to.” You babbled nervously. “It wasn’t because I don’t want to be at Barca. It’s the only thing that keeps me going, knowing that I have you guys looking out for me. It makes everything else seem not as bad,” you whispered, needing them to know just how important Barca was to you. You looked around. Patri and Pina tried to do the perfect chest bump as Jana and Bruna filmed. Lucy was chasing her niece and nephew. Ingrid and Mapi were with Ingrid’s parents, smiling widely as they talked. Marta and Caro were sat off to one side, talking quietly. You could see the others dotted around the stadium, talking to fans, speaking to parents, and enjoying the support.

“Cariño, I am so sorry,” Alexia implored. I shouted at you and benched you. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t believe you took Barca seriously.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, neña?” Ona asked.

“We only want what’s best for you, kid,” Keira added.

“Um … I don’t really know. It doesn’t really matter. It’s been like this my whole life, so…”

“Cariño. It does matter. But we know now, and that’s all that matters, sí?” Alexia stood up, dragging you with her. “Let’s go see my family. Mi Mamí has been asking to meet you for ages. And before you say no, she already has plans for you to come round for dinner one night. Y en secreto, ella siempre quiso una tercera hija.” She said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as Ona took your hand.

“Oh, Eli will have to fight my Mama on that one, Ale. She always wanted a goal-scoring daughter.”

“Well, my mum says you are more than welcome to stay at her house if you ever visit the UK as long as you cook her paella.” Keira smiled.

Maybe your biological family was shite, but your found one certainly wasn't.

I hope you liked it <3

[moonstruckme]

i am so BUMMED when i realized ive read all of your polymarauders works. can i get more of them please? especially the one like the 'casual dominance' fic omgg. that one made me feel THINGS. btw!!! congrats on reaching the 1k mark. totally deserved <33

-🥀

Wow babe, that's a lot! I'm really glad you're enjoying them! I know I've written a few since you sent this in, but I decided to treat this as a request for specifically casual dom!marauders because I'm weak for them too :*

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your teeth chatter as you step out of the fastest shower of your life, barely drying yourself off before starting on your makeup. You’re so dumb. You’re so, so dumb. Of course it’d be the night before your presentation that you’d accidentally set your alarm for PM instead of AM. How many times had you stirred, thought about getting up, and decided to wait until your alarm went off? It had only been when you’d woken to an empty bed, sunlight coming in through the window, that you’d realized. 

You’re still running on the adrenaline of that waking jolt, now mixed with the extra edginess from your frigid shower since you couldn’t afford to wait for the water to warm. You probably won’t be late, but you’re definitely going to be late by pre-presentation standards. You’d planned to get there a half hour in advance to set up and mentally prepare. Now you’re going to have ten minutes at best, and that’s only if you can get out the door in the next few. You finish with your makeup—your hair’s just going to have to dry on the way—and turn to where you’d hung your pre-selected and Sirius-vetted presentation outfit the night before. The hangers sit empty. 

You go into the bedroom, hoping one of the boys had laid them out on the bed while you’d been in the shower. Nothing. Just your socks and shoes where you’d left them by the bedroom door. 

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, pulling the socks on because you can do that, at least. “Shit shit shit!” 

You take off down the stairs, relieved to see Sirius on his way up. “Hey! Do you know where—” your foot hits too close to the edge of one step, slipping down to the next. It seems inclined to keep going, but Sirius’ hands catch you around the waist. 

“Jesus, baby.” He looks down at your feet as you get them under you again, eyebrows drawn together. “Running down the stairs is already a punishable offense, but with socks on?” 

“Do you know where my presentation outfit went?” you ask in a rush. 

Sirius blinks. “No. It’s not where you left it?” You shake your head and decide this conversation is no longer a productive use of your time, moving past him. “Don’t run,” he says after you, and you slow to a slight hustle down the remaining steps. 

You practically skid into the kitchen, where Remus is just about to sit down at the table with his cup of coffee and James is running the blender. You raise your voice to be heard over it. “Do either of you know where my presentation outfit went?” 

James stops the blender. “Morning to you too, sweetheart. Everything okay?” 

You feel like you could burst into tears, but that would just waste more time. Why is no one cooperating with your need for efficiency?

“I’m going to be late!” you stress to James, turning around to survey the kitchen, the living room, like they’ll just be hanging in some random corner where you somehow forgot them. “I need my clothes, have you seen them?”

“Dove.” Remus takes you by the shoulders. “Breathe. You’ve got time.” 

You exhale, trying not to twitch as your skin crawls with urgency, or to lecture him on how little time you actually have. Remus watches you patiently. His hands slide up to either side of your face once you no longer seem like a flight risk, thumb stroking your cheek. 

“Your outfit’s in the dryer,” he says in a soothing voice, still holding you as if to keep you from running off. “I was warming it up while you were in the shower.” 

Your next inhale scrapes on the way in, a grateful pressure building behind your eyes. “Rem, that’s so sweet,” you say. “Thank you.” 

Remus gives you a smile and a little shrug, more casual than the faint pinkness of his cheeks would suggest. He lets his hands skim back down your neck, giving your upper arms a light squeeze. “Why don’t you let it finish running while you have your breakfast, yeah? That way there’s no risk of spilling on it.” 

You shake your head, aware this won’t go over well but too anxious to worry much about it. “I don’t have time for breakfast,” you tell him. “I need to catch the bus in, like—” Your eyes search for a moment before landing on the microwave clock. “—five minutes.” 

“I’ll drive you,” Sirius says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he comes back downstairs.

You glance at the microwave clock again in case you read it wrong the first time. “You can’t,” you say. “You’ll be late.” 

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t have a presentation. They’ll deal with it.” 

You look to Remus, expecting him to object to Sirius’ proposed tardiness, but he only nods, sitting down with his coffee. 

“Are…are you sure?” you ask Sirius, trying to adjust to the sudden non-urgency of your situation. 

“It’s no problem,” he promises you. “Stop looking so upset, honey, just eat your breakfast.” 

“Drink your breakfast, is more like it,” James says proudly, coming in from the kitchen to pass you a glass of whatever he’d been concocting in the blender. It’s a murky brown-green, and you try not to wrinkle your nose for James’ sake. 

“Thanks.” You take it from him tentatively. “It’s…it’s a smoothie?” 

James laughs at your expression, and you think you hear Remus snort into his coffee. “Yes, it’s a smoothie. The color’s because of the chocolate protein powder and the spinach, but it’s got fruit, too, don’t worry.” 

You swirl the glass a bit, assessing the color. “Why so much spinach?”

James sets a hand on your shoulder, encouraging you into your chair as he joins the three of you at the table with a smoothie of his own. “Iron, sweetheart.” He casts a pointed glance at your legs, spotted here and there with purple-and-yellow blotches of skin. “Seems like need it. You’re bruising like a peach lately.” 

Remus hums in agreement as you take a tentative sip of the smoothie. It’s not bad, though you can feel little bits of spinach sticking to your teeth. You make a mental note to have Sirius check your smile before you get out of the car later.

“And I saw that look in your eyes when you stood up too quick from the couch yesterday,” Remus says, quirking an eyebrow when you look at him in surprise. “You’re not as subtle as you think, dove.” 

You bring the glass to your lips again to avoid making a response. Sirius laughs, and when you smile sheepishly, his grin turns goofy. “Hold it there,” he says, taking your jaw in hand. You keep your smile in place as his eyes narrow. “Front tooth on the left. My left.” You lick at the piece of spinach, and he nods, dropping his hand. 

“Knew I could count on you,” you tell him. “Thanks, Siri.” 

Sirius pecks you on the cheek. “S’what I’m here for, gorgeous.”

[vroomvroomcircuit]

"Diamonds are made under pressure, aren't they?"

Summary: It's about treading the line between 'diamonds are made under pressure' and 'bread only rises through rest', describing the struggles of two people that come with being described as one of the best drivers to ever exist and the smartest person in the room

Pairing: Max Verstappen x engineer!reader

Wordcount: 2k

🏎Masterlist🏎

_______________________

“Diamonds are made under pressure.”

This is a sentence, a one-liner, that has been thrown at (Y/N) through an off-sentence by a friend during one of their most stressful weeks of university. Ever since she lived by it. It was one of the mantras she retold herself over and over again during one of too many all-nighters, only accompanied by sugary energy drinks and crippling anxiety about her future if she doesn't get through this assignment on time.

In the end it all, meaning the late nights and early mornings in libraries, study halls and classrooms, was worth it, the grind she held through her bachelors in engineering got her a seat on the Red Bull Racing team in Formula 1. Ultimately, it brought her to her true love, Max Verstappen.

They have similar mindsets, after all, there is always room for improvement and why wait for it when you can do it now? So many people are counting on them anyway.

This is something they have discussed during late night talks. These started back then when he was in his third year with Red Bull and (Y/N)’s first.

Max was about to leave the factory after a long day of working on the new car for the upcoming season. He stopped when he saw a light still burdening in one of the offices. Being the environmentally conscious person he is, he wanted to turn it off. Good one, Max. Without you Red Bull would go bankrupt based on the energy bills alone.

Instead of an empty office, he was met with wide eyes. “Uh, I apologize for running in like that. I thought somebody forgot to turn off the light”, the driver explained his sudden appearance.

After recovering from the initial shock of having her door thrown open out of the blue, (Y/N) was quick to put Max back at ease. “Oh no, it’s fine. I guess it really is late. I just wanted to run the suggestions you made to the team through a simulation and see if the outcome really does change like you expect it to.” The young woman smiled tiredly at him before continuing punching some numbers into her computer and sipping on a can of Red Bull (the orange one is the best, you can’t change my mind).

“You don’t sound convinced by my idea too much”, he noticed with a small grin of his own, “Was what I said not smart?” He still whacked his brain whether or not she was with the team he worked with today. He surely would remember, right?

“Oh, I would know what you said word for word, I was with the other driver today. But Mike gave me the notes and why wait to put what you suggested to work when I can do it now?” (Y/N) winks at him.

“And still you think it won’t work.” And with that they started an in depth discussion about the outcome that is to be expected with the proposed changes. In the middle of another Maxplaining (Y/N) just turned her computer screen towards the man leaning against the doorway, proving her point she told him from the beginning of their conversation.

“Well, I guess you need to explain these results to me. Maybe over a cup of coffee?”

“I definitely need to, can’t have our golden boy lack knowledge in the field of engineering. We want these Championship wins.” With that she packed her back. “I know a place that’s still open.”

Born with that are many more discussions, partially very heated even, that could only be solved by getting one of the heavy textbooks out that (Y/N) still kept from her uni days. Sometimes held over coffee in softly lighted cafes around the world, later during dinners, which are only interrupted by waiters desperately trying to get their attention to jot down their orders, and in the end they continue them in the security that only their own four walls can provide.

One time during a race weekend the whole team had a bet going on about how long the two can keep talking about the same subject. After two hours they had to be stopped, both of them needing to follow their own programme points of the day. GP won the bet, having to listen to their conversations on a regular basis with no way to escape them, because they are vital with important key information. Still, it doesn’t mean that they are exciting.

Now, three years after that initial meeting, three WDC and two WCC have been secured since. During that time the aspiring engineer decided to pursue a masters degree in technical engineering alongside her work in the team (or more like Christian offering her a whole ride paid by Red Bull after hearing her talking about this and knowing how much extra value this brings to the upcoming seasons).

The couple’s apartment in Monaco starts to look more like a library than a living space for humans, textbooks and loose papers scattered over every available surface and the floor of their office. While the driver greatly admires his love’s determination to get through her programme with the best possible grades, he starts to worry a bit. He has heard stories from her friends and family from her time at uni and what her study habits had looked like back then.

Hell, Max himself plants his ass for more hours on the sim than probably necessary, since there is always room for improvement. But seeing his girlfriend become a zombie version of the person he got to know was definitely not what he had expected when she signed up for going back to uni.

“Schatje? I thought you wanted to join me in bed?” Max asked (Y/N) tiredly, who is still sitting in her seat at the office desk while pouring over textbooks and a writing document on her laptop. His voice tells her that he already had fallen asleep, but something must have woken him up. Was she talking to herself again? She tends to do that when getting lost in her own world of equations and laws of physics.

“Yes, I will be with you in a minute. Let me just write this down, I finally understood that concept”, the engineer waved him off absentmindedly, the other hand retracing a line in a book, which has been assaulted by differently colored highlighters.

But Max is nothing but a stubborn man and if life had taught him one lection then it’s to never give up easily. “Come on, it’s really late and all your smart thoughts will still be there after you get some sleep”, he tried convincing her, moving closer and massaging the tension away from his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“I told you, I’ll be there in a sec. But a masters thesis doesn’t write itself and I would deeply appreciate it if you would leave me be to finish this up.” Frustration starts to set in (Y/N)’s voice.

Max is not irritated by it at all. He had been the same, if not worse, to her in his most challenging moments of his career. He knows that he can be a harsh person, unfortunately even to his loved ones. But that also means he knows how to deal with harsh people.

“You know what, I’ll put the kettle on and make us a cup of tea while you wrap this up and we meet again in the bedroom. Okay?” Softly spoken, the Dutchman proposes the idea to her.

(Y/N) can’t really say no to this, knowing that her brain wouldn’t be able to process and absorb much more information anyways. Still, there is a certain guilt gnawing on her conscience whenever she is about to take a break from her studies.

With puppy dog eyes the engineer looks up to her boyfriend. “Can you make it a hot chocolate, please? And maybe some of the cookies you brought home from the bakery?” Her small voice is enough to ask Max to do nothing short of a murder and he would say yes without wasting any thoughts on it. “Of course, Schatje. Anything for my smart and brilliant girl.” He presses a kiss on her forehead before disappearing from the office.

Not long after this the couple finds themselves sipping from their mugs with some calming music playing in the background and munching on some treats.

“My love, I feel like when I talk to you now about the importance of taking breaks and resting, we both will have a déjà-vu,” Max says with a small smile.

He is not wrong. They actually talked about it a couple of months ago when Max had to be dragged off the sim, because he had been stressing himself out about a particular race way too much to consider it a healthy try to improve.

“I know, I know. It’s just, being smart is not easy and I try to live up to the title of the clever woman in my family and in the team,” (Y/N) confesses quietly. The driver puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her further into his embrace.

“What do you mean, Schatje? What do you have to live up to?” Murmurs are whispered into her hair.

“It can be hard, being the smart one. Because as soon as people catch on, they start expecting things from you. Suddenly, you are knowledgeable in every single subject available on earth. You become other people’s measurement scale. When they get something right and you wrong, they will rub it into your face.

You have to do great things, because they want you to do that. You will get pressured into using your intellect to the fullest extent, because otherwise they say your potential is wasted. Nobody wants you to do that, it would be a shame. Apparently to everybody and their mother.

This is why I sometimes hate to be the smart one. No one wants me to be average, they need me to be exceptional. That’s why I have to study hard and read everything there is on this subject. And diamonds are made under pressure, aren’t they?”

Max understands the kind of pressure that is on her. He felt like that for the majority of his life, having to exceed the expectations of other people over and over again, because only meeting them just is not enough.

Either he is the best driver out there or he shouldn’t even bother to try. That is something he had been told from his early days into his driving career. He lived by it like it was the only truth that mattered.

This was until he met her. (Y/N) showed him that trying is better than never starting. That his best will always be enough. Nobody has been born being a master in something. Failing is an important part of the way to perfection. Mistakes have to be made to improve, to learn what needs to be improved.

