#he's body keeps me out of orbit

[sincericida]

Shirtless Andrew Garfield appreciation post:

Hope you enjoyed it. I didn’t know I needed this AG content crumbs post until I made him.

[swampthingking]

can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

-

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

[tgcg]

the master baiter

TG: dont be mad

TG: ok thats like asking water not to be wet but

CG: WATER ISN'T FUCKING WET GOD DAMMIT.

TG: look whatever remember when you said you would die for me

TG: is that karkat in the room with us right now

======

CG: I'M DYING "FOR YOU" EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU PEEL OPEN THOSE SHIT-EATING LIPS YOU KEEP PULLED TAUT OVER YOUR DRONING IGNORANCE SHAFT.

TG: heheheh

======

CG: YOUR WORDSLUDGE SPEARS EVERY PARTICLE OF MY BODY WITH PINPOINT STRIDERIAN IDIOCY.

TG: oh shit here we go

CG: A VERBAL BARRAGE THAT PULVERIZES MY FLESH INTO A FINE RED MIST, KILLING ME INSTANTLY. WIPING ME THE FUCK OUT, TO SUCH AN INCREDIBLE DEGREE THAT PALEONTOLOGISTS CAN'T FULLY DISCERN IF A "KARKAT" FUCKING EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: THEY'D BE SCRATCHING THEIR NUGBONES OVER IT FOR FUCKING SWEEPS, IF NOT FOR THE SHOCKING REALIZATION MERE MINUTES INTO THEIR DEBATES THAT NOBODY ACTUALLY GAVE A SHIT.

======

CG: AND YET THE TEMPORAL DEVICE STILL SWAYS TO AND FRO IN CONSTERNATION. VEXED BY THE COMPLETE MENTAL VACANCY PUT BEFORE IT BY MY HUMBLE SACRIFICE, BOUND BY ITS COSMIC ROLE, BEGRUDGED BY MY UNSOLICITED DEATH CLOCKING IT INTO OVERTIME. IT HAS BETTER SHIT TO DO, GOD DAMMIT! IT HAS A LUSUS AND A HIVE TO GET BACK TO!

CG: "WHAT IS THIS. WHO LET THIS ASSHOLE IN HERE," IT SAYS. THEY AREN'T EVEN QUESTIONS, JUST ORBITAL SIGHS OF AN UNCARING UNIVERSE. A REALITY NOW KEENLY AWARE OF ITS OWN LAUGH TRACK.

CG: AND ITS PENDULUM TEETERS, TENTATIVE IN ITS OWN DISBELIEF AND PROFOUND APATHY.

TG: damn

======

CG: "THIS SCUMBAG ISN'T EVEN GODTIER YET," IT POINTS OUT. THE AUDIENCE FLIPS THEIR COLLECTIVE SHIT, AGHAST AT THIS REVELATION.

TG: hahaha

CG: IT WELLS UP SUCH A THRUM OF FUCKING ENNUI THAT THE TIMEPIECE FLIPS OFF-KILTER, LANDING SQUARELY IN THE "DUMBASS" ZONE WITH A "FUCK IT" LOUD ENOUGH TO REVERBERATE THROUGHOUT PARADOX SPACE.

======

CG: IT THEN ELECTS TO KICK MY PATHETIC FUCKING HALF-CORPSE BACK INTO THE LIVING PLANE AND FORCE ME, VENGEFULLY FROM THE AUDACITY OF MY OWN IDIOCY, TO REPEAT THIS CYCLE AD NAUSEAM

CG: UNTIL EXISTENCE ITSELF FINALLY CROAKS UNDER THE COMBINED WEIGHT OF OUR COLOSSAL STUPIDITY.

CG: BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK WOULD I BE IF I EVER GOT TO HAVE A BREAK?

======

TG: yep there he is thats him offincer

TG: the man after my own heart

TG: thats a karkat brand "soft yes" if i ever heard one and i know my karkatisms dude im a goddamn graduate in karkatology

TG: i got my degree in this shit

TG: im rocking up to our convos with the dumbass black square hat thing cocked 45 degrees

TG: literally incapable of snapping it back kinda by design of the stupid thing but damn if im not doing it anyways im emanating the snappitudes

TG: im rocking my intelligence right now

TG: also water is absolutely wet dude its like the wettest thing on the planet

CG: I'M NOT REPEATING MYSELF AGAIN

TG: yeah you are

CG: FUCK. I AM.

======

CG: I SAID THE LAST THREE TIMES IT'S A CONDITIONAL TERM--

TG: and im saying its common sense like being wet isnt conditional when youre the perpetual thing of wettening

CG: NO

TG: and brother it is THE wet

TG: like following your conditional argument

TG: if water isnt wet then the other water molecules are constantly making each other fuckin wet so its a moot point

TG: great philosophical debate

TG: which came first the water or the wet?

CG: DAVE

TG: think about it all those particles are wetting each other up all the time and shit

TG: its a fucked up display

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

======

TG: pretty much a perpetual orgy of the elements

CG: DUDE.

TG: that sounds kinda sick actually if you dont think about what it means

TG: h2orgy

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO VETO THIS STUPID DISCUSSION--

TG: tell me im wrong dude

CG: I'M UNIVERSE-APPOINTED TO HOVER AROUND YOU POINTING OUT EVERY DUMBASS TAKE YOU HAVE FOR THE REST OF TIME.

TG: thats so beautiful to me

TG: i could cry

[averywiseanimatedcat]

6 months on it still thinking about how much of a shock that kiss must’ve been to Aziraphale.

The way Crowley steers his cooperation around really gave Aziraphale no warning at all. I was thinking about the development of their body language and it’s interesting to me so have an analysis under the cut.

Crowleys body language doesn’t change all that much over the course of their history. After their initial meetings as angels then in Eden, Crowleys already leaning in, orbiting and slinking around in quite a comfortable, familiar way. He tends to angle his body towards Aziraphale and stands quite close to him. He shows no sign of being fearful or uncomfortable. He quite happily moves in and around Aziraphales personal space without a care in the world even when they hardly knew each other yet.

Aziraphale however starts out looking guarded and unsure. He often stands facing forward while talking to Crowley sideways.

As we go through history Aziraphale becomes more comfortable. He opens up, starts to angle his body more towards Crowley, stops guarding with his hands and moves into Crowleys space on his own. And he starts to initiate physical contact where it’s not even necessary.

But the only times I can think of Crowley initiating physical contact before the kiss are ones that could easily be written off as just friendly or something else like

The wall push (which was aggressive)

The magic shop handshake is practical for sealing the deal

The handhold for the swap (mutual initiation, also practical we assume)

Sitting on the arm of the chair and kinda sorta leaning on Aziraphale when Muriel turns up

Crowley also tends to reject Aziraphales touch by removing himself from it like in the 1800’s, dodging with some roundabout footwork or leaning away. With moments like the pub or the shoulder touch he doesn’t have much of a visible reaction. Granted his eyes are hidden but Aziraphale probably thinks he just doesn’t like being touched. And yes, Neil said they like holding hands, but do they know the other likes holding hands?

And I can hear you say ok then why does Crowley always put himself within touching distance if he don’t wanna be touched? Yeah, he does, but from Aziraphales perspective Crowley has always done this. He’s always been standing close or leaning in. It’s just how he is. Aziraphale is the one who’s changed. He’s become walking megaphone just blasting ‘please hold my hand before I discorporate on the spot pleasepleaselpleaseplease…’

Aziraphale is clearly a physical touch being. He reaches for Crowley in the most stressful or emotionally charged moments. And I think he has been holding back (we can see that on his face) but there’s times where he seems to stop himself mid motion from touching Crowley. Such as after Gabriels appearance and Az is trying to keep Crowley calm

When Crowley says he’s going to take the humans out

And when Crowley goes to take Maggie and Nina out of the bookstore when Heaven and Hell are there. There is a safety element here as it’d be unwise for him to show his affection with Heaven or Hell around but Aziraphales first instinct is to reach for him. But Crowley just gets out of the way like he does it all the time. It’s another dance they do, Aziraphale pursues with physical affection, Crowley avoids. And Aziraphale doesn’t want to cross boundaries he’s perceiving Crowley to be putting up around physical affection so he’s holding it back.

And I think all that is part of the reason Aziraphale looks angry after the kiss. He’s possibly thinking (among many other things) that Crowley has rejected or ignored his physical affection all this time, making Aziraphale think he didn’t want it when he did. And that would be a painful thing to realise when you thought you yearned alone.

So I don’t blame Aziraphale for being upset when he gets this sudden enormous dose of physical contact out of the blue. He had no warning. On the contrary, Crowleys been acting like a big, prickly, demonic cactus. And it would’ve been endlessly confusing to be kissed after years believing the want for even the lightest of touches wasn’t reciprocated.

[norrizzandpia]

can we please get oscar with logans best friend and he cant help but pout at how close they are??

Aww but this is so cute

When’s It My Turn? (OP81)

Summary: When Oscar can’t find Y/n and realizes she’s off with Logan, he gets possessive over how much time his girlfriend has to give.

Warnings: literally none, Oscar being a cutey

“Have you seen Y/n?” Oscar asked Lando as he sat around in the garage waiting for the car to be fixed for testing.

Lando shook his head, “Uh, no? Shouldn’t you know where she is? You’re her boyfriend.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, “You’re tellin’ me.”

Lando giggled and squinted up at Oscar, “I think I saw her with Logan. She’s probably in Williams. You know how close they are.”

Oscar huffed and began shuffling off toward the large blue building down the paddock, whispering, “Oh, trust me, I know.”

—

He could hear his girlfriend before he saw her. Her bright laugh reverberated off the walls of Williams racing, warming his heart. She came into view when he entered hospitality and he was not surprised to see her laughing with Logan at all. Truth be told, Oscar knew this would happen from the start. Logan and Y/n had been friends for years before the American decided to grace Oscar’s presence with Y/n. They were close, extremely close, and as much as Oscar loved that his girlfriend had a steady, loyal friend in her orbit, he hated the moments where he was filled with jealously like this.

He sidled up next to her when he got close enough, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her temple as Logan stopped talking.

“What’re you doing here?” The American smiled at the sight of the Australian.

“Looking for my girlfriend.” Oscar mumbled, pulling at Y/n’s body lightly to signal he wanted to leave.

She pat his chest softly as she looked up at him, “You’ve found her, I’d say.”

He blushed before reverting his gaze back to Logan, “Mind if I steal her back?”

Logan shook his head and waved his hand around, “Nah, knock yourself out.”

At that, Oscar was practically dragging Y/n out of the building, hands tight on her waist as he steered her away from cameras and fans. Although, she had an inkling there was another reason for his snug hold on her.

“I’m not going anywhere, Osc.” She laughed, pushing him a bit before he pulled her back.

“Oh, sure.” He gave, sarcasm in every syllable of his statement.

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He exhaled a loud breath before turning the corner, tugging their bodies into McLaren’s corner of the paddock. “You’re always gone right when I have time to see you.”

Her face scrunched, “No, I’m not.”

He nodded right back at her, “Yes, you are.”

When he closed the door to his driver’s room, she rolled her eyes playfully, “Oscar, no, I am not.”

And when she looked back over at him, his eyes deep with sincerity, she realized he was not playing around, “Yes, you are, Y/n.”

She cocked her head as she stood before him, “Wait, you’re serious?”

He sighed as he shrugged, “Well, I just feel like you’re always with Logan.”

She walked closer to her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his torso and looking up at him with soft eyes, “I’m sorry, Osc, that you feel that way. I don’t mean to make you feel not prioritized.”

His arms rounded her body, “I know, but I just wish I could keep you all to myself. I love that you have close friends. I just wish they weren’t on this paddock.”

She giggled and moved her hands to push the hair out his face, scratching at his scalp lovingly, “I can understand that feeling. I get that way when I see all these fangirls chasing after you. But, I love you. You’re my favorite person. Does that help? What can I do to help?”

He thought for a moment before stooping his head lower and mumbling, “Can I have a kiss?”

She laughed and nodded, “Sure, baby.”

After a few pecks, Oscar pulled back and, in the same volume as before, asked, “Am I really your favorite person? Like, more than Logan?”

Her eyebrow raised as she turned her head to the sides suspiciously, “Between us?”

He giggled and laughed before she continued, “You are my most favorite person. More favorite than Logan.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled her further into him, “Well, if that’s the case…”

“It is the case, Osc. You’ll always be my favorite.” She smiled, kissing his shoulder softly.

He blushed and squeezed her lightly, “You’re my favorite too.”

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part IX

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: It's been a minute, y'all! I've missed my Less Talk crew! Second last chapter, here we go!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, smut, angst, fluff, you might dislike me when this is over

Masterlist | Part I

“Jake!” you call as you run after him out of the restaurant. “Jake, wait!”

But Jake doesn’t stop. He can’t.

