#i yearn for them too but i don't think i can post these things from mobile and i'm too cosy in my bed to go back to my computer

[kenzan-kiwami]

Your malware as requested

Got Damn he really put his entire pussy into that :miku:

[emptywwwriting]

Your Toxic Situationship with Joel Miller

Parings: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Smut, toxic, age gap (not specified), angst?, reader cries during sex, NO Y/N, reader just wants to be loved (me too), rough p in v sex.

Summary: You and Joel have a situationship, you have feelings for Joel, but he doesn't feel the same

Inspired by a post i have reposted on my blog :)

WC: 1.2k (tiny ik)

A/N: I feel like this sucks... Anyways this is NOT edited and its that time of the night where im so tired my glasses don’t help my vision any sooo take this with a grain of salt. i'll edit it later!

There was something so painful about your relationship,, situationship... with Joel Miller. 

Maybe it was the way he’d ignore you in town, even after spending days on end with you in secret. Or maybe it was the way he’d dismiss your insecurities when you would tell him about them nervously, late into the night. He’d shake his head or say.

“People would talk, no one can know about… whatever, this is.” 

Whatever

It never felt like 'whatever’ to you. When he was buried inside of you so deeply brushing your cervix over and over and over again, murmurs of 

“Fuck you feel so good, I love you. So fuckin’ tight sweet girl.” Would fall from his lips.

He would spill inside of you, and then the two of you wouldn’t discuss it again. It confused your desperate, sad, brain, yearning for love, to be loved. One night, during a particularly rough fucking from Joel, tears welled in your eyes as soon as you came. He stopped immediately, of course, and asked you what was wrong.

Sniffles interrupted your soft-spoken words.

“I want you to like me.” You hid your eyes from him, casting them down in shame.

“Aw, baby I do like you,” His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, wiping away a stray tear.

“Such a pretty little thing,” His hand trailed to your neck and you looked up at him.

“So tight and warm around me.” A devilish smirk overcame his previously soft look at you and you frowned. His look faltered, and he cocked his head at you.

“T’s not what I wanted to hear,” A sniffle. “I want you to like me…” You trail off trying to think of an example. 

“More than just for this.” You gesture to the position the two of you are in, your naked and sweaty frame shoved against Joel’s headboard. His broad chest is hovering above you, hips flush with yours, warm and shoved deep inside of you.

He frowns at you and starts rubbing your red cheeks again.

“Baby we can’t be more than this, it’s…” He wanders off for a minute thinking of the right word. 

“People wouldn’t like to see an old man like me with a young girl like you.” He gives you a sympathetic frown that you know is fake.

He shifts his weight slightly causing his heavy cock to brush that spongy spot inside of you, causing you to gasp softly.

“I-I don’t care, I want to be boyfriend and girlfriend… or something.” Hiccups interrupt you occasionally, and tears begin to form once more.

“Too young baby,” He’s shaking his head and it's breaking your heart.

“Not old enough for me, still just a kid compared to my old ass.” He chuckles trying to lighten the mood but it doesn't work, it just frustrates you more.

“I’m not a kid.” Your tone is snappy and your eyes are staring deep into his. He shifts his hips again but you muffle the reaction it causes you.

“Don't talk to me like im dumb.”

“No need to get short with me.” His smile has dropped and he looks as mad as you do now. You can’t mistake the shift in his hips this time as simply repositioning himself.

Your confidence falters.

“Why won’t you just love me?” You ask equally angry and sad. 

He pulls his hips out barley a centimeter before pushing back in, slow. You gasp louder, body beginning to heat up again.

“I love this pussy baby, feels so good.” He’s grinning again pulling out even farther now before shoving himself back in. You're mad at him but the fullness his cock is giving you feels too good to ask for him to stop. You the feel tears coming again, but his hand on your clit, rubbing light soft circles sends your focus away from them. 

“Needa stop thinkin’ baby, dumb little brain can’t handle all these emotions.” He’s talking to you like you're stupid and it makes your cheeks flush. He’s patronizing you, it’s infuriating, but just like before the feeling of his thrust growing longer and harder, short circuits your brain and all you can do is moan. 