And he wants to show her that all of this also counts for her, too.

“Do you wanna know what Christian said to me a couple of months ago? ‘Just like dough, you can rise only if you rest.’ You need time to recharge to be able to do your best. Let’s take the day tomorrow off, recharge our batteries and just laze around and snooze in a bit. After tomorrow, I’ll help you study.”

A study date with Max Verstappen is too good to say no to. Whenever he quizzes (Y/N), she gets a kiss for every correct answer. So the questions might get easier over time. Still, he motivates her to do her best while looking out for her water intake and food consumption and taking regular breaks for stretching her body or going for a walk.

Max is right, you need to rest to continue achieving greatness.

[zepskies]

Hello. I was wondering if you could write an imagine in the BMD-verse (been following it for a while now; love, love, love it, by the way!) where Ben cries?

Like something really bad happens in general or to the Reader, and he losses it? I mean, personally, I have never known this man to cry, and I would love to see you conjure up something that could possibly elicite that reaction from him.

But no pressure - will definitely understand if you don't want to write it!

Oooh, so you really wanna kill me, huh? 🫠😭😭

Lol it's okay, thank you for loving Break Me Down!! It's one of my favorite story verses that I've been able to create on here. ❤️❤️

This request was difficult for me on multiple levels, but I think I was able to pull it off? (I'll let you be the judge.) This is set in the BMD-verse, shortly after "Love Actually."

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst, show-level violence, hurt/comfort, "twist" ending (you'll want to read until the end, trust me).

Imagine: Ben loses you.

Ben restrained another sigh when he realized you were no longer walking next to him.

He turned and saw you stopping in another damn kiosk, this time looking at a selection of Pashmina scarves. As if you didn’t have enough clothes.

“We’re not here for a damn shopping spree,” he called after you.

He ignored the people who glanced at him as they walked past, a couple of them even shooting him an annoyed look.

One didn’t just stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk in New York City, but as with most societal protocols, Ben couldn't really give a fuck.

He almost started tapping his foot. Instead, he crossed his arms as he glared in your general direction. You were smiling and chatting with the woman selling her wares as you finished the transaction.

Ben at least could admire the view of you bent over in those tight jeans and ankle boots. You also wore the dark green winter coat he bought you last month, lined with faux fur to keep you warm.

When you eventually came back to him, you shot him an amused smile. You held a new scarf in shades of green and blue, to match your coat. But you also held out a new pair of leather gloves for him.

“Here you go, Grumpy. I didn't forget about you,” you teased. He raised a wry brow at you and took the gloves. He inspected them with a half-critical eye.

“And how much did these cost, five cents?”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. He caught up with you and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“My hands don’t get cold anyway,” he reminded you. And you often complained that his body heat was like a radiator, especially at night. Although, you hadn’t been complaining since the winter turned frigid this February.

“All right, whatever. Just don’t say I never get you anything,” you quipped. “Besides, you know you love to accessorize.”

A smirk pulled at Ben’s lips. The gloves were a half-assed gift, but he still wore the watch you got him for Christmas proudly on his wrist. That was a nice silver Rolex.

“All I know is, we’d better not be late for this damn meeting,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear Mallory’s fucking mouth.”

The two of you had made a day of coming into the city, hitting a nice brunch spot and ice skating at Rockefeller center before your date had been rudely interrupted—by a call for a new mission.

Grace Mallory had been a bit cryptic on the phone, but it had something to do with the mess Ben left of the drug cartels in South America. After they got back to the States, Ben left that “business” behind…he just hadn’t thought of how that would shake out in Colombia.  

So now, you two were headed to the Supe Affairs building. You slipped your arm around his, while his hands were in his pockets. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Try to enjoy the little things, Ben,” you told him. “We had mimosas and some bougie ass lobster tails with our eggs this morning. I skated circles around you on the ice. And now we’re going to get some work done.”

“On our day off,” he retorted.

“To be fair, you made the mess, Mr. Kingpin,” you pointed out. “We’ve just gotta clean it up…as usual.”

“Hey," he eyed you. But you both knew the warning had little heat behind it.

He still reached for your cheek and brushed his thumb across it. He felt how cold your face was, and he stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither of you cared when pedestrians gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

Maybe you were right though. Maybe he should take stock of the small moments. Ben held your face with both hands and caressed some warmth back into your skin.

Your smile softened, and your eyes closed when his lips found their way to your forehead. He then took the newly bought scarf out of your hand and wrapped it comfortably around your neck.

“What a gentleman,” you said, with a small grin.

Ben smirked down at you…until his face fell.

He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.

It took him another second to move, grabbing you and shielding you with his entire body when it hit his back. The bullet itself bounced harmlessly off his skin, but the inner compartment of Novichok exploded like a small smoke bomb. The smell was too familiar to him to be anything else.

Ben coughed and was forced to push you away from him before the gas reached you. You yelped and almost tripped on your feet, but you scrambled back against the wall of a drycleaners. Your wide eyes met his as his knees buckled; the gas had clouded around his head.

“Run!” he shouted through fits of coughing.

You hesitated, for just a second. But when another bullet ricocheted into the wall behind you, near your head, you ducked and had to take off running.

You wove through the busy sidewalk, pushing people out of your way as you went. Whoever was after him this time, you had a feeling these were the people Ben had pissed off in Colombia.

Fuck! You sprinted past an alleyway and saw the hand coming for your arm, but even when you turned, there was another man, dressed a black military-style uniform with his face covered by a black mask, waiting to grab you from behind.

It was muscle memory. You released an elbow into the man’s neck, a punch straight into his teeth and nose, then kicked his knee out with the heel of your boot.

You grabbed your gun from under your jacket and would've shot him, except the next man wheelhouse kicked it out of your hand. You stepped back on instinct, ducking the following punch, and the rest of his arm to run in the opposite direction.

The first man pointed a large automatic gun straight in your face. You gasped and put your hands up. With a quick glance in either direction, you realized that they’d cornered you.

Your hands were pulled behind your back by someone else. That’s when they started dragging you toward a black SUV parked in the corner.

Except that car was soon destroyed, by an old Honda Civic being shoved into it. The SUV's hood constantined like an accordion.

You looked up with wide eyes, and there stood Ben, at the crossroads of the alley. He was furious.

“Soldier Boy,” greeted the man who once again held the automatic gun poised at you. He pulled down his mask, revealing the tan face of a middle-aged man.

He moved over to you and grabbed your arm from his subordinate. He raised the gun to your back. With one press of his finger, your insides could become Swiss cheese.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to take in even breaths. You focused on Ben. His green eyes met yours, and briefly you caught the worry behind them before his steely gaze moved back to the man who held you.

“Pretty ballsy, Reyes,” Ben said. His voice was a drawl, more controlled than he felt. “You really thought this was gonna go down that easy?”

Reyes scoffed. “You’re the ballsy one. Taking off with all that product you stole.”

“You’ll have to take up with the CIA on that one,” Ben replied. “They confiscated all the smack from my place. Probably reselling it to a few hobos down the street. You’re welcome to check under the bridge over there.”

He gestured in the direction of the Hudson River.  

Reyes shrugged. The sound of a gun’s safety being clipped back resounded through the alley. You felt the vibration of it on your back. Your eyes closed for a moment.

“Bad news for her,” he said.

"Hey," Ben snapped. "There's no fucking need for that."

"I think I'll decide what we need," said Reyes. Your lips pursed as the gun dug into your back. "Maybe it's your bitch's insides at your feet."

Ben slowly raised a placating hand. Though his gait was still relaxed and arrogant, as always, you knew it was a well-crafted act. To hide his anger. His fear. To seem in control of himself, and to reinforce the intimidating presence he still was, even unarmed.

“Listen. If it’s money you want, we can work it out,” Ben replied.

His eyes once again found yours. He could see you were holding your breath. You were good at hiding it, but he knew you were scared. He wanted to tell you that he had this handled. That everything would be all right.

He focused on Reyes again. The other man considered the supe with a tilt of his head. He sucked his teeth and spit on the ground, out of the corner of his mouth. It was mixed with a bit of blood from when you'd punched him in the teeth.

“Okay, my friend,” said Reyes. “Let’s work this out. Pull out your phone.”

Ben made slow movements in grabbing his phone from his pocket. They all stepped further into the alley to avoid prying eyes and discussed the transfer of funds, and how much was fair. Ben claimed he was giving him a deal with his first offer.

Reyes demanded three times that amount. Ben raised his brows...but he complied. The money transferred from his bank account.

“Okay, we’re fucking done,” Ben snarked. He gestured at you with his eyes. “Let her go.”

In his mind, he was already contemplating how thoroughly he'd rip Reyes apart for this. After you were safe. He'd have a first class ticket to Medellin by tonight, ready to Colombian-necktie this cocksucker.

Reyes sighed through his nose. There was still about ten feet between him and Ben. He didn't seem to think it was enough. He took the gun off your back and backed up with you a few steps. Eventually, he released your arm.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart,” Ben reached a hand out, beckoning for you. You met his gaze once again, and let out a subtle breath.

You took three hesitant steps forward.

And the gunshots echoed horribly through the alley.

As it turned out, Reyes always had an escape plan. You were merely the distraction.

It proved effective, as Ben’s protest rang out as soon as the bullets fired. He raced forward and caught you as you stumbled, but his hands soon became coated in your blood; it fled from your back in thin rivulets.

You gasped and clung to his arms. His ears rang with the sound, along with tires squealing and shouts and police sirens. All he could focus on was the color draining from your face.

Both of your breaths came out ragged as he slid with you down to his knees. He brushed your hair away from your face, even as his blood-covered hand stained your cheek. Your pained eyes drew up to his face. You tried to speak, but you didn't have the strength.

“I hear the sirens. They’re coming for you, take you to the hospital,” he promised. His voice was rough, but his throat was tight. His eyes scanned over you. “All you need is my blood and…Christ. Fuck it all.”

He laid you down on the dirty asphalt and hurriedly yanked up his coat sleeve until it ripped. It exposed his arm. He was about to drag a blunt nail across his own skin to bleed into you.

“Ben.” Your fingers twitched against his knee.

When he looked at your face, there was no longer life in your eyes.

His own were wide, almost uncomprehending. His breathing was harsh as empty hands fell to his thighs. His head felt heavy, though his ears were still ringing.

He drew enough strength in his hand to wipe the blood from your cold cheek…but your face was beginning to blur.

Or not, he realized, as the sting in his eyes took him by surprise.

In a fit of mania, he gathered you back up in his arms and ignored the wetness covering your back. He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.

And it was his own fault.

His eyes squeezed shut against the burn, but it was futile. Everything was. His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.

His lips pressed against your forehead, trembling there. The first drops of wetness rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it from happening, but then again. He guessed he truly was a failure, after all.

You made the mess…

His first tears had been spent at his mother’s funeral, when he stood alone at her gravestone.

His last ones would fall and die with you.

“Ben,” your voice was soft but insistent.

He finally woke with a start. A sharp inhale through his nose.

He had been sleeping on his side. Before he even truly registered where he was, in the safety of his bedroom, he turned his head toward you.

His eyes found your face in the dark, over his shoulder. Your hair was frizzy from sleep. The strap of your nightgown had fallen off one shoulder. Your face looked bleary and tired, but you frowned in concern.

“You okay, baby?” you asked. Your hand soothed across the dewy skin on his arm.

Ben’s throat constricted. He was starting to remember bits and pieces of the dream…the nightmare. He rubbed at his eyes, then dragged a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said at last.

“Hmm.” Your gaze narrowed at him. “You sure?”

Ben had only enough energy in him to nod in response. His heart was still racing. Maybe you sensed that, because you leaned onto his arm and dropped a hand down his chest. You kissed his bare shoulder with soft lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

He raised a hand to cup the back of your head. He let out a long, relieved sigh through his nose, closing his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and brought you closer, with an arm slipping around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You made a sound of surprise, but you went willingly.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his face and pressed a kiss against his neck, to his jaw, his cheek and above his brow. He accepted it all and tried to calm his breathing with the feeling of your touch, and the smell of your flowery soap that lingered on your skin.

With a hand still cupping your head, he guided your lips to his. He claimed you slowly, but with purpose. You answered him by tilting your head, deepening the kiss for a moment.

You parted from him just as slowly. You knew everything wasn’t okay, but you also knew it wasn’t the time to push him for an answer.

Maybe in the morning, you thought. …I’ll make pancakes. Haven't done that in a while. And he’s always happier with something sweet.

You rested contentedly against his warm chest and let his heartbeat, gradually slowing back into a steady rhythm, lull you back to sleep.

Ben tangled his fingers into your hair. He laid one more kiss on the top of your head.

And for damn sure, he was going to cancel that trip into the city tomorrow.

AN: I know, I know. The "it was all a dream" thing is super cheesy, but I couldn't leave it on heartbreak. I just don't have it in me with these two. 🥲❤️‍🩹

Read the Sequel:

A friend of mine requested a sequel to this imagine: "You confront Ben about his fears."

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

[painfulstretch]

a sub having a birth kink and purposefully getting knocked up so they’ll experience the beauty of labor themselves. only to get a dark awakening.

they don't learn any breathing exercises for pain management because they're convinced they’ll be turned on the dntire time and gave an orgasmic birth (they're very self-confident about this... too self-confident). it's also why they don't hire a midwife or plan for the hospital, no, they want an unassisted home birth.

when early labor starts, it kind of works still. they are turned on, definitely, but can't really reach their opening because of their big bump - since it dropped earlier that morning, it's even harder to reach around. so they resort to humping the armrest of the couch and grinding against pillows but it doesn't really bring them much pleasure and their belly keeps getting in the way. besides the pressure in their pelvis makes it hard to stay upright, and the contractions are coming closer, sharper, knocking the wind out if their lungs. soon they're huffing and panting. still in denial, still sure the pleasure will win. but as time goes on, their certainty starts to waver. after their water breaks, the contractions become more intense, no longer dampened by the amniotic fluid. as their womb gets squeezed tighter and their baby is being worked down, they slowly but surely start to admit to themselves that this isn’t going according to plan, that this is far more painful than they imagined. they're sweating and trembling, panting frantically and desperately clutching their bump, trying and failing to rub some of the pain and tension away.

by the time they recognize they don't want to do this alone without help after all, it's too late. they're in too much pain to get up, glued to the couch, squirming and sobbing. their crotch is bulging grotesquely but they're far from crowning and they scream everytime they bear down. they push for hours upon hours, suffering in pure agony.

[pochipop]

＃FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — SWEET NOTHING (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).

#. synopsis! — sometimes it feels like mike may never escape the past, but he hears the future in the beat of your heart (nightmare reverse comfort) .

#. characters! — mike schmidt .

#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) .

#. word count! — 1.1k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — i got an autism diagnosis today lmao, makes sense tho.

The house is dark and shrouded in silence, broken only by Mike’s uneasy groans and his occasional writhing in his sleep. What seemed peaceful at the get-go has become something less content, leaving him entangled in the sheets and pulling most of the shared blanket to his side of the bed. The late autumn chill hanging thick in the air has you shivering, casting a tired, half-lidded gaze to the digital clock resting on the nightstand. It’s four minutes past three thirty in the morning, displayed in vivid, neon green digits that prompt a slight scrunch of displeasure from your face at the glaring brightness.