The moment Mustang utters the words ‘we’re engaged’, he goes numb. Bradley says something that he can’t quite hear or doesn’t want to comprehend. The crowd starts cheering and closing in. And he sees your eyes, wide with alarm as you try to keep him in your line of sight despite the moving bodies between you.

And then he’s gone. Shoving his way through the well-wishers as he makes for the door. But he’s only halfway to his truck when he hears your voice. And as he pulls aggressively on the handle, he perceives your approaching footsteps; you’re running.

He lets out an aggravated sigh and turns to look at you without a word. You jog toward him, stopping just short of his bumper, and then you move forward slowly, as though you’re afraid he might bolt.

“It’s not true,” you blurt out, your words slurring into one another because you’re trying to get them out so quickly.

Jake gawks at you, not know what to believe anymore.

“I promise you,” you say. “It’s over.”

Jake furrows his brows, staring at you incredulously. “I don’t think he knows that.”

You let out a shaky breath and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “He will.”

Jake watches you with contempt. “So, he doesn’t yet.”

Your eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun but you blink away the tears, conveniently averting your gaze. Jake sets his jaw; he isn’t falling for the innocent act.

“I can’t help you,” he says levelly. “Because I don’t know what’s going on.” He bangs a fist on the hood of his truck and then takes a step toward you. “Because you won’t tell me anything!”

You nod, catching a couple of tears with the tip of your index finger. You don’t let any of them fall and you manage to compose yourself before your emotions get out of hand. “I don’t need your help,” you whisper, looking at the dirt caked into the treads of his tire rather than up at his face.

“Fine,” he replies. Although it’s not fine. Nothing is fine. He, certainly, is not fine. “Then I don’t need to be here.”

“Fine.” You shrug, obstinately avoiding eye contact.

Your apathetic tone irks Jake, but he’s not about to let you witness just how much you affect him. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans before balling them up into fists. There’s only one piece of information he absolutely needs to know. The rest can probably wait. “Are you gonna marry him?” he asks, a little more forcefully than he anticipates.

You meet his gaze finally – guiltily – but don’t respond.

Jake says nothing more. He opens the door to his truck and gets in, and you don’t stop him. He turns over the engine and waits for you to step out of the way before he backs out swiftly and floors it out of the lot.

…

The sound of your voice jolts him awake. He sits up straight in his bed, listening intently, wondering if he’d dreamt it. But then your laughter carries up to the second floor. Jake closes his eyes. You must be in the kitchen with Bradley.

Jake hasn’t seen you in two weeks; hasn’t wanted to. Seeing you has only ever caused him pain. Even before he realized he liked you, your presence had always seemed to shift him out of orbit. Your stupid quips and endless debates, the judgmental look in your eye whenever Jake tried to stand his ground. It got worse when it finally occurred to him that he enjoyed that sort of abuse.

Jake runs his hands over his face, trying to tune you out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the arguments. You’re the only person who’s ever really put him in his place. And how he’s loved putting you in yours.

Jake gets out of bed with a sigh, pausing at the closed door of his bedroom to listen. It isn’t eavesdropping if he’s not actually interested in the topic of conversation; all he wants is to hear your voice.

“I swear I will never drink drip coffee again,” you announce with conviction.

Jake holds back a laugh, leaning his head into the doorframe.

“It’s basically sewer water by comparison,” you continue.

Jake snorts.

“Have another croissant,” you urge.

“You brought enough to feed a squadron,” he hears Bradley retort. “I’m not eating them all.”

You go quiet for a moment, saying something Jake can’t quite make out. He pushes off the frame and shuffles into the bathroom. He’s still pissed, and no amount of baked goods will convince him to go downstairs. He’s not ready for that. And, if all goes to plan, he’ll just slowly get over you and never have to see you again.

Once he’s out of the shower, Jake towel dries his hair and then quickly pats down his body. He listens for signs of conversation, but the house is quiet now. You and Bradley must have left.

“Bradshaw?” he calls, just in case.

No answer.

He heads down to start a pot of coffee before getting dressed but, when he enters the kitchen, you are the first thing he sees. You look up from where you're sitting at his table and yelp – because he’s butt naked – leaping out of your seat and covering your eyes with your hands, promptly turning away.

“What the fuck, Seresin!” you scream.

Jake jumps behind the counter. “What?” he shouts. “What the fuck, yourself! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you!” you screech. “But, like, not so much of you!”

Jake cringes, still in shock from the encounter. He grabs a throw blanket off the couch and wraps it around his waist. “Why didn’t you answer when I called down?” he yells, his temples pounding as if his head is housing a goddamn woodpecker.

“You called for Bradley!”

Jake shakes his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why are you running around naked?” you squeal, still turned away and holding your hands over your eyes.

“I thought I was home alone! You don’t walk around naked in your own home?” Jake cries in outrage. He’s not about to let you win this fight.

“Uh, sometimes, I guess,” you admit.

Jake, who’s about to retort to whatever argument you make, falls silent. He stares at your back, trying very hard not to picture what that particular scenario might look like. He gulps. “Well, alright, then,” he says. He steps away from the counter, the blanket securely tied at his hips, and walks around tentatively. “You can look now,” he says wearily.

Hesitantly, you turn to face him, although you avoid looking directly at him. “You’re still not wearing a shirt,” you say pointedly, keeping a hand up to block the view.

Jake grimaces. “Is it too exhilarating for you, princess?” he bites back.

You drop your hand and finally look at him – albeit with a scowl. You narrow your eyes irritably. “Get over yourself.”

Jake shrugs. “You can always return the favor,” he suggests, gesturing at your baby tee that’s hugging your curves just right.

You roll your eyes and make your way toward the counter, purposefully walking around the table – which is the longer route – to avoid getting too close to Jake. He watches you levelly. “Why did you want to see me?” he asks sourly.

You glance up at him, still frowning, and push a bakery box across the counter toward him. “I brought you breakfast.”

Jake doesn’t smile; one breakfast two weeks down the road isn’t going to magically repair the damage you’ve done. “Why?”

You gulp. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and drops his gaze. “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he responds moodily.

You reach further down the counter and drag a paper cup into view. “I got you a coffee, too,” you add, as though this might tip the scales in your favor. “Americano.”

Jake, who is dying for some caffeine, responds with, “I’m not thirsty.”

You exhale sharply. “Don’t be a baby.”

He fixes you with a scathing look. “Don’t be a nuisance.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I bothering you?”

Jake scoffs. “Well, for starters, you’re still here.” He walks over to the refrigerator and takes out a carton of eggs. “You hungry?” he asks grumpily.

You turn to face him as he sets a bowl down on the counter and starts cracking eggs. He’s right next to you now so he can see you seething out of the corner of his eye.

“I brought you breakfast!” you cry in outrage.

Jake starts to whisk the eggs without looking at you. “I don’t want that, I want this.” He glances over at you at this point and adds spitefully, “We all have to make difficult choices from time to time.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jake!” you exclaim, pulling the bowl out from under his nose. Half-beaten egg splashes onto the counter.

Jake tosses his whisk into the sink and takes a step away from the counter. He releases a quick breath and sets his jaw; but he still can’t look at you. “What is your problem?” he says in a low voice, keeping his eyes on a random chip in the paint of one of his kitchen cupboards.

“What’s my problem?” you screech.

He can tell that you’re getting worked up and it’s taking all his energy to keep his cool. He clenches his teeth and rolls his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

“You’re so mad at me that you won’t even drink my coffee?” you yell, the bowl of raw egg still in your hands.

Jake stares harder at the paint chip because he’s on the verge of completely flying off the handle. But he could only devote so much of his attention to negligible bullshit until he finally breaks. Agitatedly, he meets your gaze and bellows, “I’M SO MAD AT YOU, I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU!”

Your mouth falls open at his words and you blink at him in shock. After a moment, you look away, silently replacing the bowl on the counter. You’re chewing on your lip as you do this, your gaze lingering on the bowl even after you’ve released it from your grasp, like you’re reluctant to let it go.

Jake briefly closes his eyes. You’re not facing him, so you don’t witness the fleeting display of regret that steals over his features. He doesn’t want to hurt you in a way that makes you go quiet. He wants you to react – loudly, obnoxiously, passionately. He wants you to yell back. Because that’s how he knows you’re okay.

“I’ll go,” you say, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your shorts. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a resigned sort of look.

He nods. As much as he might've missed this kind of heated warfare, the lingering hostility is not in anyone’s best interest. “There’s an idea,” he says sarcastically, still keeping a safe distance away from where you’re standing by the counter.

Your mouth falls agape again. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to go. But, if you do, he wants you to leave angry; not sad. So, he provokes you. “And take your crazy with you,” he says, gesturing toward the front door with his entire arm.

You let out an indignant scoff that turns into a sort of cry. “What did you call me?” you shriek, stepping up to him aggressively.

Jake glances down at you, squaring his jaw to keep from smirking. “What’s the politically correct word for completely unhinged?”

Your eyes go wide and, for a split second, he thinks you might actually hit him. But you’re not one for physical violence; you can strike below the belt with your words. “As if you give a damn about offending an already stigmatized group of people,” you retort.

Jake narrows his eyes. “At least I give a damn about the people I actually know.”

You let out a derisive laugh. “Oh yeah? So much so that you’re practically shoving me out the door?” you yell.

Jake rolls his eyes. “No one’s kicking you out,” he says gruffly, walking past you back to the counter. “Just stop taking my eggs away and we’re gravy.”

You fold your arms grumpily and stand there in his kitchen, fuming.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “What?” he says.

“You don’t like croissants?” you ask crossly, as if he’s gravely insulted you by opting for scrambled eggs.

Jake sighs. He reaches for the box of pastries on his counter and throws open the lid. He grabs a croissant irritably and brings it to his mouth, taking a large bite. “Happy?” he asks, chewing.

You watch him impassively. “You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“You’re ridiculous!” he yells. “You’re pissed because I won’t eat your damn food?”

Your eyes suddenly well up with tears. “I’m pissed because – because” – you suck in your cheeks defiantly, as if you’re not prepared to elaborate.

Jake swallows uncomfortably; he doesn’t like the idea of being responsible for making you cry.

You shake your head and sniffle. “I’m not mad!” you shout. “I came here to make up with you!”

Jake tosses the croissant onto the counter and it lands in the spilt yolk from earlier. He ignores this and steps toward you. “Why?” he yells back.

“Why what?” you scream as he approaches.

“Why make up with me?” he presses.

You stare at him angrily. “What do you mean? We were friends!”

Jake shrugs. “We weren’t close.”

You scoff. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Jake says levelly, then he adds, raising the volume of his voice as if the conversation could stand to get any louder. “I never wanted to be your friend!” You go quiet for a moment, your tears subsiding as you take in his words. But he doesn’t give you a chance to mull them over. “You’re a fucking nightmare!” he continues emphatically, taking another step.

You lift your face as he draws nearer, glaring at him unblinkingly. You don’t back away; you stay put, even as he towers over you.

Jake grimaces in a way that conveys disgruntlement and despair in equal measure. He lets out an uneven sigh, his eyes skimming over your face. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, much quieter now, as he meets your gaze.

You stay perfectly still, as if his immense frame looming over your body is completely insignificant compared to your ruthless glower. In all fairness, you’re probably right. “I hate you,” you whisper.

Jake nods with a slight smirk. “Likewise.”

The thrill of riling you scorches his veins, but he’ll be damned if anger is the only thing he can make you feel. He wants you so desperately, he can hardly think straight.

You’re scowling at him but all he can see is the fire in your eyes, fierce and unrelenting, daring him to make another move. Jake is game – enthusiastically, to boot. He’s mad, sure. But, truth be told, you could be engaged to fifty men – none of them him – and he’d still want to fuck you. Hell, this only makes things easier; no fucking strings, just fucking sex.

He slides an arm behind your waist and pulls you forward abruptly. You gasp as if you weren’t expecting it. But with the way you’ve been staring him down, there is no way you didn’t see this coming.

He waits a moment, anyway, allowing you the opportunity to give him a smack for being overly presumptuous. But the animosity on your face has already been replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity. You’re very still, staring up at him sympathetically, because you know – you know – what he wants. Because you want it too.

Jake lifts his free hand up to the side of your neck, sliding it up through your hair to cup the back of your head and gently pull you forward. This is exactly the kind of situation he was meaning to avoid. But the warning bells are fleeting, and his lips are on top of yours before he can stop himself.

You push into him slightly – almost imperceptibly, except he perceives it – and instantly this kiss becomes the single most thrilling experience of his life. He moves in, absorbing your body in a rushed, impatient embrace, and you mold against him, closer than you’ve ever been before.

He can feel the soft fabric of your shirt rubbing against his skin but all that he truly registers is how your tits are compressing into his chest. He kisses you harder, stifling an entire anthology of dirty words that suddenly materializes on the tip of his tongue. There aren’t enough terms in the English language to fully express the way he craves to handle every inch of you, anyway.