You remind yourself that this really has gotten better. It’s been weeks since the last time, and he’s been going to therapy like you suggested, even if he was a little unsettled by the idea at first. His new job cleaning up after club-goers at a nearby joint pays pretty well, all things considered, and with your income added to the mix, money is still tight at times, —but he’d decided after the first few sessions that you pressured him into that it was worth the trouble.

Still, that doesn’t negate the obvious. Mike has suffered a lot in his lifetime, and that’s hardly lent itself to consistency or stability. Some of it has been his own doing, while other parts have been far too out of his control, and he’s been learning how to maneavour his way around that misty grey area in between to the best of his ability. But he’s not ineffable, and sometimes, especially on nights like this, the cards fall where they may. At least this time he’s not waking up in a cold sweat, halfway to a panic attack, sweat drenching the mattress beneath him. At least this time he isn’t gasping for breath, clawing at something unseen in the shadows of the bedroom, jerking away like a rodeo bull the moment you reach out to ease him down. 

He mumbles something that sounds like a plea in his sleep, but it’s muffled by the pillow his face is squished against. If he weren’t obviously disgruntled, you might have been tempted to admire how cute he looked for a little while longer.

“Mike,” you say softly, reaching out to rest a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, “hey.”

He reacts slightly to the touch, but isn’t fully awake, so you try again.

“Mike,” you repeat, fingers curling around the curve.

This time, it’s enough. His eyes shoot open, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness, then locking on your face. He sits up slightly, perching on his elbows. The breath he lets out in the aftermath is sobering.

“Sorry,” he utters, letting his head hit the pillow unceremoniously.

You ignore the unnecessary apology in lieu of brushing some loose strands of brown hair away from his forehead.

“You alright?”

He gazes up at you with those sweet, puppy-dog eyes that he doesn’t even have to try to put on. They’re just his natural state, and heaven knows you could spend a few lifetimes gazing into them if it were possible.

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs a little, reaching up to grab your hand and hold it in his own.

His touch is so soft and tender, albeit calloused and a little clammy from the leftover adrenaline of his nightmare. He’s really come a long way, and you hope he knows that. You wouldn’t mind saying it, but he’d definitely get embarrassed by it, so you avoid laying verbal praise on too thick when you can help it. This time three months ago, he’d have been jumping out of bed to rush down the hall into Abby’s room, only letting himself relax upon seeing her sleeping form bundled up beneath her covers. Now, he takes a deep breath, exhales it slowly, and kisses your wrist.

“Nothing to worry about,” he assures you.

“I always worry about you,” you answer, offering him a lopsided smile.

He gives you a knowing look and replies: “That’s exactly the problem.”

You roll your eyes playfully and watch as he fiddles with your fingers for a bit before glancing in the direction of the clock.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Too early for you to be awake,” you respond lightly. “You can sleep for a few more hours at least. You’ll need it.”

Mike nods, letting his heavy eyelids close again.

“Bit of an understatement,” he jokes.

It really is though. If anyone knows about hard work, especially hard work for the sake of anyone but himself, —it’s him. The least he deserves is a proper night’s sleep. You figure that’s why it’s so hard for you to see him like this, even when it’s getting better. You’d trade your dreams for his in a heartbeat if it meant he could be less haunted at night.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice laden with drowsiness.

He drops your hand only to open his arms, encouraging you to take your place on his chest. It’s comfortable and intimate all the same as you nestle against him, seeking comfort and closeness, and hoping with every fiber of your being that you can offer the same to him. Mike tugs the comforter up to your neck, one arm folding around your shoulders, thumb caressing the fabric of your pajama shirt. For a moment, you find yourself wishing you’d gone to sleep without it, just so he could rub against your skin directly.

You relish in his warmth, body molding to the contours of his own, —finding the closest thing you’ve ever known to heaven on Earth. Quiet connection simmers in the surrounding air, sparking like static electricity, and you let your eyes close.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask quietly.

He probably won’t, but it’s always better to ask, if for nothing else than to let him know that the option is available.

“Not right now,” he replies, and though he’s turning your offer away, there’s an undeniable softness threaded amidst it all.

“Later, then?”

He hums, and you feel it ripple through his chest.

“Maybe.”

Later might never come, but that’s okay. As long as he knows that you’re a safe haven to seek refuge in, then that’s enough for you.

“Just get some sleep for now,” he continues, craning his neck forward to ghost his lips against your forehead, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that makes you smile on command.

“Night,” you mutter quietly, snuggling further into his chest.

“Night, baby,” he returns, smoothing a hand along your hair.

It’s quiet for a moment or two, and then he sheepishly adds: “I love you.”

No matter how many times you hear it, it still gives you butterflies.

“I love you too.”

[kennedyslvr]

Hey bby!! Could u do smut but its vendetta leon x a goth reader??? I mean like, romantic goth?? I was thinking him n the reader experimenting with new kinks??? Idk

warnings: nsfw, m.reader, age gap!!! (leon is late 30s reader is early 20s), choking, pain play, mean leon :(, daddy/master/sir kink, marking and bruising, aftercare!!

word count: 1079

note: this was so sweet to write ty anon!!

—

“leon, can we talk for a second?” leon placed his beer bottle down before turning away from his computer to face you, he gave you a gentle smile before beckoning you to his lap. you happily sat on his lap, he noticed that you were holding his journal. ah shit. “don’t get mad but…i read through your journal and…do you really wanna try that impact stuff with me?” he stared at you blankly before letting out an airy laugh, “let an old man have his fantasies, geez kid.” you felt his leg start to bounce making you giggle, it’s not like you weren’t flattered at the long paragraphs written about all the different ways he wanted to hurt sexually you. “tell you what mr. kennedy, i’ll let you try out the whole impact play shit you’ve written about me. that’d be pretty fun hm?” leon instantly perked up at your words, he was instantly intrigued. “babe…have you read it? i feel like you should-“ “i’m a grown man, i know what i want. and what i want is you, leon.” time for prepping!

you and leon went through everything you needed to before starting, safewords, nonverbal cues, what to do and not to do. he was very cautious since he could easily get caught up in what he was doing, he just wanted to keep you safe. “again, baby, if you want to change your mind now you can, i promise i won’t be mad.” you placed your hand on his cheek before peppering his face in your black lipstick, “it’s okay leon, i promise. i know what to do if it ever gets too much.”

IMPACT PLAY + DEGRADATION

‘i want to hurt him, i know it sounds bad but the thought of hurting him and leaving bruises on him makes my cock throb. i want to see him cry from all the pain and the names i call him. i want to see him bruised up and wanting for me, i couldn’t possibly tell him this though. he would definitely think i’m a fucking creep.’

smack.

you let out a pained cry as his hand came in contact with your soft cheeks again, you couldn’t focus on anything but the pain he gave you. your face was burning and your thighs were scarred and bruised, everything hurts on your body but it feels so good. “how many?” what? how many? “h-huh?” you looked up at him confused, what the hell did he mean how many? “how many times have you been hit today, hm?” you we’re trying to remember, you were trying your very best. you couldn’t focus with him staring daggers into you, you squirmed in discomfort. “…i-i don’t know…” leon looked annoyed and frustrated, you looked down ashamed with yourself. “i-i’m sorry! i’ll try to remember-“

smack.

you fell over holding onto your cheek, he continued to hit the back of your thighs and ass with a riding crop. you tried to crawl away from him, only to feel his hand push the back of your neck down, effectively locking you down. he placed his knee on your lower back and applied only a little bit of pressure, you wiggled under his weight. “don’t try to run away, slut. you wanted this, and i’m going to give it to you.” you whimpered at the harshness of his voice, he yanked you on your back to see your face covered in tears. he smiled at his hand work, his eyes trailed down to your hardened cock that was wet with your precum. “aw look at your pathetic cock, want me to touch it? want me to make you feel good?” you nodded frantically, raising your hips to feel any type of friction on your sensitive cock. “pl-please i’ll be go-good. i’ll be s-so good! just j-just make me cum please…pleaseee…?” he thought for a moment before taking the tool in his hands and dragging it across your twitching cock, you groaned in discomfort, you just wanted to cum and he was being so mean to you.

“here the deal, im not gonna touch your slutty cock. so i’ll just use my favorite toy on you, you don’t even deserve my touch.” “w-wait no! d-don’t use-“ you let out a loud cry of desperation and pain as he started to smack your cock around, aiming directly for your wet tip. each hit sent painful shocks throughout your body, but it somehow still felt so good. you quickly felt yourself nearing your orgasm, “puh-pleaaasee can i cum? please please please?” you grabbed onto his shirt desperate for his approval, you wanted to cum on his terms. “tch, desperate slut.” he used the tip of the tool to quickly run against your sensitive tip, you arched your back at the sudden action while letting out a loud shriek.

“what do you say when daddy gives you what you want, hm? don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.” you felt his hand grab onto your throat, hard enough to knock the wind out of you. “th-th-thank you d-daddy- mph- i-im cumming thank you!l” his grip on your throat didn’t falter, it only got tighter as your orgasming hit you full force. you grabbed onto his forearm trying to gasp for air, your back was stuck in a permanent curve, your toes curled, your cock jumped with each rope of cum that spilled out of it. you couldn’t breathe but the orgasm made up for it, your eyes were rolled back as you slowly started to fade. “baby, look at me, are you alright?” you we’re tired, your body ached, and your throat was killing you. you could only manage to nod at his question while giving him a small smile, he returned the smile before picking you up bridal style and walking to the bathroom.

“gonna get you nice and clean up okay?” you nodded, he never let go of you during the cleaning process. keeping your hand firmly in his, gently washing the sweat and sore spots of your body, kissing places that you winced at. when it was finally time for bed he dressed you himself, tossing you in one of his shirts and wrapping you in a giant blanket burrito. “you did so good for me, such a good boy.” your face warmed at the praise, he kept you firm against his chest before you felt the warm of sleep taking you over. “so cute, good night lovely.”

[comradekatara]

What if Aang and Gyatso ran away together, allowing them to avoid the genocide but still confront Azulon twenty years later after Aang has mastered every element and win the war? 80 years later what would the world look like, and (in this unlikely AU scenario where all the rest of the main cast is still born) how would Sokka, Katara, Toph, Zuko, Azula, etc be different?

I mean it wouldn’t take aang 20 years to master every element he’s literally a prodigy. he mastered all four elements by the time he was 13. but yeah. if gyatso had found him in time. oh man. the inherent tragedy of poor timing, magnified by one hundred years. it’s unclear exactly how long after aang getting frozen sozin’s comet arrived (it was within the same year, but certainly not on the same day, as natla suggests), but it was probably sometime between a few weeks and a few months later. so I don’t think aang would’ve been able to prevent the initial attacks on the four temples, but obviously there would’ve been survivors who weren’t at the temples at the time, since yknow. they’re nomadic (natla also has them conveniently gather for “the great comet festival” as a way to explain why they were all killed at once but like. they weren’t. that’s not how genocide works). and so if aang and gyatso were together, away from the southern air temple, during the attack, that would definitely spur aang to fulfill his responsibilities as the avatar. he’d still feel the same crushing guilt, the ignorance of not heeding the threats of war, the responsibility on his shoulders of repairing his culture and ending an imperialist regime before it’s too late. but obviously, to a far less extreme extent, and with gyatso there to guide him, instead of temporally displaced and utterly dispossessed and bereft of his mentor, with no air nomads (besides appa) left. there would still be air nomads immediately after sozin’s comet, who were eventually captured and executed (or forced to hide and assimilate, hey ty lee’s family) over a century of imperialist conquest and violence. but if aang never time traveled, he would have still defeated sozin at the age of 13 and ended the war under a massive time pressure. roku would still be on his ass trying to get him to correct his mistakes, and aang would still feel the crushing burden of being just one kid tasked with saving the world from disaster.

so based on aang’s lifespan as indicated in lok, the next avatar would be an adult from the southern water tribe by the time the rest of the gaang are kids. and maybe the avatar is kya (im not gonna do the exact math here, because who cares). and kya is tasked with maintaining balance in a world where there are fewer air nomads than there should be, but due to aang’s influence, there are far more than there otherwise would be, as he spent the rest of his life ensuring that the world was a safe place to live in and keeping the rulers of the fire nation in check. and the world has never really forgiven the fire nation for what they did to the air nomads, but the extent of their imperialism was never fully realized because aang stopped sozin before he could oppress and attack more populations. so kya is constantly working with various nations and peoples to maintain balance, but she’s basically just a diplomat because aang did most of the work of putting out fires and now she’s just facilitating and ensuring that the peace he established continues. so she has time to like. start a family. and sokka has a complex about being the nonbending son of the literal avatar (and hakoda’s like “try being the nonbending partner of the literal avatar” but it doesn’t really make him feel better because that’s so obviously not the same) because obviously he can develop a complex about anything (still a much better complex to have than his actual deal, tho, so we’re counting this one as a win) and katara has a complex about having to be the best waterbender ever because her mother is the avatar. and their home life is kind of unstable because their mother doesn’t have a lot of time for them, but she’s still a very loving parent and eventually she takes them on trips with her and they love being able to see the world and help their mother with her diplomatic duties (katara is very justice-oriented, sokka relishes in getting to help kya with the more administrative and bureaucratic side of politics). so it’s better.

katara and sokka meet toph on one of their diplomacy fieldtrips, since the beifong family is incredibly powerful in the earth kingdom, and as much as they try to hide toph’s existence from the world, it’s kind of hard to ignore a whole twelve year old girl in a fancy hanfu just running around your mansion. sokka and toph immediately get along, and she takes him to the earth rumble where he becomes obsessed with the entire spectacle of it. katara finds toph kind of obnoxious, and is glad for them to finally leave gaoling. then of course toph stows away with them, and sokka has to somehow keep that a secret from both katara and kya until the beifongs come aknocking like “did you by any chance KIDNAP OUR DAUGHTER?!?” and toph’s like “NO. I KIDNAPPED MYSELF.” and katara is just so fucking fed up with the whole thing someone please return this tiny aristocrat back to her mansion dear GOD. but ultimately toph is just so cute that she gets her way and kya agrees to show her the world before then returning her to her family (at which point toph assures sokka that she will simply run away again). toph is just so happy to have relative freedom that she doesn’t even mind that katara is [checks notes] bullying her for being blind. and so she kind of just tags along on their travels throughout the earth kingdom. but then, once they go back home, she realizes that there is simply no way that is agreeing to live in the south pole, so she and sokka reach a compromise and she moves in with suki on kyoshi island, who sokka goes to visit all the time.

oh yeah. he obviously knows suki. their introduction is far more formal, what with them actively knowing the avatar will be visiting them in advance, and he doesn’t antagonize her (he also doesn’t need to learn any grand lesson about patriarchy since gender roles were not being reified by colonialism in this world. fwiw) but he still asks her to teach him what she knows (even though he did receive formal training from hakoda as a child, not for any life-threatening purposes, just because it’s a part of their culture) because he’s obsessed with learning every single thing he can about the world. suki finds it really cute that this nepobaby is so humble, and they have a fun time getting to know each other without the threat of war looming over their heads. yue similarly gets to know sokka on a diplomatic trip to the northern water tribe and there’s immediate chemistry and they’re infatuated. but obviously she’s also engaged, which is an issue. since there’s no siege, both hahn and yue survive and eventually get married, which is as tragic for yue as it sounds. eventually yue gets so sick of hahn that the next time she sees sokka she’s just like fuck it and just straight up enters her infidelity era (which is fully morally justified btw). sokka knows that if anyone ever found out that the princess of the northern water tribe was having an affair with the avatar’s son, it would cause an international scandal, so he’s incredibly careful not to do anything that might expose them. and it’s very bittersweet, but it is what it is.

haru and jet’s respective villages were never occupied so they both grow up in pretty normal households. haru is still kind and brave, and jet is still obnoxious (sorry), and katara is still infatuated with both of them, but jet never like. tries to kill sokka or flood a village, and she never helps haru liberate a prison camp, so they kind of just have normal teenage relationships that last for a brief while and then end naturally. of course sokka still cannot stand jet, but it’s purely vibes based so he just chooses to ignore him while katara sews him the ugliest hat you have ever seen in your life. and eventually haru and katara will reconnect when they’re slightly older and get into a more serious relationship. because they’re cute together. also they meet aunt wu and the events of “the fortuneteller” just play out exactly as they do in the episode. idk why but that’s important to me.

as for azula and zuko, they both grew up hearing from their father that “the fire nation was robbed of its glory and humiliated by the avatar, and that one day it is their destiny to take back their honor and finally realize sozin’s vision, restoring their glorious bloodline to the true throne once and for all.” and ursa’s always like “oh well you know your father has fanciful notions because he was descended from the firelords, but that’s a totally outmoded system of government, and ever since avatar aang instated a republic, the quality of life for all of our citizens has improved tenfold. that’s just evidence-based data talking.” so zuko believes ursa, because she’s nicer to him, and azula believes ozai, because he has his claws in her. kya knows that ozai and the rest of the old royal bloodline still pose a threat to the stability of the fire nation and the world at large, so she is always attending to that family just to ensure that they’re not doing anything insane. and sometimes she takes her kids along with her. and well. for one thing, a better-adjusted sokka hanging out with azula (still being abused, albeit to a lesser extent) is kind of just amazing to me. she explains why the fire nation is ontologically superior and that’s why they’re being nerfed by his stupid lib mom and he’s just like “you’re so smart so how are you so stupid.” he’s deeply enthralled by her cognitive dissonance and just her whole deal in general.

meanwhile katara is infatuated with zuko, and ursa, who immediately adores katara because she’s such a cute and friendly girl, is kind of quietly encouraging him to date her, because the waterbending prodigy daughter of the avatar is really an ideal match for her son. and zuko really likes katara too. they get along really well, and they agree on a lot, are both really passionate about similar things, and go on fun little adventures together, and help each other with their bending, and make each other laugh. but every time katara tries to kiss him he interrupts her by being like “does your brother think im cool?” and katara’s just like “what.” until eventually even she realizes that the idea of actually dating this boy is simply impossible. and for a while she’s crushed that the guy she likes is obsessed with her stupid loser brother (can you imagine anything worse. truly. i cannot) but eventually she comes around because she’s always wanted a gay best friend who she can carry around in her pocket. and then she makes him go shopping with her and paint her nails and go to plays and at first he’s like “this feels kind of offensive” but eventually he realizes that even though she IS stereotyping him he actually DOES really like all those things so he’s just like FINE. I GUESS. katara meanwhile is trying to oh so subtly figure out whether or not sokka even knows that zuko exists and sokka is just like “oh yeah he seems nice enough. his sister though. well she fascinates me.” and katara is like “what the fuck nooooo” but then sokka keeps talking and she realizes he’s discussing her like an abnormal psych case study or something he would dissect in a lab and she’s like “oh. okay. thank god he’s not into her. he’s just some kind of freak.”

katara crowns herself queen of the gays and vows to zuko: “i am going to get my brother to fall in love with you if it’s the last thing i do.” but all of katara’s attempts to make zuko attractive to sokka backfire because she’s exclusively making him do things that she finds attractive and sokka simply has the exact opposite taste. he goes to katara like “i don’t know why i never noticed it before, but zuko’s vibes are kind of rancid. he even kind of reminds me of that guy jet who sucked so bad.” and katara’s like FUCCKCKKKKCK. eventually katara is out of options so zuko’s just like “fine i guess i can’t sink any lower..” so he just knocks on sokka’s door and when sokka opens it he just gets on his knees and clasps his hands together and goes “pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease just one chance PLEASE” and sokka is just like “ummmmmmmmm???? lmfao???? okay….” and goes on a very awkward date with zuko where all he does is just answer every single one of zuko’s somewhat invasive questions about his life in the most detached, impersonal way possible and then at 9pm on the dot sokka yawns and is like “wow im so beat…. this is my bedtime so. goodnight” and zuko is just like scribbling down in his little diary “sokka goes to bed at 9pm on the dot every night because he is regimented and responsible…” sokka gets home and katara’s like, eyes all sparkly “how did it goooo???” and sokka’s just like “man. i don’t know how i didn’t see it sooner. i thought azula was a freak, but zuko is just as much of a freak, if not more so! i definitely need to go out with him again. he’s such a fascinating test subject.” and katara is just like “fuck my life why is he like this.” and then goes to zuko and is like “yeah!!! sokka said he had sooooo much fun!! he really wants to see you again!!” and zuko just lights up like “REALLY??!!?” and katara just doesn’t have the heart to tell him the reason.

anyway. katara and sokka travel the globe. katara establishes some water tribe healing centers in other parts of the world, works as a liaison between the air nomads and the southern water tribe, gets back together with haru, goes on countless adventures, and builds a beautiful life for herself. sokka starts attending ba sing se university because he’s sick of people assuming that his diplomacy skills are purely due to nepotism. so he decides to major in polysci so that he can point to his degree as a qualification. but pretty quickly he realizes that polysci is a stupid field of study and everyone in his classes (including the professors) are completely incompetent and have no actual field experience. so he starts taking different classes, shopping around to figure out what it is he really wants to study. turns out that a lot of different subjects interest him, and maybe being a diplomat isn’t his only possible career. he spends a good decade in academia, just contributing research to all kinds of different fields. then he gets sick of academia and goes into engineering. he starts working with an inventor in the earth kingdom (the mechanist) and basically revolutionizes technology. then he’s like “im sick of inventing cars and computers and smartphones and falafel” (his most important invention) so he goes back to his physics research. but then he gets kind of sick of how insufferably arrogant physicists are so he’s like “maybe it’s time to revisit my favorite case studies” and goes back to the fire nation. katara tags along purely for damage control.

sokka, katara, zuko, and azula are all having dinner together. azula was eventually able to extricate herself from ozai’s abuse and moved to a more rural part of the country to heal. she got really into spiritualism and started working with air nomads taking care of sky bison. zuko moved to a different city in the southern fire nation where he became a herpetologist who primarily works with dragons, and also got really involved in theater. by the time sokka and katara revisit them they are both really happy and thriving. sokka has even read some of zuko’s plays, and has to admit that they’re quite good. which is disappointing, because he was hoping to use them as case studies in his research. at some point during their dinner, zuko’s like “i can’t believe we used to date. i must’ve been so annoying back then, i don’t know how you even put up with me.” and azula’s like “hang on. no. you weren’t dating sokka. i was dating sokka.” and they both stare at each other and then turn to look at sokka for like five minutes of total silence. katara gets so fed up with this that she just bursts out, “NEITHER OF YOU WERE DATING SOKKA. HE WAS USING YOU AS DATA FOR HIS ABNORMAL PSYCH PET PROJECT.” another five minutes of silence. and then azula is just like “oh that actually makes perfect sense. in hindsight that really explains a lot.” and zuko’s like “but kataraaaaa why wouldn’t you TELL meeeee” and katara’s like “well i didn’t want to hurt your feelings and destroy your ego forever. but now that you like. ride dragons for a living i figure that you’ll be fine.” and zuko’s like “yep. haha. im fine! totally fine.” he wasn’t at all living under the illusion that sokka was returning to him after all these years because they were going to reunite and get married and ride his favorite dragon into the sunset forever. his ego definitely isn’t destroyed by this fact at all. he’s sooo good don’t even worry about it. sokka’s just like “well anyway, im very glad that you both seem to be doing a lot better now. that’s really great news. big mazel to you both. okay bye.”

anyway. as for kya, she lives a long and happy life, and is so proud of both her children. she dies at a very old age, completely content. the next avatar is of earth kingdom heritage, of course. and it’s mako :)

[bokutosmochi]

kinktober day six: cybersex!

I WANNA GET FREAKY ON CAMERA ♡ GOJO SATORU

fem!reader x gojo satoru 

ingredients: what's a girl gonna do when she misses her boyfriend who's a continent away?

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: satoru talks to your pussy, fingering, mutual masturbation, cybersex

sugar level: 2.9k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub

parlor's note: inspired by this fanart by the amazing @/3aem

p.s: the guitar solo referenced at the end is in the song i don't wanna be me by the band type o negative. i recommend checking out that song, or at least that solo. it's so good and definitely one of my favorites.

bon appetit!

the only reason why you're here is because you were peer pressured to go.

most of the time, you would totally be down to attend parties your friends hosted, but you haven't been feeling like yourself lately. gojo was assigned to a three month long mission overseas and you were missing him dearly. funnily enough, that was also the reason why you were forced to go.

"c'mon, it's halloween." shoko rolled her eyes at you. "you can't not go just because gojo isn't here. besides, you clearly need a pick me up. you can't just lay around your bed, eating ice cream and sniffing his shirts that you wear forever." she gave you a pointed look. in defiance, you rolled your eyes, crossed your arms against your chest and gazed elsewhere, not caring about how childish it may have seemed.

you had no idea how she found out your daily activities since satoru has been gone. perhaps searching around your house for secret cameras that she planted would be a good idea. regardless, you sounded pretty pathetic when she put it like that, but still. were you not allowed to miss your boyfriend?

if that wasn't enough, shoko still had more to add. "plus, didn't you already buy a costume?"

and that's how you ended up in your current situation.

you could see how much effort shoko put into the party. her house, usually decorated with a minimalistic and classy aesthetic in mind, was home to countless realistic cobwebs and fake spiders all over the little items she had, like her clock and picture frames. there was also something dripping down the walls, though you couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be blood or some form of slime because of the red lighting that came from the few jack o'lanterns scattered around the house. the lack of proper lighting gave the room an eerie feel, and the scented candle that smells of burning leaves did not help. it was expertly made, including the songs that played. the playlist included songs from bands like bauhaus, siouxsie and the banshees, and lebanon hanover, then halloween classics like thriller and monster mash.

you're dressed in a less than appropriate black dress with red details which satoru chose. it's a bit plain by itself, but you added a corset that pushed your tits together nicely. the outfit's paired with black red bottom heels, gothic necklaces, and a makeup look that tied everything together.

"you're supposed to be here having fun, not moping around the snack table." shoko nudged you with her hip making you huff at her. "i'm allowed to miss my boyfriend." you said stubbornly. "he's been gone for almost three months now, we haven't spent that much time apart until, well, now." you looked at her with a sad look in your eyes that conveyed everything that you were feeling.

thankfully, it made her sigh in defeat, seemingly understanding what you're currently feeling. "ugh, fine, fine whatever." she waved it off. "just stop looking at me like a kicked puppy and try to have fun or something." she walked away.

a part of you felt guilty. after all, she was trying to make you feel better when you obviously aren't doing the best, but at the same time, she's been tugging you along to do different activities to keep your mind off of gojo's absence for so long now.

you're tired and you really just wanna be whiney and act like a lovestruck teenage girl.

thankfully for you, you didn't have much time to dwell on the feelings of guilt because you got a new notification on your phone -- satoru sent you a photo.

you really couldn't open it fast enough. with how you're missing him, you'd be thankful for anything he sends you, be it a photo of what he's having for dinner, a puppy he saw in the streets, a restaurant that piqued his interest, or a photo of him.

you cannot lie, you did heavily prefer the message being a picture of him. nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you opened it.

nothing could compare to the sight before you. not a photo of the finest michelin star dish, not a photo of a puppy that's your favorite breed, not a unique looking restaurant, because it's satoru.

his face is turned from the camera, but it's definitely satoru. his soft white hair is the most obvious reason why you think so, plus why would he send you a sexy photo of another man. aside from that, you've spend hours tracing over the muscles of his back, his biceps, and even more hours grasping at the flesh, digging your nails into it as he fucked you.

you wonder if he knows you miss him, or if he misses you and the reason why he sent that wasn't to tease you and show off what you can't have, but to get a reaction out of you so you can set up a video call with him.

a gut feeling tells you that it's probably both. he knows what kind of reaction he can get out of you from flexing those muscles.

whatever the answer may be, the truth remains: you can feel the slick forming between your folds and there's a familiar ache between your thighs.

you quickly run to one of shoko's guest bedrooms. thankfully, because of your training as a jujutsu sorcerer, you're able to get there in record time without bumping into anyone in the process.

you look at yourself in the mirror there, fixing strands of hair that has been messed up in your haste as well as straightening out your clothing before setting yourself down on the available bed and clicking on the video call button on your phone.

and like you've expected, satoru accepts it without a second to spare, as if he's waited by the phone after spending the photo, waiting for your flustered call. he has a knowing smirk on his face, one you know all too well.

"hey there, baby." he drawls. "wasn't expecting to see you here this late."

"satoru," it comes out as a breathless gasp that was not caused by the running. "i've missed you so much." you wriggle on the bed, getting comfortable.

his answering smile was cocky, but you spot the hint of warmth in his eyes and longing in the way his smile is bigger than it usually is. he doesn't have to say it verbally, he's missed you too.

"aww, did you, pretty girl? 'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long." he coos at you. "i promise i'll be there in a week, kay?"

he transfers the phone from one hand to the other, but while doing so, he lowers the camera view a bit, giving you a heart-stopping peek of his abs, something he definitely meant to do to rile you up some more, as if your brain wasn't going a hundred miles an hour right this second.

you rub your thighs together to give you that friction that you so desperately need. "that's not enough though." your voice comes out painfully needy and you know satoru isn't going to let you live that down anytime soon. the moment he gets home and gets his fill of you - even before that, maybe - he'll hold it over your head for the coming months -- and knowing satoru, it's not a long shot to say the coming years. he'll keep on blabbering something or other about "remember that time i had to go on a really long mission and you were whining to me on the phone about how much you needed me?" but you couldn't care less right now. he would be right, you need him so bad.

"aw, does my sweet angel need me? 'm sorry, baby, but i just can't be there right now." he explains like you didn't know that already. "tell you what though, if you ask me politely, maybe i'll find a way to help you out a bit, then make it up to you when i get home, yeah?"

"please 'toru?" you pout at the camera and flash him your puppy eyes. you know that those will work already, but wanted to do more so that's what you did. you subtly pushed your boobs together, internally thanking shoko for forcing you to go to this party because if not, you wouldn't be wearing this dress satoru loved so much. "i need you so bad. can you please help me out?"

"that's a sweet girl." you see him look down and hiss. the camera moves a bit too and you wonder if it's caused by him freeing his dick from his gray sweatpants.