You withdraw, at this point, to breathlessly exclaim, “You think you’re not a pain in the ass?”

Jake pulls you back with a mild roll of the eyes. “Shut up,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth as you scoff in outrage.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you retort between the pecks he layers over your lips.

Jake grins against your mouth. “Shut up,” he repeats, dragging you backward as he steers you toward the staircase.

You let out a muffled – but distinctly indignant – cry. “Make me!” you exclaim as he stoops to wrap his hands around your thighs and lift you off the ground.

“I’m fucking trying,” he replies, closing his mouth around yours once he's picked you up.

Strategically speaking, making out while carrying someone up a flight of stairs is efficient. In practice, however, it’s a complicated task. Several times, Jake veers into one of the railings or nearly trips over his own feet. By the time he’s reached the second floor, his legs are tangled in the blanket he had wrapped around his torso, and the blanket itself is on the verge of unravelling. But Jake ignores the obstacles and resolutely marches you right into his bedroom.

He throws you unceremoniously onto the bed and retightens the blanket around his hips as though he means to keep it on. He looks down, pausing for a second to watch you catch your breath. Not because he thinks you might unexpectedly have a change of heart, but because he wants to savor the moment. He takes your legs and unhurriedly pulls you closer to where he stands. “You’re awful quiet,” he notes with a smirk, his fingers winding up the sides of your thighs.

You gulp with a relatively stoic expression for someone who’s about to be railed. “You told me to shut up,” you deadpan.

Jake raises his eyebrows. “You listened?”

You bite into your lips, nodding slowly, and Jake’s heart damn near somersaults right out of his body. For once, you want to give up the reins.

He reaches up underneath the fringed hem of your shorts, grabbing your ass and tugging you forward. “What, no instructions?” he says, his hands lingering on your butt cheeks because he’s waited oh so long to squeeze that flesh. The way your eyes half-close tells him you don’t necessarily mind.

“You need instructions?” you say in a breathy but still detectably mocking tone.

Jake chuckles. “Whether or not I need them isn’t likely to stop you.”

“I can do a post hoc analysis,” you say as one of his hands finally moves upward, bunching your shirt at your ribs to expose your stomach.

Jake grins at your words. “Hot.” So much for dirty talk. Apparently, the plan is to have sarcastic sex.

Your lips spread into a wry smile, and you reach up to the blanket tied around his waist to pull him on top of you. “Stop talking, Seresin,” you whisper.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he says, bracing himself on his forearm at the side of your head. He stares into your eyes, wondering if he could really go through with it. How much does he really need to understand the complexities of your situation with Mustang? Isn’t it enough that you’re clearly hot for Jake? Isn’t it enough to just fuck and forget that you’re technically taken?

You’re watching him back, probably wondering the exact same thing. Isn’t it enough?

The truth is, every single moment spent in your presence is enough for Jake. And he was a fool to think that he could ever stay away.

He glides his hand up your abdomen, feeling your breath hitch underneath his fingertips every time he lets them linger for a moment atop your skin. Does Mustang know that you like it slow? That you want to feel the rush of anticipation? Jake is willing to bet that Mustang only goes one speed.

Jake traces the curve of your ribs, his exploration leading him eventually to the swell of your breasts. Your bare breasts. How he hadn’t noticed that you’d been braless downstairs bemuses him. He must’ve been too preoccupied with his own wardrobe to thoroughly examine yours.

His hand seizes for a moment as he gets used to the idea of touching you. Of feeling your chest flare into the palm of his hand every time you take a breath. Then, he wraps his fingers around your ribcage, his thumb grazing the side of your tit as he moves you upward on the bed.

“You comfortable?” he asks after repositioning you.

You nod, your eyes still locked on his like you’re trying to see right through to his soul. When his thumb sweeps underneath your breast, you let out a whimper that disturbs the air between your mouth and his. And there’s a dizzying note of desperation in your voice that paralyzes Jake.

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, wondering how long before he’s completely lost himself in you. Wondering if that ship’s sailed. Wondering if Mustang has ever felt like he’s drowning and soaring all at once. If he’s ever been this gone. If you’ve ever moaned like that for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, realizing that he’s lost the upper hand. That he’s going to need a moment to recuperate. That there’s a debilitating weakness in his limbs that’s an extension of his weakness for you, and he can hardly hold himself up any longer.

He breathes heavily into your neck, his lips catching on your collarbone as his fingers skim across your nipple. You let out a breathy whine that vibrates his very core. You like being teased. Figures.

Jake drives his pelvis into your side, seeking a split second of relief. The blanket around his torso is a mess of twisted, sticky fabric that’s now pressing into your bare skin, hopefully arousing you. You move your leg up and down, stroking him through the fleece with your thigh, and Jake groans, spreading his fingers over your tit and finally giving it a squeeze.

You release a soft moan and Jake brings his lips to your other nipple, grazing his teeth over the thin cotton of your shirt. It’s not that he can’t be bothered to remove your clothes, rather, he very well might not survive the spectacle. So, he sucks on your nipple right through the fabric while continuing to massage your other breast, pressing himself closer and closer.

This is all that he could ask for, really. You, in his bed, at long last talked out. And yet, he can’t help himself; conversing with you has become second nature and, without even thinking, he mutters, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

You let out a laugh that morphs into a soft cry as Jake pinches your nipple.

“Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he continues, smirking against your neck.

Your chuckle pleases him. “Maybe if I weren’t such a pain in the ass.”

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, cringing slightly as he nuzzles his head under your chin. “Maybe,” he agrees, dragging your t-shirt upward. He lifts his head and meets your gaze as you raise your arms, letting him remove it. “Maybe if you didn’t hate me,” he adds, somewhat hoarsely because you’re half naked now and he’s understandably distracted.

You bring your arms back down and slide your hands unhurriedly up his chest, linking your fingers behind his neck. “And you me,” you remind him gently.

Jake lets himself take you in for a moment, his eyes slipping southward before he looks back at you with a smirk. “At least the feeling’s mutual,” he says, slowly lowering himself until his lips meet yours.

You open your mouth, bathing Jake in your hot breath as you kiss him, and he reciprocates the gesture eagerly. Urgently. His hand is suddenly gripping your leg, sliding up the inside of your thigh. You’re moaning before he’s even reached the summit, tearing viciously at his lips with your teeth. Your fingers are twisting into his hair as you pull yourself into him, breathless and impatient.

Jake unbuttons your shorts with a couple of fingers and is hastily pushing them over your hips as your breathy gasps warm his ear. “What is it, princess?” he whispers, suddenly slowing his pace. He kicks your shorts off your ankles and places his hand on your inner thigh where he gently strokes your tender skin. He grins wickedly. “What can I do for you?”

“Jake!” you whimper desperately, shimmying yourself down to meet his hand.

Jake obliges, sliding his fingers up between your legs. He’s not about to make you beg for it when he can barely keep it together himself. Another time, maybe. Assuming there will be one. He’d like to hear you ask for it. Tell him exactly what you want, sparing no detail. He wants you to talk dirty to him. Talk, talk, talk.

But instead of talking, you reach out and grab him by the waist. You blink up at him silently and maneuver his hips until he’s right over top of you. Then, without taking your eyes off his face, you unravel the blanket that’s somehow still wrapped around him and shove it aside.

Jake has never in his life made love. He’s fucked, sure. He’s had plenty relations. And this time is no different. Except, he’s feeling something pure amidst the lewd temptation driving his corpus. It’s a buoyancy that’s both nauseating and distressingly pleasant and it radiates outward from his chest, nearly overriding his ever-present desire to make – fuck you silly.

And then, as Jake slides slowly inside you, you cling frantically to his neck and utter a shaky, monosyllabic nonword that is the epitome of less talk.

And Jake is suddenly making love.

…

“Y/N came earlier today,” Bradley says to Jake that evening, casually popping open a can of beer.

Jake lifts his eyes and looks over at his friend with a straight face. “She did,” he confirms.

“Oh.” Bradley nods. “She caught you, then.”

Jake stares at him mutely before turning away and clicking the kettle on the counter. “You could say that.”

Bradley nods, taking a gulp of beer. “She told you, then?”

Jake freezes with his hand on his mug. The only thing he seems to recall you saying is not something you would have also said to your best friend. “Told me what?” he says, slowly turning to face Bradley.

The latter furrows his brows. “Did you guys talk?”

Jake watches Bradley curiously. “Tons,” he responds. “You know how she never shuts up.”

Bradley narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You did see her, right?”

“I did,” Jake says confidently because he, indeed, saw you. All of you.

“Weird,” Bradley says. “She said she was hanging back so she could tell you too.”

“Tell me what, Bradshaw?” Jake asks impatiently, forgetting about the boiling kettle as he walks toward the table with an empty mug in his hand.

Bradley sets down his beer and leans back in his chair uneasily. “That she’s leaving.”

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[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Orbiting: pt.1°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [600+ idiot fwb to lovers; mutual pining, both has the libido of a teenage boy, it's so cliche it's unbelievable how clueless they are]

-

“Don’t stop baby,” Jungkook moans. He love-hates how you're slowly bouncing on top him. On one hand, he loves how you use him to pleasure yourself, slowly sinking inch by inch until you spear yourself on his cock. On the other, he wants nothing else than to fuck you dumb and to his pace—hard and unrelenting, he wants nothing spilling on your lips but his name and moans of pleasure.

"Come on, Y/N," he urges as he tries to thrust into you, his cock impaling you on top of him and you can't help but moan louder. "Fuck," you pant, "do that again." And so he does, planting his feet on the bed, his hips angled, he pistons his cock into you, bottoming out. Your body goes pliant above him as you submit yourself to your shared pleasure, your mouths move like magnets finding each other and momentarily locking in a heated kiss.

Jungkook reaches for your hand, brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles, and it has you fucked. It's small gestures like this that makes not only your pussy clench, but your heart, too. It just feels too intimate, as if you're more than good friends seeking each other out after his game for a good fuck to relax his adrenaline.

Needing to ground yourself, you pin his hand beside his head and pull him for another kiss. Because a kiss, you can handle. You've kissed many times before—your lips already familiar to his teasing bites, your tongues danced sloppily around each other's mouth a thousand times.

With his other hand rubbing your clit, you unravel within minutes. Jungkook erratically thrusts below you, chasing his high, until heavy grunts leave his lips as he cums.

"Fuck, that was..." you pant, mind blanking as you look for the right word, still in a bliss. Jungkook only chuckles, hand caressing your back, basking in your afterglow.

But the moment is short-lived, and Jungkook eyes you as you pull away, "Second round at my place?"

"Not today," you pout, "I have to be at the rink in about...5 minutes."

"Can I watch?"

"Nope. Coach says it's closed practice for today. Something about a new skater coming in for tryouts." You're rushing to get dressed and Jungkook helps by fixing your skirt.

"Again?"

"Yep, apparently the last guy said I was too much of a bitch to skate with," Jungkook sees you roll your eyes. "Ah. That just means he can't keep up and you bruised his ego."

"Right," you humor him, watching him pull away to pick up his clothes, "you said that about the last guy, too."

Jungkook hums, "Him, too."

"And what about you? You can keep up with me, right?"

Knowing where the conversation's going, Jungkook faces you, "Y/N, that was for fun. And we were teens then," he chuckles, "I tackle men now and hit pucks on the ice," he's walking back to you, "none of what I do fits the graceful criteria your coach is looking for."

You giggle, having already known his answer but it's worth the ask because you've seen Jungkook bust a move on ice. Granted, not as graceful as you, but even you started out stiff.

"Right," strands of your bangs fall on your face as you nod, and Jungkook's hands, like habit, reach out to tuck your hair behind your ear. The gesture not lost on you and your knees buckle. If only there were no consequences from missing today's practice, you would gladly suck his cock dry right here and now.

"Plus, seeing the routines you do, there would be too much tension building between us that by the middle of a routine," his eyes flicker to your lips, "I might end up taking you on ice."

Oh, you are his to ruin. If only he knew.

Pulling your mind out of the gutter, you scoff, eyes rolling once again and push him by the chest. Again, Jungkook only laughs as he takes your hand and leads you out of the lockers.

-

>> Page 2

[faetreides]

Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke castellan, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

[samodivaa]

Dip it, Lick it

Warnings - smut, oral (m), overstimulation

Bucky watches you lick the ice cream before you wrap your lips around it, closing your eyelids and savoring the flavor which dances on your taste buds. You slowly withdraw the ice cream from your mouth and open your eyes. You smile innocently at his rapt attention as you continue to talk about your day while Bucky thinks about those sweltering kisses from your frosty lips―not so innocently.

But then something crosses his face, a thought, a hesitation, and he tries to shift slightly. It doesn’t help that you are straddling his lap on the couch. Not now. Not yet―Bucky keeps eye contact, gazing lovingly at you as naughtiness emanates from his eyes—you stare at him. You have curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that are very pretty and very nice, he loves when you stare at his blue orbits—such divine orbs—not just one shade of color, but...many, with a hint of confusion glimmering, he sees it. Your eyes narrow slightly.

Without taking his eyes off your face even for a moment, but his expression is very strange, he gazes at you as though you are an object a couple of miles distant, or as though he is looking at your portrait and not at your real self at all, with a look of weariness, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take deep breaths, to soothe with oxygen as he wants words to rolls off his tongue. He is hopelessly enslaved by something—lust. This purgatory of the spirit, arousal is something that he cannot hide, not with that huge tent between his legs.

“Bucky, are you listening to me?” “Of course I am,” he says unsteadily. He smiles, wanting your voice aimed at him, he wants his face to absorb the direction of your eyes—but your gaze moves downwards. To his crotch. Your eyes look up and Bucky’s are black as chips of obsidian staring back into yours, two black holes, letting nothing out, not even information. You don’t say anything—at least, not with your mouth. Your eyes tell him a different story. And slowly, clumsily, you lean forward, your lips find his, the coldness of yours and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, disintegrating your entire body. His tongue spears more into your mouth, and the taste of him, mixes with the flavor of the ice cream, sweet—closed-mouth kisses that still feel scandalous, but too delicious to resist.  And you thought that you might be wrong, but then a deep sound comes from him, almost a growl and instinctively you know it is a sound of approval. You chuckle softly when you pull back and if Bucky thought your mouth was dangerous, your chuckle should’ve been classified as a weapon. Sin in a sound. “Turned on by me eating ice cream?” you ask, voice barely audible. You take the ice cream in your month while looking to see his blue eyes soaking you in as Bucky groans and your core melts at the sound, your breath stops as his tongue skims his lower lip. He shakes his head, but there's something more than lust in his eyes as he stares at your lips. He wants more. “I. Will. Try. It. On. Your. Dick.” As you draw closer again, his eyes widen a little at the boldness of your words. You punctuate each word with a chilly kiss along his jaw, making your way to his ear. You bite the lobe, and Bucky’s cock twitches as the fingers of your free hand drift lower, from his abs, to his stomach. The slight touch of brow sweat-coated, his breathing uneven. He moans against your lips. His metal hand slides down between your legs and he presses a fingertip against your knickers. You just keen and your hips buck forwards. His body is on fire, his hands move to your hips, encircling your waist and pulling you onto his cock, seeking friction. Bucky runs three fingers along your covered cunt, soft folds through the thin cotton fabric. He wants to stroke you slowly, but you suddenly pull away to rise on your feet just to kneel between his legs seconds later—a tremendous rush runs through Bucky’s body, as if every cell is electrified at once, he even has to bite his lip to not moan at the sight in front of him, why is he so desperate? “Bucky” you whisper, breaking him out of his trance. 

His heart races as you reach for his waistband, sliding his sweats enough to free his cock. His dick is straining against his briefs with a wet patch forming from the precum, and you watch as his dick springs up and then falls slightly, reaching his stomach. He stares at you apprehensively, and you wrap your much smaller hand around his length, hearing him suck in a breath as you lick the ice cream again before leaning down to kiss his tip, he almost cums at the sensation of the coldness hitting his cock. Perhaps his breathing eases. Perhaps he looks a trifle more peaceful, despite his eyes rolling beneath their lids. In this moment, his mind is between two elements: one, excitement, the other, focusing on not cumming on the spot. He tries to pay attention, but the kiss with your cold lips is electric and pulsing—his loud moan makes you waste no time. You pump his cock a few times as you bring the ice cream into your mouth once again, swirling your tongue over it before pushing his dick down your throat. His cock is so large that you have to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it so you decide to focus on sucking only the tip. “Wait, stop…I-I need a moment” he nearly sobs out the words. His eyes are open, face flushed, ragged breathing which he fails to hide, his extraordinary earnestness and self-control is non-existent, he can’t keep his composure while trembling all over. An impossible pleasure goes through him, making him gasp, legs start to quiver with the impending orgasm—he has a whole body shudder while finishing and you're so mean so you keep sucking his tip.

[aphrogeneias]

too close

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: smut (+18). friends with benefits. penetrative sex, anal play, teasing.

Your toes curl in your boots when you feel his fingers trail down your spine.

The soft fabric of the arm of the couch under your tummy digs into your skin, and the cold air coming from the open window is not the only thing making your skin tingle. Eddie is right behind you, the sound of his spiked belt coming undone and his zipper being lowered, the telltale sound of the condom wrapper being ripped with his teeth, going all the way to your aching core.

He runs the tip of his cock over your slit, up and down, and you hold your breath, waiting.

"Ready?"

A weak "mhm" is all that comes out. With it, a harsh slap is delivered to your right ass cheek, making it jiggle on his calloused palm. The moan that leaves your spread lips is not as weak.

"Use your words, angel. Yes or no?"

"Yes, Eddie. Jus' do it, please."

The boy chuckles deep in his chest as he sinks into your wet heat, leaking in anticipation down your thighs. Your hands grab the nearest cushion, and you hear Eddie hiss as you clench around his length, filling you inch by inch as he bottoms out.

“How could I forget how needy you are?”

You don't need to look back to know he's grinning like a devil, temptation incarnate. The divots of his dimples, the thick slope of his neck, his curls falling down his pale shoulders. You don't need to look because if you do, this will be over too soon.

“‘M not needy. You're just a tease.”

“No need to talk back, baby. I'll give you what you want.” He backs it up by grinding his hips into you, still buried to the hilt. You feel him deep inside of you, brushing that spot that has you creaming around him each time.

Each time you end up exactly like this, ending the night bent over his couch, on your back in his bed, and you don't, you're riding him on the front seat of his van when he takes you home.

There's a magnetism between the two of you. You never mean to — his hands, your hands, your bodies gravitate towards each other. Two heavenly bodies in each other's orbit, never too far, drifting too close.

Too close is never close enough.

Not when you spent the whole night side by side on that same couch, your legs over his, your friends unaware of how both of you were counting the minutes until they left and you could finally touch each other the way you crave the most.

Eddie keeps teasing you, stretching you on his cock until he pulls out again, all the way out, and all the way back in. He chuckles again when he hears you huff, impatient. “Tease. I know.”

You hold tight while he builds a punishing pace, drilling into you. Ringed hands holding your hips in place, throbbing inside of you as he drags himself in and out of your inner walls. He smacks the swell of your ass just to hear you moan louder, forcing those sounds out of you.

“Still needy, angel? What do you need more? Need me to make you come?” One of his hands travel higher, spreading you open for him, and you can't help but look back this time. His hair is falling on his face when you look over your shoulder, eyes fixated on the place where your bodies meet.

His thumb comes to press lightly on the tight hole of your ass, not enough to enter, but enough to make you even wetter, your pussy squelching around him. You squeeze your eyes shut at the new sensation. He keeps it there, his other hand squeezing your hip, drawing out a long mewl out of you.

Your head falls back onto the couch, feeling the coil on your lower tummy tightening and tightening. “Yeah. You like that, don't you? Knew you would.”

“Eddie…” You don't care how whiny you sound. “I… I'm…”

The sound of skin slapping against skin, and Eddie's own moans mix with yours. “Let go, angel. I'm right there with you. I'll fuck you in the ass next time, ‘kay? That what you want? But you need to come for me first.”

Your body goes smack against the worn couch as you come, arching your back, craving the heat of his skin against yours. He falls forward, on top of your still trembling body after he follows you down the precipice, and nuzzles his nose on the back of your neck, not caring about your hair.

His weight on top of you, the utter boy of his smell invading your senses. It's good, too good. Too close.

“You're crushing me, Eds.”

All he does is sigh, big and exaggerated, and not move an inch. “You love it.”

He has no idea how much.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 1.

Summary: It had been a long time since your world has revolved around anyone but Felix Catton. He was like that; undeniably, unassumingly magnetic. You'd watched countless fawning, fairweather friends drawn into his orbit, only to be cast out when he eventually got bored of them, but not you, never you. Maybe you were a toy in the beginning, the thing they'd all called you when they were feeling especially petty, but it became clear that Felix has wanted to keep you around. You weren't a toy, you weren't family, you were a sharp and beautiful tool, too good, too useful to be put down. Your loyalty was rewarded with a life in his shape. Felix was like the sun, and you lived your life enjoying his warmth, and wanting to keep him shining.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader with Felix, Venetia, and implied Farleigh in this chapter. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: Smut (M & F Receiving (not reader)), discussions of gender set in 2003 (no slurs tho). Degrading language (reader is referred to as as dog)

A/N: 3698 words. HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME!! Im so excited for this, this first chapter is essentially setting up the reader's life and dynamic with Felix and the Cattons. There's some Venetia/Reader and implied Farleigh/Reader but its the casual kind of sexuality they all share in the movie, yanno? Please let me know what you think, i LOve feedback!

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy

----

You can't quite remember a time where your world didn't revolve around Felix Catton. He's rather like that; magnetic. His very aura is intoxicating, suffocating, until they're breathless and all but gasping his praises. You've seen it happen countless times since you'd first met him all those years ago.

Felix is affectionate and tactile, always yearning for contact with those around him like he has no idea how it looks from the outside. His hand around your shoulders, your waist, a kiss on your cheek, offering you a bump of coke from the back of his hand - you'd been too young when it has started for anything to seem too far when you're older. It felt only natural that you'd learned in due course the sensation of his mouth and hands on every inch of your body, just as you could name every part of him from the touch of your lips alone. Or Farleigh. Or Venetia. It was one of the many things that seemed far too normal growing up in such an insular, secluded environment. But everyone knew you were Felix's, even if he decided to share you on occasion.

Summers by the lake and Winters by the fire, Saltburn was where you found yourself when you found Felix to be your home. Months long sleepovers, and of all one hundred and seventy nine rooms, you share a bed with Felix most nights. Innocent children huddled for comfort, sharing dreams and laughter and hope for the future; adolescents turn to teenagers, and though the bed sharing continues, it does not remain so innocent.

And you are the only one to taste his hesitation the first time he ever kisses you, the only one to hear him breathless with surprised delight the first time you take his cock in your mouth since he's bored and wonders what everyone's going on about.

"What if I'm shit at it?"

"Do you want practice?"

The script is more of a formality when you're a few years into high school and both expecting to start screwing around.

Nervous, inexperienced touches easily became familiar, intimate gestures.

Its not something you talk about at school or in public, the people in your lives know you're close, but couldn't reasonably gauge the full extent beyond some schoolyard rumours... Which are technically true. But you both downplay it to most of the world. Perhaps it's about keeping up the appearance of availability; less chances to hook up with other people if they all assume you're taken.

A lot of your school life is about keeping up appearances, but that comes with the territory of being a well-to-do child of a wealthy family. At least you don't have to weather it alone.

With the amount of money your families are throwing at the schools you attend, of course you've forgotten more love showings of Shakespeare's comedies and dramas and tragedies than most students around the nation have even heard of, good only for how Felix's friend group - and you always amongst them - make fun of some of the truly awful lines.

Still, there are moments when the pretense drops. You catch each other holding reverence for the way the world speaks about love -

"You do impeach your modesty too much -" Felix is ahead of you in the maze, looking for a break from his family after Elspeth had insisted upon you all taking a trip to see A Midsummer Night's Dream in the city.

"What?" You laughed; it was getting dark, the solar fairy lights were beginning to glow amongst the imposing walls of leaves. Felix grins over his shoulder at you.

"Like in the play, remember? Near the start, Demetrius and one of the girls; you do impeach your modesty too much to leave the city and commit yourself into the hands of one that loves you not."

"Yeah but you love me, though," you laugh, and quicken your pace to catch his hand. You find yourself remembering the scene with a smile, but as the maze opens up ahead to the centre clearing, Felix slows. Pulling you close, he walks you to the wall of the maze, the strong branches and glossy leaves against your back.

"To trust the opportunity of the night, and the- the," his expression is playfully annoyed as he searches for the line.

"Something about it being deserted?" You supplied with little more than a murmur, thrill running down your spine as his body is warm, pressed against yours.

"Fuck, thanks, yeah," he breaks character for a moment with a huff of laughter, warm affection in his eyes, before that hungry, wanting look passes over him again, "to trust the opportunity of the night, and the ill counsel of a desert place with the rich worth of your virginity."

"The rich worth of my virginity?" You can't help but giggle, and Felix again breaks, if only to roll his eyes. As he pulls back, however, you wrap an arm around him, softly apologising, promising to play along. Again, he feeds you the line, and this time you lean into it, into the moment, into the intensity in his eyes. There's so much barely concealed want in his gaze, it overwhelms you, all you can think to do is kiss him.