"i want you to play with yourself for me." he states. "start with pulling the neckline of that dress down and letting me see those tits." he breathed. you hear wet sounds from his side and now you know he's already jerking off to you.

you changed your position, getting on your knees and using the pillow you were using so you'd have something to rest your phone on. when that was stable, you did what he asked of you.

you let yourself get into the moment first, caressing the skin around your neck, your collarbones first, humming at the sensual feeling, louder than usual so satoru would hear you clearly before your hands moved to the straps of your dress and pulled it down.

the clothing was quite tight so you still had to pull it down to expose your lacey bra, but satoru didn't mind. as much as he wanted to see your body, he did love that tight dress on you, cursing whoever assigned this mission to him because he wasn't able to be with you right this moment. he adored seeing the quality fabric hug the shape of your body, adored seeing your silhouette.

next to come off what your bra, and you made a show of that too, albeit a short one because satoru was so loud through the speaker of your phone. to say your neediness increased tenfold would be an understatement.

"there you go," gojo said as he watched your boobs bounce out of the shed undergarment. his gaze was fixed on your body. the lust was pouring out of his intense blue eyes. "play with them for me, baby."

you took your hands and squished your boobs together once more, gave them a final squeeze, then paid more attention to your nipples, erect from your arousal. you rolled them between your fingers, noticing that every time your eyes fluttered shut while you pinched them, satoru would let a particularly loud whimper.

but "it's not enough, toru, wan' more." you whispered. it was something he agreed with, murmuring a small "yeah," under his breath.

"i want you to spread your legs for me, baby." he waited for you to adjust before saying anything else.

you could feel the beads of sweat forming on your forehead, but couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. you changed the way you sat, now sitting on your ass, planting your feet firmly on the bed while your knees were raised so satoru would have an unobscured view of your pussy when your legs are spread.

you lifted the skirt of the dress up and over your legs until it's bunched up at your waist, letting satoru see your crotch and the patch of wetness on your panties.

the view made him curse under his breath.

"touch your thighs, yeah, just like that." even the simplest touch had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. it's been such a long time since you've been touched like this, and that fact paired with satoru's breathy voice and the slick sound of him tugging on his dick was a combination that could make you come untouched.

your hips started to move back and forth though there was nothing there that could ease the ache between your thighs. his praises of good girl, and you're doing so well for me, baby had your cunt pulsing against the cloth of your underwear. "'toru, more, please." your not want, but need was palpable through the way your voice cracked at the last words. "need it 'toru, please, fuck."

"write my name over those pretty little panties, baby."

little did you know, he was so close to coming. even closer than you were. he knew he couldn't come though, not yet. he'll bring you to the brink of pleasure first so you can do it together. it's the least he can do after leaving you along for so long, so he slows down his movements.

he didn't plan to start touching himself so early on. he wanted to start doing it at the same time you sank your fingers into your pussy, but he couldn't help himself after seeing you in that pretty dress he picked out. upon seeing that dress on the rack for the first time, he already knew you would look gorgeous in it. he thinks that you can wear a garbage bag and he'd still be itching to put his hands all over you, but god, did you look absolutely irresistible in that versace dress. and to think that you discouraged him from buying it at first because of the price.

it's worth every single yen.

it took everything in him to not speed the motions of his hands up when he saw you spell out g-o-j-o s-a-t-o-r-u along with a couple of hearts on the crotch of your already wet panties. he constantly had to repeat "slow down, slow down, slow down," in his head before he completely loses focus.

he decides that it's enough teasing, at least for today when you're both so desperate for one another.

to you, his next words are like a life line.

"take your panties off, baby. show me that pussy i love so much."

you breathe out a sigh of relief and delight and it seems like you can't take the lacey undergarment fast enough. you toss it somewhere in the room, too intoxicated by satoru's presence to care where it lands or if you'll still be able to find it later.

"there she is." he moans, gazing at your cunt. "missed my girl so much. look at how wet she is, bet she missed me too, huh?" his eyes flash to your face for a second, before returning to your pussy.

"missed you so much." you replied, touching yourself without needing instructions from satoru.

you started with your clit, drawing gentle circles on it with your index finger, then slowly pushing your middle and ring finger inside you.

you and satoru moaned each other's names at the same time for the first time in what feels like forever.

your digits moved fast inside you, pushing in and out of your gummy walls at such a pace where you could hear the wetness and feel little splatters of the sticky liquid coating your thighs.

"fuck, you're so wet." satoru hisses, and you don't hesitate to tell him the truth. "it's all for you 'toru," you whine, throwing your head back with your back arched. you imagine that it's his fingers inside of you instead of yours despite the way he can stretch you out in a way that your fingers never could.

"satoru," he was addicted with the way you said his name; like it's the sweetest prayer that could cleanse you of all your sins.

the coil in your belly winds and winds, continues to get tighter with every stroke of your finger. it clouds your brain, letting you forget about every single thought you could ever have, like how there's a party right outside the door and shoko, armed with the key, can walk in at any moment. the only thing on your mind is the way that satoru sounds as he fucks his fist, pretending that it was you, and the way your fingers feel as they pleasure you.

it's so overwhelming, the way you feel. you can't even hold yourself up anymore, having to scoot up the bed so you can lay against the headrest while one of your hands stroke your clit and the other thrusts in and out of you.

you're shaking now, as you address satoru once more. "'toru, 'm close. s' fuckin' close. can i come? please. fuck! ah-need it so, so bad." you're almost at the brink of tears as you plead at him.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm right behind you."

thankfully for you, the sound of an electric guitar solo drowns out the sound of you screaming satoru's name, and you make no noise other than pants as you struggle to catch your breath.

satoru recovers a few seconds before you do.

"fuck," he runs a hand through his sweat slicked hair. "we need to do that again."

"no," you disagree with him, but too tired to glare. "i don't wanna go three months without you again."

"this was so hot though, baby. i'd pay good money to hear you beg like that again."

i get: reblog

you get: a personalized gojo selfie

[bsxcrxts]

sheer

minors dni. this work is explicit. do not interact without your age in your bio. you must be over 18 to interact with my works.

Visual inspo

a/n: about 700 words of Steve Harrington having a thing for sheer tights and your thighs! enjoy!

okay hear me out. you know those sheer tights that were all the rage in the 80s? well obviously Steve Harrington loves those.

maybe he’s pavlov’d himself, since you mostly wear them when he treats you to expensive dates that usually end with him inside you, but the second you get a pair on, he can’t stop looking at your legs, imagining them wrapped around his waist. the two of you have ripped countless sets in the heat of your passion. he buys you new ones.

it gets even worse when the two of you have been dating long enough that you start getting ready in front of him. maybe you’re running late to a dinner reservation and you’re only half-dressed, frantically searching the room for that one skirt that you really like in nothing but your bra and translucent black tights.

Steve doesn’t know why but he’s just suddenly obsessed with your legs. sure, he likes your body all the time, but your skirts always hide the junction of your thighs, and usually when the two of you get back from a date, he’s rushing to take the pair of tights off, not enjoy what they look like on. but right now, all he can think about is your tights, the way your skin tone peeks through where they’re stretched around the tops of your thighs. 

he knows the material is soft, silky even. he’s imagining the feel of it, and before he can stop himself, he’s catching you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss that turns dirty instantly. you protest only a little, insisting you’ll be late, you’re trying to get ready, and what are you doing, Steve? but it all becomes so obvious when he grinds against you.

“sorry honey,” he breathes, looking at you with his big pleading brown eyes. “you look so pretty,” he adds.

“why are you sorry?” you tease.

“because we’re definitely about to miss dinner,” he notes. 

“rather stay home with you, if that’s what you want,” you say, running your hand along the outline of his hard cock in his slacks. 

he promises to get another dinner reservation for the next weekend before he stops you from shoving your tights off and down your legs. you’re confused for a moment, but that’s all the time you get to think before his hand is cupping your pussy, lightly placing pressure on your clit over the layer of your tights.

“Steve,” you whine and lean into him, grasping his arms to hold yourself steady. 

 “oh you liked that, hm? can feel you getting wet f’ me even through these,” he says, pulling at the material and letting it snap back against your skin. you jump a little bit at the feeling. “y’ look so good. so, so good honey. can I try something?”

you’re nodding against him, stuttering out a yes, and almost instantly Steve’s hand flies to the button on his pants, pulling himself out. he slots his cock between your legs, slipping against your clothed pussy, the smooth softness of the tights making him choke out a groan as he feels you clench your thighs around him. 

he grabs at your ass, fucking your thighs with hardly any self control. you can feel the fabric on the insides of your thighs grow wet with his pre cum, every thrust bumping his cock against the seam of the tights and into an addicting friction across your clit, just enough to tease you towards your completion.

you moan and it sets something off in Steve.

he’s completely falling apart. he’s never felt anything like it on his cock, the sensation of the sleek fabric against him a completely new experience, your gorgeous thighs and pussy surrounding his dick so well, and he tells you as much:

“wanna buy you a tiny little mini skirt so I can see more of you like this all the time.”

and

“g-god, you’re perfect, letting me use you like this.”

and

“squeezing my cock so good. press your thighs together honey, just a little tighter.”

 he can hardly stop talking at all, blinded by his pleasure yet shocked at himself– he isn’t even inside you and yet it’s so much, it’s so good, and it isn’t long before he’s cumming, the drips of his spend staining the tights across your ass, thighs, and dripping down your legs.

he’s ruined tights before, of course. ripped them off you, torn them accidentally or purposefully, but this is so different, and you feel so claimed by him. you can’t wait for the chance for him to do it again.

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m)┃ch. IV

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4,174

Warnings: 8-year age gap, professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), jungkook snaps, lots of family drama, mommy issues, oc being accommodating, fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues but trying to be good hubby, jk gives oc more hope!

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: this week's flashback hint–nothing like a little dilf rivalry! Also, this chapter gives more of a reason why jk is adverse to parenthood 😶 My closing notes offer some explanations. Let's go! 💞

<< ch. III ༓ ch. V >> | series masterlist

For the first 22 years of your life, you had zero partners.

Most people labeled you as being jaded, stuck up, or having too high of standards for it. But fuck it. Why couldn’t anyone accept that you weren’t about to settle down with the first interested guy just 'cause of peer pressure?

Of course, you'd likely end up with someone eventually. You have gone out on a couple of dates before. Yet they were never that promising. The men, or excuse you, boys roughly your age did nothing to woo you. They just wanted a late-night fuck at 1 a.m. or a nice, cute girl to take home to their mom.

Not that you gave a hell what others were into or anything, but you had other agendas. Getting married and birthing children before kick-starting your adult life was not in your playbook. Neither was jumping into bed with random guys every week.

So you haven't had much luck in the romance department. Good riddance to it!

What you were waiting for was a gentleman. Someone that was responsible, mature, and experienced. Bonus points if they were into the arts. But it was rare to find a suitor of such quality–who wasn't ridiculously off-limits that is. Obviously, some other strong-willed man or woman sunk their claws in before you got the chance. Drats.

4 years ago

“I can’t believe you,” your best friend giggles. “You’re going to that fancy new art exhibit downtown just to run into Dr. Kim! You’re so shameless __.”

You roll your eyes and stick your plate in the dishwasher. You’re best friend Na-Rae has been one of your closest friends since your second year of undergrad. Now into your third year of friendship, you consider her as close as a sister.

Unlike you, Na-Rae is utterly fascinated with all things STEM-related. She’s currently in med school aiming to become a surgeon, which is one of the many reasons why you and her are currently roommates.

“I’m telling you one more time, I’m not going for him. I actually want to see the paintings which should come as no surprise to you. Dr. Kim just happens to be going too.”

Na-Rae leans against the kitchen island, tongue in cheek. “If that’s what you wanna tell yourself, babe. But how, may I ask, did you know he’d be there? Are you stalking him online now?”

“Of course not. I’m not a creep Na-Rae.” You throw her a dirty look. Honestly, she really thinks you’re some obsessed fangirl. Like yes, Dr. Kim is really hot for an older guy, and the fact that he’s basically the second dean of the art department? He may or may not visit you in your dreams. Especially after studying for Dr. Jeon’s fifteen million econ exams.

Now there’s a guy who definitely knows how to stick it to you.

“Besides,” you continue. “Dr. Kim doesn’t have social media.” You don’t notice how contradictory that statement sounds until your best friend lets out a sinister cackle.

“Looked him up did you?” She hits your arm, wiggling her eyebrows tauntingly. “I knew it! I knew you were stalking him!”

“I–I am not! Stop that!” You ignore her looks, seeing it best to avoid eye contact altogether.

"Iovmererdhimalkingintheallway."

"C'mon, you know I can't understand that. You did what?"

"I over…heardhimalkingintheallway," you repeat, skirting most of the sentence again.

"For the love of might __! Why are you being so–"

"I overheard him talking in the hallway!" Once you blurt the words out you scurry out of the kitchen. "Gotta get my laundry, bye!"

"Uh-__!" Na-Rae races to catch up to you. "Explain to me how that's not being stalkerish!"

You grab your laundry basket and set it next to the dryer. "It wasn't intentional alright? I happened to be passing by at the right moment." You pop the door open, stuffing your clothes in the basket. Na-Rae casually watches you from the doorway.

"Right," she says. "Just happened to overhear Dr. Kim's whereabouts on a Friday night and just happen to be going to the same place. But definitely not planned because the dress you're currently trying to hide from me isn't meant for him to coincidentally see. Oops, my bad."

You release said dress from your hand aggressively. "Dr. Kim is at least a decade older than me and he's a high-level faculty member of the university. I'm not seriously trying to present myself to him in any romantic sense. That would be so inappropriate! And as far as the dress goes, it's the grand opening tonight. Everyone's wearing these kinds of things. So no, you're wrong."

"Very well, if the lady persists," Na-Rae shrugs, checking her phone. "Shoot, I gotta get to work in fifteen but I expect a full report later!" You watch as she hustles to her room.

.

The exhibit's doors open at 7 pm sharp. The line to the entrance runs about three blocks which is far longer than you were expecting. Most people came in groups or pairs, making you wish Na-Rae didn't have to work tonight.

But you're right about this being a formal affair. Everyone is dressed to kill. Some lean more towards black tie while others choose to show off their highly expressive, avant-garde nature.

You look down at yourself, suddenly feeling quite underdressed. You're wearing a simple black dress that's cinched at the waist. If one were to look close enough they'd see hints of gold throughout but no one would get that close.

The artwork itself is stunning. Varying from abstraction to impressionism, you get a sense of pleasure in taking in others’ inspiration. Many of these works are from locals in the area which is one of the main reasons for the number of interested guests. You wonder if anyone here knows the artists directly.

You make your way to the next set of pieces, studying the first in line. You immediately recognize the particular style as post-impressionism. It's clear the artist has great influence by Van Gogh evident from the similar large yet controlled strokes.

As you continue observing the work you feel a second body, looming close beside you. Naturally, you shift your eyes over to see the source. His hair brushes past his face as he leans closer to the painting.

After about three seconds you quickly dart your eyes away, careful not to stare. The man appears to be equally as focused on the work in front of him, as you were. It'd be a bit embarrassing if he noticed your gaze and snapped at you for it.

The man next to you slowly straightens his bent-over posture. He moves to the other side of you, viewing the next painting on your right. You barely catch the slight glance he gives you in the process, now able to see his full face.

It's not Dr. Kim–it's Dr. Jeon.

This isn't weird, you try convincing yourself. It's perfectly normal for you to see your professor in public. Besides, who knows if he actually recognized you yet. No need to make this awkward if you simply pretend not to notice him.

You think about whether to sneakily slip away or continue to feign ignorance until…

"Are we going to keep side-eyeing each other or can I say hi?" Dr. Jeon lightly smiles at you with playful eyes. His glasses are different today–thinner design. And oh, is that a...lip ring? Is that new or has he always had it? You don't remember seeing it before. "If you keep staring at my lips like that I might get shy."