"Your virtue is my privilege," you gasp amidst frantic kisses, wrapping your arms around him, trying desperately to remember the rest of the lines you know that you'd also been taken with in the theatre. Pulling back for just a second, you see him grinning when you take his face in your hands, "it is not night when I do see your face, therefore - something something - not night." The two of you erupt back into laughter before his mouth finds yours again, and the two of you are wrapped up in each other, blindly stumbling towards the solid statue you both know is there.

"Nor doth this wood," you find your voice again when Felix is leaning against the statue and you're making quick work of his undoing belt, "lack worlds of company, for you -" and with his belt undone, the two of you pause, taking stock of the moment. Both breathing heavily, you lean in and give him a languid kiss, your fingers looped into the waistband of his nice trousers, "for you," you murmur with a grin, lips inches from his, "in my respect, are all the world."

These are the lines that you knew without hesitation, the lines burned into your heart as you'd heard them uttered, and felt them resonate even back in the theatre. You grin, wondering if he'd wanted to hear them more than you'd longed to say them. As you kiss down his jaw, lips on his throat with intent to leave a bruising hickey, you free his cock, working your hand up and down his length.

"The how can it be said that I am alone," you kiss the hickey as it begins to bloom dark against his perfect throat, and sink to your knees before him, heart practically bursting to see the way he looks at you in this moment, all love and lust and appreciation for what you're about to do, "when all the world is here to look upon me?"

You watch others come and go from his life, watch him fuck around with other pretty elites, and had your fair share of flings too. The two of you gossip and brag to one another about your conquests, tease each other about terrible lays, or who the other has their eyes on next. There's never jealousy; as long as the other is happy, neither of you is concerned. After all, in the end, you always come back to one another.

Naturally Felix who you come out to first, the two of you sharing a smoke while playing cards by the window of his high school dorm room. Its after midnight, you should definitely be back in your own room, but the two of you have never really adhered to those rules, and the heads of your respective dorms stopped caring years ago. At the time you don't exactly have the right words to explain, but you ask him -

"Hey, you know you're a guy, right?"

He doesn't frown, but his nose gives this little scrunch as he's considering your words and his cards.

"Haven't put much thought into it, but yeah," he rearranges his cards for a moment before looking up at you with those gorgeous, brown eyes full of curiosity, "why?"

"I dunno," you shrugged briefly, as if you hadn't been struggling with for what's felt like months, "remember all those bars in France last summer?"

"Flashes of it," Felix smirks momentarily, "I'm still not sure if I believe Farleigh that he won our bet, but I suppose I'll have to trust him."

"With the amount of free drinks he was getting I'm surprised he even remembers properly," you can't help but laugh, though the moment is short-lived.

"What about it?" Felix finally prompts. For a long moment you're quiet, and the two of you finish up the round of cards.

"You know how we kept going to those underground gay bars because they didn't ask us for ID?"

"Again, vaguely."

"Some of them had these pictures on the walls of like, gays, and lesbians, and ladies with cocks, and men with tits, or big scars on their chests and bushes, and they all... They all looked really happy in those photos," as you spoke, unable to look at him, only watching his hands as he shuffled the deck. You know he's frowning, trying to follow along, but he's also not interrupting you, giving you space in what feels like an important moment, "I think I'm kind of like that."

A moment passes between you two.

"I know," Felix finally says, and you look up, surprised.

"You know?"

"We're all like that, aren't we? You, me, Farleigh, Venetia - mum keeps reminding us that she was a lesbian whenever it's even slightly relevant -" he begins to smile fondly but your surprise turns back to concern as you begin to shake your head.

"No, not like that, Fi," you sigh, and reach for the cigarette box as he begins to deal, "I don't think I fit the boy-girl thing." Once again the quiet lapses out as the lighter sparks to life. You inhale a lung full of smoke, looking out of the window to the star-filled sky, "I'm not a guy with a bush or a girl with a dick, I'm not..." You shrugged, looking at him, "I dunno what I am."

Once the cards are dealt, he finally looks at you, tips his head in that way he does when he's trying to figure something out.

"You're my best mate." He says it so simply, the faintest smile beginning to grace his lips, "you don't have to be anything if you don't want to be."

You don't realise how anxious you were about this moment until your breath comes out as a stuttering exhalation.

"Yeah?" You swallow hard, voice surprisingly weak and hopeful in the same moment, "you don't mind?"

"Kind of seems like a shit thing for me to have any strong feelings about."

"But you've known me as I am for so long -"

"Exactly; I love you, guy-girl or anything, doesn't change you," this is the moment, you realise, that you'd do absolutely anything for the boy in front of you.

"I love you too, Fi."

As he reaches across the small space for the cigarette, you lean in and kiss him before you hand it over; he's grinning as he kisses you.

It only takes a week for you to tell him about the name you'd settled on.

"I think I'm going to start going by Y/N," in the library, you, Felix, and Farleigh are getting very little work done when you bring it up.

"Changing your name?" Farleigh asks, eyebrows raised as he looks up from the same page of Heart of Darkness that he'd been reading for half an hour. You glance to Felix briefly, but he simply gives an encouraging nod to his cousin, and you, once more with your heartbeat racing, explain your relatively new identity change.

"So do we use he-she when we talk about you now?" Farleigh asks, voice genuinely confused rather than malicious. At this you give pause, you hadn't much thought about it; of course people gossiped about you, but you hadn't realised that if you were to be going forth with your new identity, you'd have to ask people to change the very language they used about you.

"I don't think so; I'm not he or she, and he-she is a bit much," you ponder, "I guess just them?"

"Hey did you hear about Y/N?" Felix stage-whispered to Farleigh, grinning. His cousin leaned in, keeping up with the bit and testing out your new name and pronouns seamlessly.

"No, what did they do?" He gasped. All you could do was chuckle, ducking your head to hide how wide you were smiling at how right it all sounded, how right it all felt to hear about yourself. With a firm nod, Farleigh sits back up, "okay, yeah, I can get with it. Y/N," he says decisively.

"Y/N does rather suit you," Felix agreed.

As you begin to come out to the rest of your friends and the school as a whole, you're surprised at how smoothly the transition occurs. You expected more resistance, more name calling, more bullying of any kind; of course there's the occasional bit of harrassment, and several people in the halls turn an unkind eye upon you, but it's been far easier than you'd expected.

Its only when you find Farleigh with a black eye that you learn that he and Felix have been getting into fights with people who've been talking shit behind your back. Of course you beg them to stop, insist they shouldn't be getting hurt on your behalf, least of all about this, but Felix smiles with a split lip.

"As if I'm going to let them get away with it."

Historically, Felix's girlfriends never seem to like you at first. Which they definitely shouldn't; it took him a few girls to remember that he shouldn't let them see him touching you so casually the way he does, more intimate with you without even thinking about it than he often was with them. It moves on, he gives them a warm smile and a teasing tone as he tells them not to be jealous-

"They're not -" a threat, you wonder as he gestures to you with a wide, open hand and smile to match, and proceeds to surprise you both, "a girl." The girl on his arm seems shocked for a minute, but everything about her eases. Your best friend, despite what people may think, is neither a liar nor an idiot. He knows what people think of him, what people assume about him and about you when they assume things one way or there other about him. The girls who he traditionally picked up liked to put him in little pigeon hole of heterosexuality, and though it wasn't true, the to correct them in instances such as that would probably harm the poor, pretty girls. Or at the very least, do nothing to quell their pretty rightful paranoia.

Because when the girl leaves his dorm before curfew that night, you slink up to his door and lean against it with the most pleased and endeared smile. As you always do.

"What?" Every time he's bashful, as if he has no idea what he's doing.

"Just love you is all, man," you tell him, grinning from ear to ear as you close the door behind you.

"Love you too, you know that," he tries to play it off, but is obviously hiding his ever-growing smile.

As you descend upon him, sitting cross legged on the bed - "I love you, I love you, I love you, Fi," peppering his face with kisses as he actually giggles and laughs and pulls you close - you wonder if you shouldn't be doing this since he has a new girlfriend. Except if he wanted you to stop, you knew he had no qualms asking you to.

He's always been the best about your identity, so you're not sure why it always hits you with a rush of euphoria when you hear him talk about you like that. Maybe it's the way confirms exactly what you're not to the world, while knowing that everything you are to him is a secret he holds precious and close to his heart.

When you get to Saltburn for the Winter, as you had for any major breaks from school as your parents were thrilled to be seeing as little of you as necessary, Duncan greets you at the door as he always does -

"Captain Y/N."

And Felix comes bounding down the red stairs, having overheard, and asking if Captain was alright, while you were overwhelmed with love at the gesture. Apparently Duncan's only reservation about the title was that it was usually reserved for military personnel, and he was something of a stickler for the rules. Still, when you thank him for referring to you as such, he grants you one of his rare smiles.

Everyone has accepted the change before you'd even arrived, and though his mother and father did occasionally slip up, they caught themselves before even yourself or Felix had a chance to correct them. Elspeth always made a show of apologising and correcting herself. After one such instance, all of you wine-drunk after dinner and squashed on several sofas together to watch some rom-com, Venetia whispers to you where she's in your lap that Felix had spent several phone calls over the past semester explaining the situation to the family, even making sure to remind everyone in the days before you'd arrives.

"He really does love you," she murmurs, "doesn't he?" The glow of the television haloed her recently bleached hair in light as her face hovered inches for yours. Out of the corner of your eye you see Felix wearing an amused smile and pointedly not looking at you. When Venetia leans in, giggling with her pupils blown wide, you kiss her back, and feel Felix put a hand on your thigh.

"Not during the movie," Elspeth says briskly. Farleigh snorts with amusement from her other side and Venetia breaks the kiss with a sharp little laugh. Still, she curls up against you now, with your arm around her, and Felix rubs circles against your thigh, hand not moving for the remainder of the film.

At Saltburn, your room was often more of a formality; the one attached to Felix's, divided only by a bathroom. Most nights were shared in another's bed, even if nothing sexual happened. Venetia especially liked these sleepover, liked how you'd be at her door if she merely implied she wanted your company. She'd invite you into her bathroom to simply talk while she bathed, neither of you bothered by the casual nudity. She'd put on a CD and sometimes a robe, and you'd brush and braid her hair; she'd talk and you'd listen, until she fell asleep in your arms. Venetia craved connection, and like with Felix, you were happy to oblige her.

"You're a good dog," she'd once murmured, your head between her thighs, "that's why he lets you fuck me." When you look up at her through your lashes, mouth still on her cunt, tounge going still on her clit, she's looking back, devilish smile on her face, "do you think about him when you fuck me?"

You lean back just a little, and carefully slide two fingers into her; Venetia's head falls back as she sighs gently.

"He doesn't have a cunt, Ven," you tell her bluntly, which of course makes her laugh until she's moaning with your fingers curling inside of her.

"Good dog," she stutters out.

"He wants you to be happy, and I can do that."

"My brother doesn't like sharing his toys," she whimpers faintly.

"I'm not a toy."

"Suppose I'll just - ah~" your thumb finds her clit, and you gently bite at her thigh, "have to enjoy you while he lets me, then."

In these quiet, intimate moments, sexual or not, Farleigh and Venetia both take to calling you 'good dog' as a term of endearment. Anyone else would probably be put off by it, but it begins to warm something in your chest; loyal and loving, the kind of creature you keep around. Felix, however, scowls when he learns about it.

"It's mean."

"I think it's sweet," you tell him with a smile, curling up against him on a sofa on one of the many balconies. Felix had been reading while you'd been napping against him when Venetia had appeared and cooed at the sight.

"They think it's sweet!" Venetia echoed with a pleased grin, sitting on the lounge chair across from you both.

"They're not a dog, they're my friend -" Felix had tried to argue.

"Man's best friend," Venetia had nodded.

"Oh piss off, Ven," Felix had huffed. Venetia had obligingly swanned back into the house while you stifled your laughter against his chest. When it's just the two of you, his voice turns soft, "you know I don't think of you like that."

"It's nothing, Fi, everyone knows you're my favourite is all."

"But you're not a dog."

You look up at him in all his glory, golden in the sunset and looking like a dream. You want to smooth the concern, the righteous anger from his brow, kiss the faint downturned edge of his perfect lips, do everything in your power to make sure he never worries again. No matter who or what you are, you are his. His best friend, his confidant, his shoulder to cry on, his partner in crime, his right hand, his, his, his.

All you can give him in this moment is your gentle voice full of absolute love;

"What do you want me to be, Fi?"

[jeonbunnie]

hate you

pairing: reader x jeon jeongguk

summary: This time, the break up breaks Jeongguk

genre: angst

content/warnings: ex-boyfriend!jeongguk; established relationship;break up!au; drinking; suggestive thoughts

Soundtrack: hate you— by Jeongguk

a/n:hi hi! long time no see. thought i’d break into the new year with a lol drabble based on beloved lol drabble i wrote last year. you don’t have to read the last posts to understand but you read them for context here and here.

word count: 1.2K

It's not the truth. It's not the cure. But hatin' you's the only way it doesn't hurt.

Jeongguk tipped his head back, letting the liquid gold slide down his throat. Chugging his beer was nothing, especially when he’d had so much practice lately. But when he slammed down his empty glass on the bar, there was no satisfaction or warmth blooming in his chest to erase that hollow feeling lingering inside him since last year. 

Since you.

“Hey, slow down,” chided Namjoon beside him. “Haven’t you had enough?”

No. Jeongguk’s sure there’s not enough alcohol at this party to drown out the taste of your lips on his or the memory of what it felt like to hold you in his arms and feel your smile against his cheek. Not when he has a front-row seat to watch you do all those things with someone else. 

But damn it all to hell. He’d rather die trying than sit here sober with the cold, hard reality of watching you move on with someone new. 

Jeongguk doesn’t mean to be an ass, ignoring his best friend’s concerns (he’s sure they’re valid). It’s self-preservation, not noncompliance, that has him reaching back into the cooler to pull out another cold one. 

“Jeongguk, I’m worried about you.”

Jeongguk laughed. “I’m fine,” he said. . . But his voice is low and bitter and sharp like poison.

Namjoon shook his head, “You’re not fine, Jeongguk. You’ve been self-destructing since you broke up with (Y/n).”

“Yeah, well, maybe this is my karma.”

Jeongguk used to think luck or fate brought the two of you together, having always run in the same friend groups and circles. But now, it seemed his luck had run out, or fate thought it’d be a cruel joke to keep him in your orbit even after you broke up. 

No, this had to be some kind of punishment for running away from your love. In return, he was forced to watch your love story play out with someone else.

Literally. Jeongguk’s so fucking jealous; it’s all he can do not to stride across the room and rip you away from the stranger you’re currently entangled with. The sight is enough to make his blood boil, and he can’t help the tick in his jaw or keep the glare out of his eyes.  

 Jeongguk can’t stop staring at the fucker who has his tongue down your throat. 

It should be his tongue down your throat. His hands on your ass, pulling you close and your grinder, your bodies impossibly close, and only hoping to get closer. Because you’re his. 

Or at least you used to be.

The thought alone is enough to have Jeongguk flag down another drink. But before he could reach for another cold one, Namjoon blocked him off. “No. You’ve already had one too many.”

“So what? Who cares if I get a little fucked up?”

“I care. This isn’t you.”

Jeongguk couldn’t help the rueful smile that split across his lips. “Maybe it is me. I fucked it all up.”

That’s the worst part. That ugly feeling in his chest, the jealousy burning him up inside as he watched you love another. It was all his fault. 

It made Jeongguk sick to see you laugh, eyes sparking at something this asshole said because he remembers when that look was reserved only for him. And now here you were, giving it to another. Jeongguk knew he had no right to feel this jealousy. Not when he’s the one who set you free. But still—It should be him taking you home tonight, stripping off your clothes, pounding into your tight little—

Fuck.

Just the thought of having you again had him hard. He couldn’t turn it off, the need for you. He couldn’t keep his hands off you even when he ended things. He replayed that last night in his head like a broken record, but he couldn’t rewind time like he did his memories.

“Jeongguk. . .are you crying?”

“No,” he said. And then, “Maybe.”

“We don’t have to be here. You wanna get fucked up? We can do that in any bar. It doesn’t have to be here. 

“Why are you torturing yourself?” 

“You’re a good friend, Joon. But I can’t. I can’t walk away.” Yeah, he knew it was ruining him, making him bitter, but if this was the only way he could be close to you, then so be it.

He can’t help it. That’s what he tells himself. He can’t help but watch you—crave you—even if you don’t so much as glance in his direction.

Or maybe he’s torturing himself because it’s what he deserves. 

“I’m not gonna watch you destroy yourself over some girl.”

“She’s not just some girl.”

You were everything. You were golden. Or at least that’s what it felt like, loving you. 

You were the heat of summer. The only warmth on a cold winter day. You were the golden light of the first sunrise and the radiant glow of the sun setting low. You were the only bright spot in this cold, dark world.

You were the fucking sun. 

And without you, Jeongguk might as well be dead inside. 

Jeongguk wasn’t blind (but god, did he wish he was right now). He knew it was over. It was clear as day you’d moved on—and worse—that you’re happy with someone new, someone that’s not him. He starts towards you, ready to tell you as much, get on his knees, beg your forgiveness again, and plead for your safe return into his arms when the world tilts and his vision blurs.

It’s Joon who helped him stay upright. Joon, who took the beer can from his hands and slung an arm around his shoulder, guided him through the crowd. 

“You’re so wasted up right now. I’m taking you home.” 

Joon, who drove him back to his apartment and led him to the bed. 

It felt like seconds, or maybe it’s been hours; Jeongguk couldn’t tell. He’s too fucked up to be sure of the footsteps he takes passing between doors. He only knew where he was when his face planted into the comforter, and the laundry scent told him he was home.

Because it’s your scent. Or rather, the smell of your laundry detergent. It was the only thing you left behind when you moved out, and now Jeongguk bought it for himself, clinging to the only piece of you he could have. He could almost pretend you were right there with him if he got under the sheets and closed his eyes.

Jeongguk’s the one who broke it off, but he can’t even remember the reason why now. It was stupid, thinking your relationship was too comfortable, too boring. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was good, wasn’t it? Why did he ever want to explore something else? But in the short months you were apart, all he discovered was that for him, there was no one else.

Jeongguk wished he could blame it on something, someone, anything else. It’d be easy to blame it on you, but you were blameless. He almost wished that you lied, that the betrayal he felt blooming had started when you were still together so that this anger inside him could be directed elsewhere.  

It’d be so much easier to paint you as the villain, but that’s not who you are in his story. You’re the one who got away. 

It’d be so much easier for Jeongguk to hate you—not love you.

But he can’t. So, instead, he just hates himself. 

For being weak and losing you.

For falling in love too late. 

[hazelfoureyes]

The Safeword is RadioApple (part 4)

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

Happy SunSinday! I really hope you like this. Thank you to @sugoi-writes for treating me to the coffee that helped me power through this. I’ll need like, atleast half a day of no writing to recover the mental exhaustion 😂 I’ll be back Monday to catch-up on all the comments and inbox from the last 2 days!

Lucifer lets fate decide how he and Alastor will show their dear kitten their teamwork skills.

「warnings/promises apply to both routes: RadioApple x FemReader, threesome, Lucifer x Alastor anal, p in v, soft breeding kink, Luci calls himself Daddy, biting, choose your own adventure, heaven ain’t got shit on Luci, fingering, tentacle fucking, cuddling, creampies, cum fucking, lots of deer references partially because of @n-after-me’s latest fic, sweet words, Happy Luci」

Deer Duck Kitten

Finally. You finally had both men in a place where you could enjoy each other as a group, instead of just you getting fucked by two people at the same time. 

You had half recovered from your hangover by early afternoon, but the little slip you made earlier in the day was just causing a new headache to emerge.

When the men both questioned what exactly you had meant, you decided the best option was to take your own advice and shut the fuck up. So shut the fuck up you did, for a solid three hours, while lying in your bed face down.

New problem now. Perfect. 10/10, you suck. 

Alastor and Luci were huddled in a corner of the lobby, two arm chairs pulled together and facing away from the others.

To Alastor, you had said something unspoken until then. The only difference that he could see was his …embracing of Lucifer’s inclusion in your relationship.

Lucifer was partially blind, the stars orbiting his head shining too brightly for him to see or think properly.

“Was that normal?” Lucifer asked.

“Not for us, no.” 

Lucifer, unblinking, “It’s too soon for sure for us.”

Alastor’s static aura flickered, “Obviously.” Lucifer glared.

“She’s obviously happy we got along so…well?” 

Alastor nodded.

“So let’s show her our teamwork in action! Let’s take care of her. Together.” He winked, making Alastor grimace.

“Take care of her how? Because she’s sick?” You were still hungover.

“No… take care of her.” Lucifer’s brows rose up and down, saying the words a little louder.

The air around Alastor snapped, a crackle of static returning, “I’m not deaf, I just don’t understand what secret meaning you’re hinting at.”

The normally patient and polite king’s face scrunched before he grabbed Alastor by the lapels and pulled him close, seething, “Take care of her. In bed. Sex. Fuck her.”

Alastor scowled, dark gums peaking past his lips, “We do that nearly nightly in some fashion, your majesty.”

Nose pressed to nose, forehead to forehead, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

While what they were saying wasn’t audible, Angel was adding his own narration to the video he was taking, “I’m gonna fuck you, Radio Demon.” He attempted a regal voice. “Not if I fuck you first! ha ha ha,” His best shot at a trans-Atlantic accent.

“You’re insufferable. Just speak plainly!”

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply but instead of words, a choked noise as he turned his face away. A deep blush now rising up his neck to his cheeks. A flash of a memory of Alastor’s dark eyes looking down at him over his wet body, stomach bulging with every thrust. Could he really say it out loud?

“Oh.” Alastor sat back in his chair, “She and I haven’t…” he searched for a delicate word, “Explored other avenues.”

Now who wasn’t speaking plainly?

“Well we could rearrange the order a little.” Lucifer sandwiched his hands together in hopes he could keep the details unspoken.

Alastor hummed, “Who would be in the middle, so to speak, if not my-”

“Our.” Lucifer cut him off.

A sinister snarl of a grin, “-dear.”

Lucifer put out a fist, “Did you know rock paper scissors or are you too old timey for that?”

“Loser has to hold open their gaping hole and-,” Angel jumped and nearly dropped his phone when Charlie bounced up beside him.

“Awww Dad and Al are playing games together!”

He snickered, tears forming in his eyes, “Yeah like tugga war and hide the pickle.”

“I think it’s called tug-of-war, Angel.”

Angel patted her on the head and turned to flee, “Good catch, princess. Nothin’ gets by you.”

They couldn’t decide who would knock, so both did. You weren’t ready for the conversation yet, having to explain it was just an expression and not intended to be a declaration. You and Alastor used many other words instead; my beloved, I adore you, my love. You had found comfort in the steadiness of his adoration, never a fear he would leave so you never worried much at the lack of direct ‘I love you’.

But …. Luci. You could see in his face how desperately he needed to be overshadowed with someone’s love. To be the one to eclipse all of his insecurities with a warm blanket of consistent affection? You’d die again for the opportunity. Just—- not yet. Certain words are meaningless without action. And you hadn’t done much more than cuddle and have sex. You needed to show him your love before you said anything about it. 

Another set of knocks. You whined, they didn’t deny you anything so how could you deny them? “What?”

“Kitten?” mixed with “Dear.” from outside the door.

You called them in, not watching as Luci beelined for the bed and Alastor closed and locked the door as quietly as possible to not bother you. 

“Does your head still hurt?” Lucifer slid up to your right side. You opened your eyes, turning your head to him. 

“No.”

He smiled. You felt the bed dip, Alastor settling to your left. 

“Are you feeling otherwise unwell?” Alastor asked. Rolling off your stomach to turn fully to Alastor now, surprised at the gentle conversation. You had anticipated an interrogation. 

“I’m fine now. Just don’t feel like moving much so… bed.” Luci’s hands slipped over your waist as he cuddled into your backside. You couldn’t help the smile you made. Alastor kissed your forehead, and your smile grew. Much more tender of an interaction than usual. Normal events involved you passed between the two, them taking turns with your attention when not actively having sex.

You were the little buffer between them. It always felt like they were trying to enjoy you without needing to realize the other demon existed in the room at all. 

Alastor made a show of taking his hand and sliding his fingers into Lucifer’s, resting on your waist. 

Manually breathing, you tried to keep your face neutral to not scare away the moment. 

Luci propped himself up and leaned over you. When Alastor leaned too, receiving a kiss from Luci on the lips you rolled onto your back. You’d never seen the Eiffel Tower from underneath but as you stared directly up as Lucifer kissed Alastor again, and again, you could imagine what it must be like to be under such a grand display. This was the first time you’d seen them intentionally touch each other… other than attempted murder. 

Did Lucifer win rock paper scissors? Cum here

Did Alastor win rock paper scissors? Smash this

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @slutforlucifermorningstar , @sarlaccussy , @saccharine-nectarine , @looking1016 ,@sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[natalievoncatte]

There was something inherently unnerving in Superman staring at her, Lena decided. She could *feel* the weight of his gaze on her. If she hadn’t know better, she would have thought that he was trying to steal glances at her. Of course, there was the matter of Lois Lane and all that, and Lena was assuredly not his type. She was, after all, a Luthor.

But he kept staring.

Lena listened to the mission briefing, feeling a bit detached. Her work here was done; she’d worked out the math and it was up to Kara and her cousin to push the asteroid just so, to return it to its proper orbit and send it on its merry way.