"Ahha, Dr. Jeon!" You fight the stirring of your nerves. "Hi! Sorry, I didn't mean to stare or anything. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Please, __. Outside of class, Jungkook is fine. Though I understand if that's a little out of place for you."

A little?! You've been calling Dr. Jeon, well, Dr. Jeon for the past two weeks. It's unlikely that will change. "If it's alright with you," you start, hands restless. "I'd like to stick with the usual."

Jungkook nods, giving you a brief once-over before replying. "Sure, no problem. I'm hoping you'll warm up to the idea though. Dr. Jeon makes me feel old." He lets out a throaty chuckle. "I'd ask what brings you to this art exhibit but I think I have the answer, given the amount of sketches I see you doing while I'm lecturing."

Oh god. Your professor calling you out for both gawking at his lips and doodling in class under the span of five minutes? You've never wanted to disappear more. The sketches you do aren't meant to look like a distraction and honestly, you didn't mean to gawk at the tiny ring, it was just there!

"Sorry," he continues. "That wasn't intended to be passive-aggressive. I really don't mind as long as they don't hinder your learning. Dr. Kim does the same thing whenever I'm talking to him too. I've summed it up to an itch all you artists have. I've come here in support of him actually." He gestures to the collection of paintings next to you; the post-impressionism ones you were intent on studying earlier.

"Oh wow," you gasp stupidly, following his gesture. You didn't even clue in to read the artist's name.

Stigma by Kim Taehyung.

"I had no idea Dr. Kim had some of his work displayed here. I feel so foolish. I was viewing his pieces for I don't know how long just a few minutes ago."

You were sure Dr. Kim was attending the exhibit for the same reasons as you. But while it was partially right, you obviously missed the biggest point.

"Don't fret," a deep, honey-coated voice comes from nowhere. "Any admirer of my work is a friend of mine." He strolls up to your left, Jungkook still on your right. "I don't believe we've met yet. Dr. Kim Taehyung." He tosses a hand out for you to shake.

Oh no, no no no. You hope to death you won't start sweating. You've never been this close to Kim Taehyung before and he wants you to hold his hand! "Pleasure to meet you Dr. Kim. I'm __," you say, struggling not to burst inside.

Okay, so it's not exactly holding hands but it's close enough. His fingers are so long and elegant. You can't wipe the grin off your face.

You're squeezing it now, stop stop stop. You mentally slap yourself and retract your hand as naturally as you can. Thank fuck no one can read your mind.

"I'm sorry your name is __?" Dr. Kim freezes as if suddenly needing to remember something. When you think he's recalled whatever it is he needs, he flicks his head over to Jungkook with a twinkle in his eye. "__," he repeats aloud.

"Uhm, yes..." You're definitely missing something. You look between the two men, apparently both intent on keeping you in omnious silence. What's so facinating about your name?

Taehyung whips his head back to face you, flashing a blinding grin. "You're the little artist in Jungkook's class aren't you?"

That's what this is about? He looks far too proud of himself for connecting those dots.

"Yeah I take ECON 602 with Dr. Jeon." You make the mistake of looking at Jungkook mid-sentence. For some odd reason, his previous mirthful expression has changed to one of bitter distaste.

"She isn't little," Jungkook intrudes, nearly snapping at the older man. "Little is what you call a child and it's inappropriate for you to call her that."

What the hell....? How is Dr. Kim calling you little bothering your professor more than you?

"My apologies," Taehyung says. "But she's your student, right? The one drawing during your lectures? I think she drew you once. Exquisite may I add. You captured his pissed-off look so well." He gives you a pleased look but you're too sheepish to form a reply.

"Yes, I wasn't having the best day. Can I talk to you a moment Dr. Kim? We'll be right back __, just a second." Jungkook grabs the older's arm, yanking him out of your earshot.

"What the hell are you doing, Taehyung?" Jungkook spits. "You're making my student uncomfortable."

"Aha, so she is the artist. Look I admit that using the term little was a misstep but I think she's alright. I apologized didn't I?"

"Yeah sure, but she's not alright." He makes air quotes. "Since you've also made it seem like anything she does in my class, I spill to you! Don't you see how uneasy that would make someone feel? Especially me being her professor. She could be thinking I tell you weird things too! See what you've done?!"

"But Jungkook," Taehyung drawls, face scrunching. He's not sure what's gotten Jungkook so worked up. "You do in fact regurgitate everything to me. You've been talking about her for the last week just to one-up me that she's an artist. Now I get to have a face to the name. I'm kinda tickled about it but also, what weird things are you referring to?" Taehyung pauses, eyes going as big as a saucer. "Oh my god, bro. Are you–"

Jungkook grunts firmly, shutting the man up at once. "Absolutely not Tae. Whatever you were about to say, it couldn't be a bigger no. All I'm asking is for you to keep the private things private. I don't want you blubbering everything to her."

"Very well," Taehyung hums, stealing a glance at you behind Jungkook's shoulder. From where he stood, he had an easy view of you moving down the line of paintings. You stop in front of each one, curiously examining them the best you can. "However, she's quite intriguing. I can't make any promises that I'll hold myself back."

"You better be talking about her mutual interest in art. She's my student and we have an obligation through the university not to fraternize with any–"

"Yes yes, your student. I don't need a reminder of where my boundaries are, but perhaps you do....bringing up fraternizing and all." Taehyung moves past Jungkook, striding back over to you. "Whatever else can there be besides professional or academic affairs? Of course, we're keeping our witts about us Kookie."

Behind him, Jungkook huffs and follows his lead. Then wipe that stupid smirk off your face, he thinks.

Present

Dinner is rough.

Jungkook's parents showing up unannounced and uninvited throws you both in a very quick, downward spiral. How can two people have so much time on their hands? Retirement, that's how.

You try your hardest to keep the conversation light throughout dinner, but it's obvious the air has grown thick between your husband and his mother.

"Why didn't you come to the reunion last year?" your mother-in-law presses for the second time tonight. She clutches the napkin in her hand, anxious for his response.

Jungkook sits across the table. His posture stiffens at the question. "I'm sorry, I had a lot to do. The reunion is always so close to when I have to go back to the university that I just didn't have the time."

A loud, impatient sigh comes from back across the table. "You didn't have the time or didn't make it? Honesty Jungkook, you expect me to believe that?"

When Jungkook doesn't answer, you and your father-in-law exchange troublesome looks. "Honey," Mr. Jeon speaks up, placing a hand on her shaky one. "You know how full the school year is for Jungkook. Don't blame him. Maybe he can come this year if we reschedule for a more convenient time." He pleads with his son, hopeful eyes.

"Stop helping him." She looks at Mr. Jeon and then back to Jungkook. "I don't think I'm asking for a lot. I just want you there, you and __."

At that, you find yourself gripping your husband's arm from under the table. Jungkook shifts in his seat and stares dead straight into his mother's eyes. "Funny you say that," he seethes. You tug on his arm in desperation to calm him. "Seeing that you keep dropping by at random times throughout the year, I'd say you expect a great deal from us."

Mrs. Jeon immediately snatches her hand from your father-in-law's. "Maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd come to the reunion. Or called, texted, or even emailed at this point. If it weren't for my efforts, I wouldn't hear from you at all."

"Please," Mr. Jeon pleads again, this time to both parties. "We're having dinner. Let's continue this later." He reaches for the bowl in the middle of the table but he's quickly ignored.

"You're right." Jungkook cuts. "Maybe I should come. Because it's one more way you can get what you want, isn't it? All those years of hard work so you can show me off to everyone."

"Don't you talk to me like that," Mrs. Jeon grits. "If I wanted to show you off it'll be when you give me a grandchild! I'm lucky to even have a daughter-in-law by now."

Chair legs scrape against the hardwood floor and your arm snakes out from Jungkook's arm. Your husband stands at the table, Mr. Jeon follows suit. "Okay, okay, let's just–"

"Dad," Jungkook interrupts. "Can you please take Mom home for the night?"

"Are you okay?" you pop the question once your in-laws leave for the night, a queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Mrs. Jeon looked completely bewildered, whereas Mr. Jeon looked deeply troubled; conflicted between wife and son. You have a feeling he has a better understanding of what happened than you do right now.

"I wish she hadn't come today," Jungkook plops on the bed. You sit beside him. "I'm sorry about what she said about you....I knew she was here for something."

You won't lie. When Mrs. Jeon mentioned being lucky to finally have a daughter-in-law, it stung. You detest being seen as an achievement. "I'm sure she didn't mean it like that since she said it out of impulse. It was a tense moment," you say. "As far as what she was getting at though, it was for you to go to the reunion."

"No." He shakes his head and then glances at you. "It's not about the reunion. She only wants me to go so she can show everyone how smart and successful her son has become–all her doing of course. It's been like that since high school. And she wants you to go for a similar reason."

"I knew your mom had a bit of a thing for status but I thought that mostly revolved around her profession. Also, when she was talking earlier about you not keeping in touch she seemed more hurt and sad than mad. I think she really just wants you there."

"If she seemed hurt it's because she didn't get her way," Jungkook says, nonchalant.

"Jungkook."

"I'm sorry but it's true" He adjusts his position, angling himself to face you. "Mom's used to calling the shots– at work, at home, even with our neighbors growing up. You've seen how dad is around her. Yeah, he pushes back a little but at the end of the day, he does what's asked of him."

Frightened to ask the next question, you swallow hard. "What aren't you telling me Jungkook?"

He gently takes your hand from your lap, rubbing small circles on the knuckles. "Growing up, she was hardly around or involved in my brother and I's life. Most weeks, she and Dad would be at work, and we'd be with a babysitter or nanny. Dad did what he could to take care of us but Mom? All she would do is prune us to be just like her...smart, successful, and a dash more to make up for all the achievements she couldn't make."

"Jungkook...I don't know what to say," you murmur, trying to take everything in. "But your PhD–"

"My decision but her influence. Though she wasn't pleased when I said I'd be relocating ten hours away."

You remember him telling you this part before. His mother had a hard time coping with his reluctance to stay nearby. Maybe she did want him to follow in her footsteps. "Your brother didn't have as much pressure on him did he?"

"He did, but he still bends to her will. Except for the grandchildren part." Jungkook grimaces, averting eye contact. "I guess we have that in common."

"Hey," you urge him to lift his head. "Please don't feel bad about telling me any of this. If your picture of parents has largely been their absence and desire for self-fulfillment, then I understand your grounds for not wanting children. And as far as tonight with your mom, I'm so sorry. I feel like it's partially my fault for agreeing to host them for two days."

A pair of soft eyes rest on you in the dim room. The sun was near set now and all the light previously shining into the room had come from the window. If this wasn't a serious moment you might take a candid shot of your husband.

"You're the best thing that's happened to me __," Jungkook coos. "Don't ever think your kindness is a fault." He pauses then continues. "I still want both my parents in my life but I need to draw boundaries or I will completely snap and that's not something I want to happen. Especially since we have a possible baby to make one day."

"Hu–huh?" It's the repetition of the last sentence that makes you utterly dumbfounded.

Baby? Baby with Jungkook. One day?

Your husband draws his hand up to barely caress your cheek. "Why does that always seem to stop your heart?"

You catch his wrist mid-movement and throw yourself into him. Your arms link around his neck, chest flat against his. "It doesn't stop my heart," you say, playing with his hair. "It makes it beat faster."

"Wow." Your husband hugs you closer. "So cheesy." He leans back after, pressing a soft kiss to yours.

The two of you continue making out like teenagers again; Jungkook tumbling on his back.

"Kook." You lay on top of him, straddling his sides. "Have you ever thought about seriously talking to your mom about you know, everything you told me?"

Jungkook hums, before answering. "Somewhat but, I'm not sure how that'll go."

"It might be worth it instead of having little pieces slip out when you get into conflict...like tonight for instance."

"I suppose it's not a far-fetched idea. I'll consider it but it might take some more time. For now, I think I'll start by calling her tomorrow. I'm still mad but I don't wanna leave things the way they are now. Plus, I'm sure they don't have plans to go back home early. I'd hate for them to stay in the hotel the rest of these two days."

"Sounds like a plan," you say, snuggling into the crook of his neck.

"Mom." Jungkook holds the phone to his ear. "What are you and Dad doing today?"

"Oh, I–," his mom stutters from the other end. "We're not up to too much. I think your dad wants to swing by some bookstore around town. Uh, what about you?"

"__ at work and I'm home by myself. Are you hungry? I thought maybe we could go out for brunch."

Jungkook hears his mom's tone lift. "Are you sure? I mean that would be lovely but if there are things you need to do then we don't want to...impose."

Mrs. Jeon's sudden willingness to check in is unexpected. Jungkook still senses traces of guilt but at least she's making somewhat of an effort.

"It's my treat," he assures, a little shaky. "I'm sorry about yesterday, mom. Maybe we can talk about it more in person."

"I think that would be good," she agrees simply. "Where and what time do you want to meet up?"

"Drive over here in twenty minutes. We can pile in my car and head over."

Once finally agreed, Jungkook ends the call. He opens his messages and shoots you a text.

Jungkook: Well I did it  😬 [sent at 10:42 a.m]

__: Proud of you ❤️ if anything happens, call me. [sent at 10:44 a.m]

Jungkook: I will. Also, sorry to bring it up but I gotta give Yoongi hyung an answer by tomorrow. Are we babysitting his twins Saturday? [sent at 10:47 a.m]

__: Ahm, it'll likely be the evening, right? [sent at 10:48 a.m]

Jungkook: Probably [sent at 10:49 a.m]

__: I guess, sure. We're going to need to put some stuff away though 😅 And get something fun for them to do! [sent by 10:51 a.m]

Jungkook: Noted but I'm sure they'll bring lots to do. Yoongi hyung is a big sofie for his girls. He buys them everything–literally 🫠 [sent at 10:52 a.m]

__: True. I have to get back to work now but love you xoxo [sent at 10:53 a.m]

A/N: Surprise! jk has mommy issues and they've has been triggered. Was hoping how he talked, thought, & acted towards her in the last chapter gave hints. On the brighter side, jungkook is another step closer to babyville! And next flashback will be something exciting! Lmk if you wanna be tagged or have thoughts in comments or asks! 💞

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[yunarim]

Can I please request Leona and Malleus finding out that the fem!reader is a princess back in her world and she never told them?

★﹒﹒TELL ME PRINCESS now when did you last let your heart decide

「 ☆ synopsis 」 — leona and malleus finding out that reader is a princess back in her world 「 ☆ tags 」 — female reader (she/her), book 2 spoilers, mentions of book 5 (very slight mention of VDC), implied strict education that reader received in her world

— ✧ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

He suspected it from the start, right from the day you ended up transmigrating into Twisted Wonderland. Your posture and the look your eyes possess told him you’re not just as unremarkable as someone could say. 

Leona doesn’t have time to observe you but when you two cross your paths, he notices something in the way you tilt your head in a greeting way. 

The more he talks to you, the more he notices how different you are compared to other students whose roots have nothing to do with royal blood. He figured it out himself while you two were having a chat regarding the political system in Afterglow Savannah and he noticed how knowledgeable you were. 

He wondered if you received proper education at first since the way you talked about how women are treated in your world wasn’t familiar to him. What do you mean princesses in your world are usually used as a political instrument and get married against their will? That is also the first time he wonders how you would perform if you would become part of the Kingscholar family and you teasingly ask him what made him grin so proudly.