It was routine, if two people with godlike powers pushing millions of tons of rock through space could be said to be normal.

There was only one problem.

Clark.

Kept.

Staring.

Lena looked away from him, then slipped out of the room, looking up at the sky. She could see the offending space rock just barely, and extended her arm, covering it with her thumb, one eye pinched shut.

“Hey.”

Kara was in the doorway, not quite emerging onto the balcony. She’d suited up in her space suit, a new design of Lena’s that outfitted her in a stark white with a glowing amber light behind the red-gold frame of her family crest. Lena was proud of her work. It carried a sufficient air supply and was shielded against radiation, just on the off chance they Kara met something up there that bypassed her immunities.

Kara had her helmet tucked under one arm and her hair up on a tight bun, and she looked absolutely dashing. Lena couldn’t help but grin like a big kid, as worried as she was.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” said Lena. “You look good in that.”

“Of course I do, you made it,” said Kara.

She broke across the balcony in three quick strides, and from the way she canted her head, Lena thought it might finally happen. She might crack that last barrier and press her soft lips to Lena’s, stealing some luck to take with her, and stealing Lena’s breath away.

Kara had stolen her heart years ago.

She didn’t, though. Rather than a hug, she ducked down and brushed her forehead lightly against Lena’s, before quickly pulling back.

“Come right back,” said Lena.

“You know it,” said Kara. “Want me to bring you something from my trip?”

“Just come back safe.”

Kara grinned her cocky grin and offered Lena a little salute.

“It’s time,” Clark said, from the doorway. Lena hadn’t even noticed his presence.

He was staring at both of them, now. Lena turned away. The pair stepped back inside, Clark speaking to Kara in clipped, rapid Kryptonese. Lena couldn’t parse it quickly enough, but she made out something about scents.

The mission was not routine.

Lena’s work was perfect. The data was not. Lena white knuckled the railing in her hands as the asteroid drifted down, skimming the Earth’s atmosphere and carving out a channel of unbound flame.

Alex was frantically demanding a status update, but neither Kryptonian answered her. There was only static. Lena watched the control room monitors, and her hands felt as cold as the steel they grasped. She felt utterly numb, on the verge of screaming.

Then the speakers crackled. It was Kara.

“I’m sorry, Lena,” Kara rasped out. “I made a mess of your suit.”

They landed a few minutes later. Kara was the worse for wear, with some of the reinforced plating melted off on her left side. She spun a harrowing tale of struggling to correct the rock’s course, Clark nodding along silently beside her. Lena locked eyes with Kara and let out a slow, agonized breath. She was okay. She was okay this time.

She’d always be okay. Right up until she wasn’t.

After, when Kara had been pried out of her suit, with her cousin’s help, and changed into a hoodie and leggings, she attacked the buffet that was laid out for the two of them in the cafeteria. Shoving around celestial bodies in as hungry work.

When Lena turned and saw Superman staring at her again, she decided she’d had enough and squared up to him.

“Okay, farmboy. Out with it. Why do you keep staring at me?”

“I was waiting for Kara to say something,” he said, “but I guess she’s too shy or she’s worried about what I’ll think. It’s okay with me if you two are together. I don’t hold your name against you.”

Lena’s brain about leaked out of her ears.

“Together?”

“Of course. I noticed earlier that her heartbeat synchronizes to yours whenever you’re in the room, and of course she’s been scent marking you.”

“She’s been what?”

Clark shifted on his feet, either from her tone or her expression or both. He looked strangely young.

“Oh, uh, I see. Anyway I need to get going, long flight back to Metropolis.”

Lena barely noticed him leaving. She stood in the same spot far too long, staring at the refrigerator. She was still standing there when Kara came up alongside her.

“Hey.”

Of course, she was devastating. Kara was in black leggings and a threadbare hoodie that was actually Lena’s, and padding around the place barefoot. Her golden tresses spilled around her shoulders in loose waves, held back by her glasses. The dashing bravado was gone and she was soft, warm, equally lovely Kara again.

“You scared me up there,” said Lena.

“You kept me safe with your suit. You always do.”

Lena looked Kara in the eye. Kara had the most lovely eyes, a gorgeous deep blue that could be as heavy as winter storm or as light as a summer breeze

“I heard what Clark said.”

Lena swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“He caught me red handed,” Kara added.

Lena wondered if she should laugh it off, or make a joke. Kara smiled, pulling her gaze away in a slightly embarrassed way, her cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Does Kryptonian scent marking mean what I’m guessing it means?”

“It, um, it does.”

“This is how humans do it,” Lena whispered, diving headlong into Kara’s space.

She ducked just a little, tilting her head back, and Kara read her intentions perfectly. Their lips came together, and their first kiss was quick and soft, a promise for later, when there would be only fairy lights and Kara’s couch and soft, eager explorations full of slow, desperate intensity.

For now, Kara simply took Lena’s hands in her own, and very gently nuzzled her nose against Lena’s, breath ticking her lips.

“Take me home, space cowgirl,” said Lena.

[shegatsby]

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N; Hi my little doves, I've missed you, I'm in love with my work lol I really enjoy writing this series so don't forget to share your thoughts with me. Don't worry, there will be SMUT in the future chapters. Sorry for any typos English isn't my first language.

TAG LIST IS OPEN! (Text me if i forgot to tag you little doves 🕊️ ♥️)

Warnings; Violence. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Female Bene Gesserit Reader x Feyd-Rautha,reader is reffered to as she/her.

Words; 2.232K

Chapter Four- ‘’Misery Begins’’

Giedi Prime, House Harkonenn

The air felt heavy in her lungs, the planet was orbiting a black sun, thus, everything outside looked black and white, no wonder these people were raised like animals, planet’s harsh conditions shaped their characteristics. The second she stepped out of the ship she hated every single thing but kept a firm stance.

Now she was settling in the guest quarters, the wedding was to be in 7 days and thankfully Harkonnen traditions says that they, under any circumstance, cannot stay in the same room.

Y/N had few of her personal maids and the rest was Harkonnen servants, all dressed in black with bald heads and pale, thin figures. Y/N noticed the looks she got from them, an outsider…

Inside the fortress one could see colors yet Harkonenns choose to keep it simple, her chambers consisted of a bedroom,  a small living room, and bathroom. Without a word she moved to the velvet armchair which was facing outside, she didn’t want to engage in any conversation with anyone, ‘’Prepare my bath.’’ She ordered without looking at any of them and then moved to the desk in her bedroom to write a letter to her family saying that she landed on the planet safely and everything was fine of course she knew that every letter she would sent was going to be read by Feyd-Rautha’s most trusted politicians, maybe even by himself so she kept the letter short. ‘’Send this to my family.’’ She gave the metal, thin device which was the letter to a servant, ‘’Yes my Lady.’’

After her bath which consisted of warm water and bath oils she brought from home, she smelled fresh and felt better. She was on her desk reading when her door was knocked, ‘’Yes?’’

A servant girl entered, she looked sickly pale and thin, her eyes on the floor, her hands interlaced on her thin stomach, ‘’Na-Baron wishes to dine with you my Lady.’’ It wasn’t a wish, it was an order. ‘’The trip have made me exhausted, please tell Na-Baron that I desire to rest.’’

She noticed the girl’s change of body language, her eyes rose to look at her ladyship pleadingly.  Y/N kindly smiled at the girl, oblivious to what was going to happen, she dismissed the servant girl.

The black sun of Giedi Prime shone bright just like the day before, Y/N decided to do some reading, learn more about the planet’s ecosystem. She had a light breakfast, the air still stingy in her lungs, she didn’t have much appetite.

Y/N Atreides was on her desk, taking notes and reading and her door knocked, ‘’Come in.’’ she was focused on the old books, ‘’My Lady.’’

‘’Yes?’’ she turned to face a man, he was a guard in his dark uniform. ‘’Na-Baron has a gift for you. He insists that you should open it after I am dismissed.’’ A strange request but what wasn’t strange about him anyways?!

Y/N couldn’t read the guard’s expression, his face was a blank slate, however he look more pale than usual skin color, was he ill? ‘’Thank you, place the box on the floor and you may be dismissed.’’ He did what he was told. She stood up and approached to the metal box, there was a strong smell of iron coming from it, it appeared there was no lock, no writings. Just in case, she placed the portable force field on her hand, activated it and tested it, working just fine.

Her hand went to open the metal box and her first reaction was to scream in terror, and her second reaction was to run to her bathroom and throw up her breakfast, shaking uncontrollably, on her knees like a wild animal.

Y/N Atreides didn’t know how many minutes or decades she had spent in that position, finally one of her old maids came for her rescue. ‘’My Lady…’’ she was an old woman with white hair and motherly touch, ‘’It’s okay now..’’ she was rubbing Y/N’s back gently and whispering kind words.  ‘’Is it-‘’ she sobbed, ‘’is it gone?’’

‘’I took care of it my Lady.’’ She helped Y/N stand up and leave the bathroom. The metal box which had the servant girl’s head was gone and yet she could feel her eyes watching her every move. She threw the shield on her hand and marched out of her chambers. There was a solider guarding her chambers, ‘’Where is Na-Baron?’’ she asked trying to control her tone. ‘’He has a meeting with Baron Vladimir and Glossu Rabban.’’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She said, could feel the anger on her chest, so hefty. ‘’But my Lady-‘’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She used the voice on him, the guard, without a word started to guide her to the meeting room. The corridors of the fortress were mostly black, some grey and white here and there, there were guards on watch duties, servants cleaning or carrying stuff. It was so different than the environment she grew up in, in Caladan or Emperor’s planet was vivid and thriving, here it was just… lifeless. She cursed her fate.

There were two guards on the doors of the meeting room, ‘’Open.’’ She used the voice again and the doors were opened slowly, Baron Vladimir was sitting on a metal chair which was placed on marble steps, towering over Glossu Rabban and Feyd-Rautha who were standing and looking up at him, listening to him as if their lives depend on it.. well.. they weren’t wrong. Baron was surprised to see her. ‘’Lady Y/N!’’ he announced which made the boys look at her direction but she refused to look at them, her focus was on Baron. ‘’What a lovely surprise, I hope you quarters to your liking.’’ Y/N bowed in courtesy, ‘’Thank you my Baron, you are the most generous.’’ She had to control her anger and she was doing a good job, keeping things formal. She had to be respectful to the family otherwise her position let alone her life would be at stake, she remembered Feyd’s words; ‘’Try to humiliate me again and see what happens, little dove.’’ The room was barren with only a long marble table and chairs, the curtains were closed and white glowglobes lighting the room, no carpets, no ornaments. ‘’What do we owe the pleasure of your visit?’’ he asked, she could see he was trying to understand her moves. ‘’I must speak with Na-Baron. It is urgent.’’ Finally she turned to face him, even though he was standing far away she could see his body reacting to her words, he was alert and an animalistic shine on his eyes. ‘’Feyd, please escort your wife-to-be to a more secluded area and discuss.’’ His uncle said and Feyd bowed to him quickly, ‘’Yes uncle.’’ And then he turned to her, marching like a soldier, he held her arm and escorted her out of the room, his grip was tight, he made her follow him. Since there were guards and servants everywhere she didn’t dare to utter a word.

Y/N had no idea where they were going, the fortress was a maze and every corridor looked similar. They reached a door, Feyd dismissed the guards and opened the heavy black door. Quite frankly he threw her inside, before she got a chance to look around she spit her venom. ‘’What is wrong with you?!’’ Feyd looked puzzled, ‘’Did you really beheaded that girl just because I refused to dine with you?!’’ she could feel her whole body shake in anger, being in his presence disturbed her equilibrium. ‘’Oh, that.’’ He remembered, his behavior made it worse for her. ‘’Yes, that!’’ He didn’t close the space between them, his hands behind his back. ‘’Did I upset you, little dove?’’ was he mocking her? ‘’Upset?!’’ Y/N couldn’t believe her ears, what happened to that sweet boy she met years ago?

He started to move towards her like a predator, he was much taller than her, towering above her she had to look up to meet his icy blue orbits. Years had turned him into a killing machine, what a shame. She hoped to see remorse in those beautiful eyes but found nothing. Back of his hand found her heated cheek, touching ever so gently, it made one wonder how could he behead an innocent girl and then touch his wife-to-be like a tender lover. ‘’This is what happens when you reject my orders.’’ His voice calm and collective. ‘’I hate you!’’ and she pushed his chest but had no impact so she moved away from his aura. That’s when she noticed that they were in his quarters of the fortress, she remembered the fact that he dismissed the guards, no one to help her if things were to took a turn. ‘’You hate me?’’ he asked, still calm. ‘’What else… do you also fear me?’’

‘’No.’’ she simply answered. His none existent eyebrows rose, his pupils dilated ever so slightly, she noticed how still he was, like a statue. His nostrils flared with a passion she could not placed.