Final round of realizing and making a conclusion came when you mentioned VDC and told him you’re assisting Vil with teaching first years how to dance. Leona just smirked and said that it’s obvious you’re the one who helps him. You asked him what he meant by that and he said it’s quite obvious by now that you belong to a royal family. 

You became more open about what concerns you in the princess training system, education, correcting your attitude all the time… Leona let you speak out, accepting all your struggles. You can be free around him, he doesn’t mind you being you. 

He doesn’t want to put any pressure on you but one day just mentions you would be a perfect match with how he comes from a family where women are respected and you possess royal status, coming from another dimension. 

You being a princess doesn’t change his opinion about you or doesn’t correct his behavior around you, actually there’s nothing that could stop him from sleeping on your lap. And you finally can catch a break and be yourself, not caring about your status.

— ✧ MALLEUS DRACONIA

It takes a while for Malleus to realize. He doesn’t communicate with human royalty, let alone humans in general. Your first encounter seems normal to him and he thinks of you as someone extremely polite. 

You can tell he belongs to royalty the very first second you see him outside of Ramshackle, but decide to fool around just a little, guessing how long it would take for him to realize. 

Malleus asks you if all the humans in your world are this polite and knowledgeable or is it just you. You grin mysteriously, letting him decide, enjoying the tea you brew. Malleus often mentions how frightened you would be if you find out who he is, but you don’t really seem to care about his status, which is surprising to him. Child of man, you seem to possess no fear. 

During late night strolls you often take with Malleus, he talks about gargoyles and you seem to eagerly ask him more questions about them. One day he asked how royal families work in your world, and he was puzzled at first. Humans are strange creatures, indeed… 

The first time he questioned your lineage was when he asked what children of man do in their free time. A quick bewildered glance you throw at him was enough to say you’re just as confused as he is. You chuckled softly, answering with something vague and common. 

It’s Lilia who tells him that you most definitely belong to royalty in your world. Malleus's eyes widens and he’s eager to know why he came to such a conclusion and Lilia casually drops that people don’t usually salute each other with a curtsy or at least a bow. 

Next day Malleus asks you if you’re not opposed to the idea of dancing with him since the weather is quite nice, and the starry sky is absolutely magnificent. You accept without any objections, and he notices how naturally you waltz. 

By the time the waltz ends, he doesn’t want to let you go and asks you if you belong to a royal family, meeting with your soft giggle. “Took you long to realize” you say, nodding to him politely. 

It’s not like he’s being friends with many humans, so there’s no actual difference between how you communicated before he realized and now. The only thing that changed is that now he invites you to Briar Valley with more confidence than before. Don’t get him wrong, he’s absolutely in love with you (even if he hasn’t realized it yet), but he wonders if you would be okay with encountering Briar Valley’s customs and, of course, his grandmother. 

He’s not pressuring (it’s more likely Lilia who wants to see you two finally ending up dating), but he finds himself thinking about what a great queen you would become, ruling Briar Valley with him before he falls asleep, awaiting your next meeting.

© yunarim 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧.

[wwinterwitch]

rational, irrational — coriolanus snow

summary: the newest peacekeeper in your district can't seem to stay away from you, but you're just having casual fun together...right? pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!fem reader word count: 6.5k  tags: smut and fluff, there's plot here, corio being corio, he's all over you the man's desperate, briefly suggestive in public (no one sees tho), specifics about reader (plays guitar, has a mom and dad, wears a dress, is carried by corio and is shorter), i wrote it thinking reader is 20 and he's 21 btw, dry humping, everything's rough and passionate, clothed f/naked m, marking and biting, unprotected p in v, pet names (princess, baby, my beautiful girl), he moans a lot (and whimpers!), reader is an overthinking queen, love confession (mutual)

happy new year my loves, i wish you the happiest 2024!! i'm so so proud of this fic, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

reblog or comment if you enjoy please!

all masterlists | thg masterlist | read on ao3

Coriolanus Snow is a very patient guy. So patient, that he sits quietly by one of the corners of that filthy-looking place while you have a good time. He's not really fond of spending time with the people in District Twelve– why would he? Everything about this place makes him nauseous, and he's pretty sure he would've found a way to get back to the Capitol already if it wasn't for you.

You, with your stupid smile and your stupid eyes and your stupid charm that managed to captivate him enough to actually make him want to be here. He may not be a fan of the people from your District, and he might not even be that interested in music at all, but he’s definitely a fan of seeing you enjoy yourself. He’s willing to sit throughout the entire performance because he knows you’re really passionate about your music, and how much you like it when he’s in the crowd to watch you.

The only thing that makes the experience tolerable is getting to see you play your guitar and twirl around in your pretty dress to the sound of the music. Hell, he even thought he was ascending to heaven every time you'd turn to look in his direction, noticing the way your smile would widen when you eventually lock eyes with him.

As soon as you got off the tiny stage, he made his way towards you with the clear intention of getting out of there to finally be alone with you. Before he can even say anything, you notice him approaching and immediately hand your guitar to one of your friends before you practically trot towards him.

There’s a big smile on your face when you’re standing in front of him, immediately pulling him in for a hug as a way of saying hi. He was busy before the show, unfortunately, so you didn’t have the chance to talk to him until now.

“You were incredible up there,” he congratulates you, leaving a quick kiss on the top of your head, his arms keeping you close to him.

Blushing lightly, you rest your head on his chest, allowing the hug to last longer than you initially anticipated before finally taking a step back from him. “Thank you.”

“Sorry I showed up a little late today.” He looks genuinely apologetic, even when you’ve told him countless times he shouldn’t feel pressured to be here every time you’re going to perform. “I wanted to bring you flowers, too, but I didn’t have time.”

You immediately shake your head when you hear him start apologizing. “It’s okay, Coriolanus. You don’t have to explain yourself, really,” you insist like always, because it really isn’t necessary. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend, and even if he were, you wouldn’t want him to feel obligated to do anything for you.

He smiles down at you, silently appreciating the fact that you understand his early absence. Leaning closer again, he puts a hand on the small of your back. “Should we go now?” 

The question makes you giggle. He's been like this since the first time the two of you started seeing each other. He's always wanting to spend time with you alone, away from your friends and other people he, again, doesn't care about at all. He's not here in Twelve to make friends, after all.

But even when you’ve always enjoyed his eagerness to get some alone time with you, you promised your friends to hangout with them after the show. "Let me have one drink with my friends and we'll be on our way,” you quickly reply. The look on his face was more than enough to let you know he was not happy about that plan, which makes you take a step closer to him to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "One drink. I promise."

You start walking away before he has time to come up with something to argue back, so he has no other choice but to wait even longer. He kept a serious expression on his face, barely making any attempts to join in on the conversation your friend group was having, even when everyone tried their best to include him in it. He clearly hated the idea of still having to share you with other people.

As much as your friends have expressed their concerns about his behavior, you can't help but enjoy the fact that he seems to be so incredibly obsessed with you. Yes, it's maybe a little too much sometimes, but you actually like it.

You like that he's always touching your body in any possible way, whether it's holding your hand, rounding your waist, or putting a hand at the small of your back. You also like that he's always keeping a watchful eye on you. It's like you're his most prized possession; he just can't risk losing you, so he's always following you around, making sure everyone treats you right and with respect. Whoever dares to mess with what's his would regret it for the rest of their life.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, he just had this need to have you. To know you, to keep you close, to gain your attention. Already used to getting what he wants, he knew it was a matter of time before he managed to do just that. It didn't take long before you were accepting to spend more and more time with him, and from that moment forward he's been glued to your side. 

It's still a mystery to you what he, a guy surrounded by privileges and luxuries from the Capitol, is even seeing in you, a nobody from the most disgraceful District. Still, you were surprised by how incredibly attentive he is with you.

Even when he knows he could get in serious trouble, he always manages to sneak away from his duties as a Peacekeeper to spend time with you. He has never ever missed one of your shows. Tigris is always asking about ‘the mystery girl he has a crush on, that she just can’t wait to meet one day’ whenever the two of them manage to talk.

Even your family has questioned you about what the hell you're up to every time you come back home holding a bouquet of azaleas. He used to give you roses, until he learned you actually prefer azaleas– not any azaleas, no, because you like the purple ones over any other of the colors so he's always getting you purple azaleas.

However, no matter how good he treats you or how seemingly obsessed he is, you always remind yourself not to think too much of it, knowing better than to get your hopes up regarding someone like Coriolanus Snow.

Because you have to be realistic here. You’ll always be in District Twelve, but he’ll eventually go back to the Capitol. Neither of you have really wanted to talk about what would happen then, choosing to enjoy the time you get to have together instead, but that doesn’t mean you don’t think about it more and more everyday.

He could promise you many things. That he’ll keep in touch with you, that he’ll find a way to visit, that he’ll never let the distance be an issue. But that’s just stupid. With such a lavish life, surrounded by privileges and important people, it’s only a matter of time before he forgets you even existed.

But it’s okay if he forgets. You’ve come to terms with that ending by now, because it’s part of what you knew you’d have to live with if you decided to get involved with him.

So, even when it’s difficult, you try to remind yourself not to look forward to a future with him because people like you and people like him simply cannot have a future together. The only thing you do allow yourself to think about is that, at least for the time being, he seems to be interested in you and he's ridiculously attractive, so why not having fun while you can?

So Coriolanus waited and waited, until you were putting away your guitar and finishing your third drink –definitely not one, he noticed– to head out the little pub with him. In a matter of seconds, his hand is resting once again on your lower back as he guides you outside, making sure to move people out of the way for you.

He offered to carry your guitar case before grabbing your hand and starting to head towards the forest. Like many times before, the two of you had to sneak around in dark alleys and deserted streets to avoid being seen. No one should be going into the forest at night, especially if we’re talking about a young girl with a Peacekeeper all by themselves. 

"Stop it!" you warn him in a playful whisper when he's grabbing your hips yet again, cornering you against a brick wall in a poorly-lit street. Still, you show barely any resistance or actual annoyance as you wrap an arm around his neck. "We'll get caught."

"So?" he asks with a mischievous grin, leaning closer to you. "If that happens, I'll just make something up." Shrugging, he brushes your worries off as he presses his body to yours, pushing you against the wall. "You really made me wait back there, you know?" he adds in a lower voice, his face impossibly closer, your nose brushing with his. "How do you expect me to behave now when I've been waiting all night to be alone with you?"

That last comment makes you look up at him in a way that encourages him to squeeze your body against the wall even more, making you gasp a little.

Your body is always testing him. He's almost convinced that you know the power you hold over him and completely take it to your advantage. This is definitely one of those times, because you've decided to wear that dress he loves so much on you and you just keep looking up at him with that doe-eyed look that's making it really difficult to keep himself under control.

He settles for a kiss for now, pressing his lips to yours in a way that perfectly shows how much he's needing you. He holds your face with one hand, his tongue immediately moving past your lips and inside your mouth to deepen the kiss. Your legs almost tremble when he captures your lower lip between his teeth before pulling back entirely, a small smirk adorning his lips when he locks eyes with you again because he knows he's not the only one that's forgetting you're in the middle of a street.

Yes, he's down bad, but he's also aware of the effect he has on you and he loves watching it reflected on your face.

He lets out a low chuckle when you eventually push him away from you, deciding to continue the walk to the forest, grabbing your hand again to guide you through the narrow streets and making sure to keep an eye out to avoid getting caught.

"What did you tell your parents this time?" he asks, the playful tone in his voice evident. You didn't need to see his face to know he was grinning.

"Sleepover," you simply say, blushing.

"Again?"

The little chuckle that escapes his lips makes you blush even more, lightly hitting his arm with your available hand. "Would you prefer I tell them I'm sneaking into the forest with you?"

There's a brief silence, and for a second you thought that was it regarding that conversation, until you hear him speak again. "Do you think they'd like me?"

You're not entirely sure where that question is coming from. At first you thought it was just another little comment to tease you, but when you look up at him you notice the expression on his face. He genuinely seems serious about it, and he briefly looks down at you before looking ahead, seemingly intrigued by your answer.

Would your parents like him? Perhaps your mom will be thrilled that you found someone because you've rarely ever talked to her about anyone potentially capturing your interest in a romantic way. Even if you reveal that he’s a guy from the Capitol. You can already picture her bombarding Corio with compliments, and the thought of them meeting actually makes you visibly smile.

But your dad might be a completely different story. He's always talking about how much he hates the Capitol, after all. And the fact that he almost got in trouble with the Peacekeepers recently might be another strong indicator that perhaps he'll have his reservations about someone like him dating you.

But he's not being serious about this, you tell yourself. This is his way of teasing you, of course.

Still, the look on his face stops you from being entirely playful about your answer, because despite your brain trying to remind you to be realistic about the nature of your relationship, part of you fears he really wants to know what you have to say.

"I don't know," you eventually reply, voice a lot lower than you expected. "Perhaps your charm can persuade them too."

You notice him smile after your last comment, but you don't know if that answer was enough for him. Maybe it wasn't. "I'm sure I can find a way to win them over," he replies as confident as ever. Again, you're not sure if he's just joking or not. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything else about it and you decide to stay quiet too.

Already in the forest, it was practically impossible to get his hands away from your body. You had to walk with his arms around you, his lips occasionally pressing against your temple, neck or the side of your face. If you managed to slip from his grip even for the shortest of instances, he'd grab your arm and pull you back into his embrace.

It's only fair that he gets to hold you close to him as much as he wants. He has been patient enough for you, after all. He stayed in that bar to watch you have fun with your friends while you barely paid any attention to him. Do you really expect him to keep waiting until you reach that stupid cabin? Not a chance. Not when he's been waiting to be alone with you for hours.

The two of you finally reach the cabin and he only moves away from your body to open the door for you, his eyes hungrily trailing down your body as you walk inside. That goddamn dress looks just so good on you, his hands are practically shaking in anticipation as he closes the door behind him.

You turn around to look at him with a soft smile, watching as he carefully places your guitar case on the floor, leaving it resting against a wall before walking towards you. He's immediately grabbing your face with his hands, pulling you in for a kiss so incredibly desperate that it almost makes your legs tremble.

He's always been like this– passionate, devoted, needy. He kisses you like your mouth is the air he needs in order to stay alive. He takes a few steps backwards until he's once again cornering you against the wall, and the way he presses his body against yours with urgency isn't doing much to help your poor state.

"Corio..." you whisper, surrounded by the darkness of the cabin, seeing his features illuminated by the moonlight coming from one of the windows. He takes his time to look at you– really look at you, marveling at how your eyes are reflecting all the raw emotions he's feeling right now in this very moment with you. The way your body silently expresses your need for him to continue, how your chest rises and falters faster than usual.

But he also focuses on other things. Things you probably don't even know he'll be thinking about when he looks at you like this. Because he also takes a second to admire how unbelievably beautiful you are and the way your body fits so perfectly against his. He even has the time to realize how fast his own heart is beating, that foreign feeling that keeps appearing within him every time he's near you completely overtaking him.

You gasp softly when one of his hands lifts your dress, enough to reach your thigh as he squeezes your flesh with a low groan. "You made me wait all night," he mutters, sounding genuinely upset at this still– offended, even. "I went to see your little concert to be with you, and that's how you pay me? Just ignoring me?"

"I didn't–"

"You did," he insists, and despite the anger and frustration in his voice, you know he's not really directing any of those emotions at you. Or at least not entirely. He's just really desperate to be with you, to feel more of what you have to offer. 

There's a brief pause where Coriolanus is taking his chance to move his hand from your thigh to your ass, urging your hips forward to meet his half-way. You let out a soft moan, he smirks devilishly. "I don't think that was very nice of you."

Shortly after that last comment, he's leaning down to press his lips on your neck. Every kiss is sloppy, hurried, desperate, his hand on your ass urgently pushing you forward while he presses his growing bulge against your lower stomach.

The low moans escaping his lips makes you shiver, gripping his biceps while you tilt your head back against the wall to expose more of your neck to him.

His teeth dig into your flesh, making you moan louder. "I'm sorry..." you mutter in a breathless voice, feeling his frustration in the way he's handling your body. "I'm sorry..."

He completely ignores your apologies, much more preoccupied on kissing down your neck towards your collarbone. Your back arches when his lips trail lower, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your cleavage.

The hand on your ass moves to the back of one of your thighs, lifting your leg up until your knee is practically leveling with his hips, aligning your bodies better. The gesture exposes you just enough, creating the perfect angle for him to grind against you properly.

He moves back to watch your reaction as he rocks his hips forward, his clothed erection pressing against the fabric of your underwear in a delicious friction. Your broken moan echoes in the empty cabin, combined with the groan of pure ecstasy that escapes his lips.

"All night," he repeats through gritted teeth. "All fucking night you had me waiting."

You didn't reply. If you tried to say you didn't, he'd argue back. If you tried to apologize, he wouldn't listen. Unlike what many would think, you've genuinely got to know him during his stay in your district. You know it's better to just shut up and let him win, at least sometimes– especially times like this when he's making you feel so good and you don’t really have the strength or mind to insist.

He's probably the most stubborn person you'll ever meet. There's no way of ever making him change his mind about anything. But you like him just like that.

He's kissing your lips again, just as desperate as before, hungrily claiming your mouth. Without moving back from the kiss, he grabs your other leg to fully lift you off the ground. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, keeping your hands on his shoulders for support while he walks towards the couch that's in front of the empty fireplace with you in his arms.

He gently places your body on top of the couch, making sure you're comfortable as he moves back from you. A soft smirk appears on his lips when his eyes meet yours. With desperate hands and rushed movements, he starts removing the jacket of his Peacekeeper uniform, and you watch in silent appreciation as he removes his clothing on top of you.

First it was the jacket, then it was the plain white t-shirt he was wearing underneath, barely giving you time to admire his torso before he's leaning down to kiss you, continuing the heavy and passionate make out.

You run your hands up and down his back, careful not to be too rough with the way your fingers trace his skin. Even when the injuries on his back have healed completely, you were still fearful of hurting him.

Unlike you, Coriolanus is anything but gentle. One of his hands keeps a strong grip on your hip, pinning you down to the worn-out couch. The other moves up your frame, groping your breasts to his will. Still, despite the roughness of it all, there's an undeniable sense of care in the way he treats you. He holds onto you so tight because he physically can't bring himself to hold you in any other way, and because he knows you like that extra pressure his strong hands provide whenever he touches your body.

He'll never ever keep a strong grip on you like this with the intention of hurting you. It's not meant to hurt, but to show you through his touch how badly he needs to feel your body. How he can't function properly if he's not keeping you close. How he wants to make sure you're actually there with him, making him feel like this, and that you won't disappear into thin air to leave him completely alone. He can't let you disappear. He won't be able to live if you go.

The familiar sound of his belt echoes in the room, and you don't need to pull away from the kiss and look down to know he's urgently trying to get rid of the barrier of clothing separating your bodies.

"Take your panties off," he ordered in a rushed voice, moving back just enough to look at you. The huge amount of urgency hidden behind his captivating blue eyes makes you blush despite yourself, marveling at how he’s able to give you an instruction but still look like he’s pleading for it. "You can keep the dress on, though," he adds not too long after, taking another look down your body appreciatively. "It looks so pretty on you."

You immediately do as told. He gives you just enough space to reach under your dress to slide your panties down your legs while he finishes undoing his belt, starting to unzip his pants now.

It's actually a lot harder to remove your underwear than you initially anticipated, struggling to fully get rid of them at first due to your boots. He quickly notices it, helping to take them off before finally getting rid of your panties.

Waiting not-so-patiently (a thing you might have in common with him, apparently), you watch as Coriolanus focuses back on unzipping his pants, hurriedly sliding them down his legs along with his boxers. You barely catch a glimpse of his rigid cock before he's lifting one of your legs up again, pressing his body against yours and giving you absolutely no time to react as he's filling you up in one swift, hard thrust of his hips.

A shuddering moan of pure relief escapes his lips when he's finally able to feel your heat surrounding him. He holds onto your body for dear life, burying his face in your neck, needing to feel you close to him while he stays balls-deep inside you for a second. Savoring it, cherishing it, thanking whatever it was that put you in his life, trying to remember exactly how it feels to be like this with you just in case you ever decide to keep him waiting again. 

Not at all ready for such intrusion, you let out a pathetic little whimper that makes the moment that much enjoyable for him. You hold tightly onto his body as well, your palms pressed to his shoulder blades, brows furrowed in both pleasure and slight discomfort.

"Fucking–" he grunts, breathlessly, feeling like the happiest man on earth right now, "missed this."

He starts to move, slowly sliding his cock out of you before slamming back inside with such force that it makes you whimper out loud once again. Every beautiful sound coming out of your mouth drives him even more insane, encouraging him to do whatever he possibly can to keep them coming.

An almost animalistic groan escapes his lips when he feels you biting onto his shoulder. Your teeth sinking into his skin like that makes him lose the little self-control he had left, the movements of his hips only increasing as they become quicker, rougher. It's practically impossible to think any coherent thoughts or try to speak, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock fucking you relentlessly, aggressively, desperately.

Coriolanus fucks you like his life depends on it. Like he's been deprived of your body for years. Like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance to do it so he's forced to make the most of it. He leaves sloppy kisses all over your neck, drawing a particularly lovely moan when you feel him suck on your skin in a way that'll definitely leave a mark later. You really don't care, he can mark you all he wants.

His hips move rapidly, refusing to give you even the tiniest of seconds to relax. The impact of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the absolutely obscene sounds coming from his cock sliding in and out of your aching little hole are as loud as the sounds coming from your mouths. You whimper desperately, he groans completely consumed by the feeling of sharing this moment with you.

"That's it, princess," he praises you in a low voice. You're being so good for him, gladly taking every inch of him, squeezing him in a way that's making his eyes roll to the back of his head as he forces his hips to move as fast as possible. "You feel incredible...so tight...just perfect for me."

When he moves back from your neck, he could've swore he almost came right there and then just by looking at your face. You look back at him through half-lidded eyes, swollen lips parted while you keep moaning and whimpering for him, skin glistening with sweat, cheeks flushed. The fact that you look so beautifully wrecked thanks to him has got to be one of his biggest accomplishments. He'll probably never get enough of this sight, of you, of your body, of your wet pussy taking him so incredibly good that he's not sure he can keep this up much longer.

And he knows you can't handle much of this either. You don't need to say it out loud for him to know– which is good, because it's not like you can utter a single word right now. He can see it in the way you're struggling to keep your eyes open, hear it in the way your cries come out more and more broken, feel it in the way your walls repeatedly squeeze him tighter and tighter.

His tongue invades your mouth if a passionate kiss, all messy and hot, teeth clashing while you moan into each other's mouths. He kisses you hungrily for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, knowing it's a matter of time before he gets to feel you come around his cock.

"Corio..." you call out his name, barely able to speak. He moves back just enough to look at you.

"I know, baby. I know," he replies in a soft voice, completely contrasting with his rapid thrusts and ragged breathing.

He closes his eyes for a second, so lost in the moment, feeling his entire body on fire and his heart beating like crazy. He sneaks an arm underneath you, lifting your hips just enough and keeping them there, both of you voicing how good that new angle feels with a particularly louder moan.

When he opens his eyes again, noticing the way you're looking up at him, he realizes it. How good this feels because he's sharing it with you. How he'll never be able to share moments like this with anyone that's not you, and even if he dares to try it'll always be second-best now that he got to experience you.And it's not just the sex, but everything. From the pride of making you blush with the tiniest of compliments, to the honor of holding your hand. From the warm and fuzzy feeling inside him every time you kiss him, to the way you seem so interested to hear his stories about his life back in the Capitol. From the absolute gift that is seeing you laugh at one of his jokes (even the bad ones), to the minutes he spends collecting purple azaleas in the forest. He wants none of that if it’s not with you.

Before he can even fully comprehend just how risky it is, he's voicing that one thought that keeps repeating over and over in his head. A thought that's probably been on his mind long before he even allowed himself to acknowledge it. "I love you," he whispers, the confession both heavy and relieving. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

In other circumstances, you would probably be absolutely shocked by that revelation. You'd stand in front of him without knowing what to say, trying to figure out if those words actually came out of his mouth or if you're just going insane. Or maybe you'd act like you did earlier when he asked about your parents, trying to trick your insecure mind and distrustful heart to believe he's not being serious– that what you have isn't serious at all.

But it's different when you're underneath him and he's claiming your body in the most excruciatingly good way, because you're deprived of all your rationality. You can't think, you can't be scared or doubt everything like you tend to do. You're stripped of almost everything, except from your most basic and natural instincts.

So, in a moment like this, it's so easy to admit the inevitable truth you seem to be running away from when you’re actually able to overthink. "I love you," you repeat, and it's so simple. So right.

He’s over the moon when he hears you say that, already wanting to hear it again and again and again because it sounds absolutely heavenly when those three little words come out of your mouth. He didn't know how much he needed to hear them until now.

You manage to distract him, however, when your moans come out more desperately than ever before, feeling the way you clench around him like crazy. "Corio..." you manage to cry out again, the vulnerability and exhaustion in your voice sending shivers down his spine.

It's a mystery to him if you wanted to say something else aside from his name, because as soon as it leaves your mouth you’re moaning louder than ever before, your entire body convulsing with the intensity of the orgasm that overtakes your whole being. Arms and legs wrapped around him, forehead resting on his shoulder, a few tears escaping your eyes due to how much you’re feeling right now.

With him, it always feels amazing, but oh does it feel even better now that you know he loves you.

Your orgasm was all he needed to be driven over the edge, his arm underneath you tightening its grip on you while the other barely provides support to his body so he doesn't crush you under his weight. "Yes, yes…" he moans, his face against your neck, the only things in his mind being the feeling of your orgasm and how badly he wants to fill you up now. "Oh, fuck, baby..." he practically whimpers those words out, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

He finally comes undone, shooting his load deep inside you as a few more whimpers escape his mouth, his peak hitting him harder than ever before. It's almost like the more instances he gets to be like this, giving you exactly what you deserve, making love to you, the better it feels. Makes him come back for more every time, crave you in a way he's never experienced before. 

His movements in and out of you slow down considerably, but he refuses to stop just yet. His hips continue to meet yours even after he's fully empty, all of his cum already coating your inner walls, but making sure to fuck every drop into you before he allows himself to fully slide out.

Panting heavily, he moves his head back enough to look at you, admiring your face of pure bliss after he tried his very best to give you everything he had in him to make you feel good. One arm stays wrapped around your body, using his available hand to brush your sweaty hair away from your face. "My beautiful girl," he compliments you in a breathless whisper, looking deeply into your eyes with immense adoration and possessiveness.

He just needed to have you like this. Alone, all to himself, making those cute little sounds that drive him insane, filled with his cum. Yes, he's a very patient person, but he can't control himself when it comes to you. Surely you understand, after what you’ve experienced together tonight and the confession that slipped from his lips, why he needed to get the hell out of that crowded pub. He's completely in love with you, how is he supposed to act like he doesn’t?

You're even more exhausted than him, barely able to keep your eyes open as you give him a soft smile when you hear the way he's complimenting you. He gently holds your face with one of his hands and you lean into his touch almost immediately. Leaning closer, he kisses you once again, a lot more controlled now but still as passionate as ever. Silently appreciating the way you handled the roughness of his movements, thankful that you shared such an intimate and intense moment with him, insanely happy to know you love him as much as he loves you.

He moves away from your lips, only to start kissing all over your face, muttering praises and compliments in between each of them, making you giggle as you gladly accept his affection.

Eventually, he pulls out of you and moves away from your body entirely, giving you enough space to sit up on the couch and look for your discarded panties. As you do that, he starts the process of dressing himself too, putting his boxers and pants back on.

You watch him in silence, playing with your fingers on your lap as you wait for him to join you on the couch again. Your insecurities were getting the best of you once again, and he immediately notices it the second he’s taking a seat next to you.

He looks visibly worried, leaning closer as he grabs one of your hands, searching for your eyes because you seem to be way too lost in your own head to fully be there in that moment with him. “What is it?”

The concern is evident in his voice, making you feel almost guilty for doubting the words that he said to you earlier. How could you doubt him when he looks at you like this?

“It’s nothing, I just…” you start, sighing as you look down at your hands to watch the way he intertwined his fingers with yours, the gesture incredibly reassuring. "Did you mean it?" you ask in a low voice. "What you said earlier?"

"Of course I did." He doesn't hesitate in the slightest. "Did you?"

Surprisingly enough, you don't hesitate either. "Yes."

The way he smiles right after your answer has got to be one of the best sights you've ever seen in your entire life. It encourages you to find enough courage to express your feelings for him once again, wanting to initiate the exchange this time.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze while you look up at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes. "I really, truly, do love you, Coriolanus," you say in the most sincere voice he's ever heard.

"I love you too," he replies, that beautiful smile from before only widening. It's impossible not to smile back at him, and he feels even happier when he notices the way you blush despite the darkness of the night. "More than I thought I could ever love anyone."

He keeps your hand in his, and you notice there's no hesitation in his voice when he decides to test his luck once again. "Come to the Capitol with me," he says, but it's not exactly an order. If anything, it sounds more like a hopeful plea.

Again, you should probably think rationally about this. Leave all your life behind to go to a place that's nothing like what you're used to? To live amongst people that are nothing like you, with a completely different lifestyle? What would the people of the Capitol even think when they know there's someone from the districts (and worse, from Twelve) pretending to be one of them? Is Corio even thinking about any of this?

And what about your friends? Or your family? What if someone needs you and you're not here? Would they understand that you're leaving them here for a guy, even when you try to explain how much you love him? And what would you do when you're at the Capitol? Are you going to study? Or try to actually pursue music? Will you ever be able to come back to District Twelve? What if you miss your home? What if you hate the Capitol?

When you look back into Corio's eyes, suddenly none of those questions matter. You try to be rational, but maybe there's nothing rational about falling in love. Maybe you just need to feel it, and right now you feel incredibly at peace. So seen, so much more like yourself, so ridiculously in love that you're happy knowing absolutely nothing is making sense.

So, you don't hesitate again when you nod. His eyes light up and a bright smile appears on his face, tightening his grip on your hand. “Yeah?” he asks, almost unable to contain his excitement, leaning closer just enough.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, because the idea of leaving everything behind to follow him to the Capitol sounds absolutely insane, but it feels so right. “Yes,” you confirm.

You feel his lips press against yours immediately after. The kiss feels like a silent closure. A way of ending the conversation, sealing the promise you’ve made to have a new life together. A way of saying goodbye to your life here in District Twelve.