‘’No? So you don’t fear me.’’ He repeated back, folding his arms, he wasn’t angry, only curious. ‘’Not at all?’’

‘’You aren’t allowed to hurt me.’’ Her voice higher than his.

‘’Not allowed?’’ he tilted his head, his voice low and husky, ‘’and how can you be so certain of such?’’ a slight smile pulled at his plump lips, ‘’What makes you so confident in that?’’ he knew his own intentions but he was curios of what went on within her pretty head. There was a certain aura about Y/N that intrigued Feyd, he was watching, listening and studying her.

‘’Let me go back to my home.’’ She whispered, even she didn’t believe herself but that was her intention, to go back and ride her horse, walk in the lush gardens, laugh with her other Bene Gesserit friends. ‘’You assume you have the final word where you go.’’ He chuckled, his voice lower than before. ‘’I decide where you go.’’ His gaze grew sharp like an animal, ‘’I decide what you do. And what I decide..’’ Feyd laughed again, ‘’You’re going to obey.’’

‘’I had a life before you took me, I had a family and friends and, and..’’ she could feel her eyes getting blurry, ‘’And?’’ he insisted, ‘’I had a partner, a lover, and you scared him away!’’ she was practically yelling at this point, female rage taking over her body. ‘’A lover? Don’t make me laugh little girl. If he was so in love with you-‘’ he opened his arms looking around, ‘’where is he? Why isn’t he here defending your honor and saving you from me?!’’ with the mention of Y/N’a former partner Pyramus, Feyd-Rautha wasn’t so calm anymore, he could feel rage rising in his body.  

‘’Because of you! You scared him and he ran! Otherwise he would be here-‘’

‘’Don’t be that stupid Y/N! He wasn’t so scared when I offered him a deal.’’

And with that Y/N was confused, ‘’What deal?’’

Feyd-Rautha was pacing in the room in anger, he couldn’t believe she was still ‘’in love’’ with that low life, waste of space. ‘’I offered him a supply of spice which will outlive him and his children and his children’s children. A generation wealth so to speak.’’

Y/N was shaking her head in rejection, her gaze focused on the floor, ‘’No, no,’’ she whispered, not believing what Feyd was suggesting. ‘’Yes Y/N! Your lover didn’t hesitate a second and took the deal.’’

‘’Then why did he try to escape with me?!’’ she yelled in pain, her heart was torn into pieces, ‘’I wanted you to see how pathetic he was and I staged it.’’ Feyd’s chest heaving with anger and he was so passionate to prove her he was right, he turned to go to the next room and brought back a metal device, he opened it, ‘’Here, he signed the deal.’’ She took it and saw the spice deal written on it, millions of gallons.. and Pyramus’ signature at the bottom…

Feyd grabbed the metal device and threw it on the couch near him, ‘’Not going to lie, you weren’t cheap.’’ And she slapped him.

Feyd-Rautha was slapped by a woman for the first time in his life, he froze for a second, shocked to see how bold she could be. He was even turned on a bit. With both of his hands he grabbed her delicate shoulders tightly, he was much stronger than her. ‘’LET GO OF ME-‘’

Feyd-Rautha didn’t care what she wanted, ‘’I might hurt you physically Y/N, but I would never do that to you. I would never sell what’s mine for something else. Do you hear me?!’’ his voice was rough and irritated her ears, her body was in shock and her shoulders hurting her. ‘’I would never leave what’s mine behind and walk away, I am a man, see me as a man not that little boy you met years ago!’’

Was that a love confession, no it couldn’t be.. someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen couldn’t possibly feel something so pure and innocent, or was it just being possessive and showing her that her life was in his hands till death do them apart. The stress overcame her body, her vision was getting darker and the last thing she saw was Feyd’s pretty eyes.

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Thank you for reading. :)

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Orbiting: pt.3°

: pt.1° | pt.2°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [1.8k idiot fwb to lovers; mutual pining, TONS of smut, use of cock ring]

-

"Jungkook, you can't be serious," you're limping around your home following the cause of your headache.

"I am," he deadpans. He pushes your throw pillows on one side of the couch and plops himself in it. "Back to your room, Y/N. Or do you need me to tuck you in?" he teases with a grin.

Tired from the day and your ankle still throbbing with pain, you huff and retreat to your room. You don't bother closing your door.

"You coming?" You call.

A second passes. Then another. He didn't fall asleep already, did he?

A thud is heard from your living room. Then, Jungkook appears in your doorway.

Shirtless. You gulp, trying not to salivate. He knows he looks good; he doesn't need the boost.

"You're insatiable," he chastises, but at the same time, he's walking closer to you. "But you need to rest, babe." His hands softly rub your head, then tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"It's not that. It's cold outside," you roll your eyes. "Can't have you getting sick, at least not until your game tomorrow. Your team needs their star player," you jest.

Jungkook only giggles, already claiming his side of your bed. The side that's always been his. Even before this whole friends-with-benefits thing, Jungkook always slept on the right side of your bed during sleepovers or when he needed to crash the night after a long practice.

You lived a bit closer to the rink—that was his excuse to the guys on his team when they teased him. Also, his mom agreed that it wasn't safe for him to be driving late at night, especially when he was already tired. Sure, she didn't know he slept in your room, but it was all 'platonic' then. The important thing was he was getting good rest. It really wasn't because of your warmth beside him in bed and that he found comfort in seeing you after an exhausting day that made him sleep better. Or so he thinks.

It's a tug-of-war when it comes to him admitting how he feels on certain moments.

"Hey, get your head out of the gutter, Jeon," you mimic his words earlier.

With a pout but round eyes filled with mischief, Jungkook retaliates with tickles. In a fit of laughter, you try to get him to stop, "Gguk.. my fo—ot."

"Oh, shit," he raises his hand to stop. "Sorry, babe."

Catching your breath, you throw him a glare, "You're lucky I can't tackle you." Jungkook responds with by nuzzling his head in your neck and littering pecks on your neck. "Go to sleep," he mumbles between kisses.

You let out a chortle, "You're the one wreaking havoc on my bed, Jeon."

He hums coyly in reply.

"Hey," you nudge his head on your shoulder,"Thank you."

Jungkook tilts his head and and kisses your lips. "Always," his voice soft, sleep slowly penetrating him. You let a minute pass until his breathing evens out, and then, slowly and very carefully, you press your lips to his forehead.

"Night, Gguk," you whispered.

-

You were a morning person. And from the moment you wake up at 6 A.M, you follow your routine to a T.

The alarm goes off for the second time and the clock already reads 6:13 A.M. Your hands struggle to reach your phone on the bedside table and it doesn't help that Jungkook keeps pulling your body further down the bed. Your hips are pinned with his tattooed hands, back arched from pleasure, and legs dangle on the edge of the bed.

Kneeled at the foot of your bed, Jungkook pushes his face deeper between your thighs. His warm tongue switching between sucking and flicking your clit. The lewd sounds of wet pleasure and your breathless moans echoes around your room, drowning the blaring alarm.

You plead for more. You want more. You need more. More pleasure, more of Jungkook. So, you grab his head and push him towards your sex while you buck your hips. Jungkook only groans in response. You can feel your orgasm nearing, but right before you unravel, he pulls away.

"Fucking insatiable." Jungkook licks his lips, tongue catching every drop of you, "And I love it." He stands, his hard cock springing and leaking, then reaches for something in your bottom drawer. But before his hand could re-emerge from the box, you already know what to expect.

Both of your breathing picks up, eyes meeting each other. You were the first to break away. Your eyes traveling down to where his hands are—one shamelessly pumps his dick and the other holds a vibrating cock ring.

With your good foot, you push yourself back up to the bed. "Good girl," Jungkook smirks.

"You gonna stand there all day or are you going to fuck me?" You taunt.

"Nah, I plan to wreck you, babe."

Cock ring in place around his dick, Jungkook aligns himself to your cunt. He's only a tip in and you can already feel the vibrations. Jungkook feels good, too. His brows furrowed, mouth hang open and quiet moans spill.

Truly insatiable and impatient, you pull Jungkook by his arms, "Wreck me. I want all of you, Jungkook."

The sounds your mouth and pussy make and the smell of sex permeating the air intensifies the pleasure Jungkook feels. He would love to start every day like now—buried inside you, your pussy clenching and sucking him back in every time he pulls out. Your whines grow pitchier every second, and Jungkook knows you're close. But he wants to prolong this moment, despite his cock throbs with want to release. So, he plunges deep into your pussy and stills. The cock ring still vibrates around his cock and sits perfectly in line with your clit.

Tears gather at your eyes and while you're always pretty, this look you have when you're being fucked dumb has to be one of Jungkook's favorites.

"Wanna cum," you plead. You're at each other's mercy, but it's Jungkook who drives you to orgasm—coming undone and moaning in unison.

The moment passes, and you both hiss at sensitivity from the vibrating cock ring.

"Wear my jersey to tonight's game, yeah?"

-

Loud sirens go off as the box opens, and the players run to the ice.

Your eyes are quick to scan the huddle, looking for the man with the 97 print on his jersey.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer booms. "Welcome to the beginning of the hockey season. Now, Neil, who do you think will be our star player this season?"

"Easy question, Jack. I would place my bets on Jeon Jungkook. This kid is dubbed the golden maknae of their team and to outsiders."

You agree. Jungkook truly excels in everything he does. And while it may seem as if things come easy for him to strangers and mere acquaintances, no one sees the early mornings and long hours of work he put in to be the best.

"What a phenom. I've heard at least 3 NHL clubs would love to have him on their roster. Truly an incredible young athlete. And if you haven't seen him before, you're in for a real treat."

Goal after goal has been made within the past 50 minutes. On the ice, Jungkook glances at the bright scoreboard. It's neck and neck, and the crowd chaotically shouts. He hears their team name louder, he thinks. And he can't help but feel driven at the thought that one of those loud cheers of his name is from you in the stands.

"It's your shot, Jeon," his teammate shouts as they pass around the puck. Jungkook is terrible at multitasking, but as he dodges the opposing team trying to get the puck, he quickly peeks at the side of the bleachers where he knows you always sit. It's a brief moment, but he sees you—hair tied with green ribbons, their team color, and you're wearing his old jersey. He was right, too. You were screaming his name.

He smirks. Speeds up, and the rest happens in quick succession—Jungkook shifts his hockey stick to take the puck, glides it to the center, and makes a goal.

The cheers grow louder. Despite remaining seated among the jumping crowd, Jungkook was quick to find you again, and you made eye contact. He smiles and you blow him a kiss back.

-

Still high on adrenaline, Jungkook slams his hips behind you. His sulky mood earlier from not being able to fuck you in the showers turned a 180 because he's reminded how much he prefers this view, anyway. His hands pull at your braid while you're fucking yourself back into him.

A strangled call of his name leaves your mouth. He doesn't like that you're holding back your moans. Slipping his cock out of you, he holds your leg delicately and flips you within the tight space of his car, knocking the breath out of you.

Above you, Jungkook's abs glisten with sweat, and his tip slick with your arousal and his. You sit up, wincing from the discomfort from your foot, and pull him for a kiss.

He loves it when you get this eager and hungry for a kiss. It has him fucked. Not only does it make him rock hard but it has his heart constricting, too. It doesn't help that no one else has made a mess of him like this. And he’s not just talking about the mind-numbing, toe-curling pleasure he gets every time you have sex.

Years ago, he thought he made peace with the fact that all you could ever be was best friends. But ever since your arrangement, his desire for you grew. He didn't even think it was possible, but here he is a year later. His arm clung to your waist, laying you on his backseat cushion. Jungkook continues to thrust into you. He picks up his pace, and his eyes are glued to your juggling tits before he bends over, pushing his cock deeper into you, and attaches his mouth to play with your right nipple.

As he always does each time you fuck, he makes sure your pleasure comes first. If he can't be outright with his feelings, Jungkook secretly hopes that the way he fucks you—putting you first and taking care of you during and after sex, conveys his feelings and intention. And with every kiss you pull him in for, the unspoken words at the tip of his tongue would smooth over yours.

He would never deny that the attraction towards you has always been there, but he's not shouting it from the mountains either.

At least, not yet.

Plus, he thinks that if you really wanted more from your no-strings-attached arrangement, you would have said so. And he isn't that stupid to be the one who will bring it up, all because his heart and his dick is in-sync. He'll wait it out, he decides. Whether it's for his feelings to subside or for you to feel the same and beat him to confessing, you've always been braver of the two of you, anyway.

He'll wait.

For now, he's willing to give parts of himself that you want to take.

Jungkook's fingers squeeze in between your bodies, and it reaches your clit. Two fingers aggressively rub the hood of your clit while his thumb softly flicks at the nub. In a matter of seconds, you squirt. And Jungkook can't wait to drive you home and do it all over again.

-

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