“Yeah I know baby, feels too good hmm?”

“Jus’ let me do all the work to make you feel good like I always do.” His thrusts pick up and a coil forms deep in your belly. Your legs are wrapping around his hips instinctively and you cling to his neck like if you let go he would disappear. Your whines are needy now, you're mad but you can’t talk, you can’t do anything but let yourself be filled by him over and over. 

“I always take care of you right baby.” His breathing is labored and his eyes are black.

Staring up at him, with wide eyes and an open mouth all you can do is hum a broken.

Mhmm.

“Fill you up so nice, gonna cum in you n’ make you mine.” He’s growling, pace now erratic and mind-numbing. Your thoughts are gone and have been replaced by him. His smell, his looks, the way he feels, him him him him him.

All you can do is screw your eyes shut with a silent scream.

“All mine, fuck, you’re all mine right?” His sentence doesn’t sound like a question but you are so fucked out you don’t even hear it. 

A quick but firm slap to your cheek causes your eyes to shoot open, and stare back at him saucer-eyed. It didn’t hurt, but it got your attention.

“Who’s are you?” He's angry, still pounding your swollen sensitive pussy mercilessly.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. 

“Gonna get real mean you don’t answer me.”

You know he’s not bluffing.

“You! Fuck.” It comes out strangled and airy. All of your breath is gone, you are heaving trying to get oxygen to your brain again.

“All mine, you’re all mine. Just a silly,” He gives you a particularly rough thrust. 

“Stupid-“ Another. 

“Girl.” 

It makes your heart sink but his thrust mixed with his finger working rapidly over your swollen bud, for some reason pushes you over the edge. You're clinging to him, nails deep inside his skin, riding out the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had. The waves hit you hard, and they are relentless. Tears prick your eyes, and your body tenses rhythmically. Before you know it Joel is pumping his seed deep inside of you. Your name is a mantra on his lips. 

“Mine, mine, mine, shit, mine.” pours from him as he loses himself within your walls. Everything is tight and warm and you feel like mush. His weight is crushing you but it feels like home. 

Joel is home to you. You know deep down that he doesn't truly care for you, but something about his experienced touch ignites a fire within you. You can’t bring yourself to do anything but worship him. He pushes himself off of you and all you can do is drunkenly admire his beautiful tan skin, covering his broad muscles. The weight of your forbidden arrangement always hangs heavy in the air after you guys fuck. 

He grudgingly pulls out of you with a defeated sigh. You whimper at the loss of contact. He brings you a towel, wiping your sensitive parts, ridding them of any trace of him.  

You know that your love for him is built upon something not returned by him completely. You are just a naive girl yearning for his affection; Yet, you are aware that the excitement of your fleeting encounters and shared looks intoxicates you both. Neither of you will ever find the strength to separate from one another.

[walpu]

hey, hey, I don't know how many times I've read your post "pre-relationship" especially aventurine part (omg i love how you write abt him 😭). I wonder how it will be once they are in a relationship and the kissing part please :3 thank u and have a nice day!

THANK YOUUUUU

Hope you'll enjoy this post too💛💛💛

being in a relationship with Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort (do I even write something other that hurt/comfort for him lmao), no beta

can be seen as a part 2 of this post but it can stan on it's own as well

Aventurine

It would take quite some time for Aventurine to move from the pre-relationship stage with you. Will dance around the subject, throwing hints and flirty remarks but as for making an actual move? Oof.

Would cling to your side and shamelessly say something like "aww, can't get enough of me? people may think we're dating <З unless that's what you want them to think haha"

Pathetic. /affectionally.

But seriously, he really wants to be sure that you like him before making a move. That you like him, not his money, not the idea of him. At least that's what he tells himself. And while this is part of the reason, the actual thing is that he's simply... confused. He's already more vulnerable around you than he ever was around anyone else. And dating means being even more vulnerable.

While he yearns for this genuine connection he's also a scared of it. Tim Kreider wrote the line "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known" about him actually.

It would take some time for him to get used to being in relationship. In the previous post I've mentioned that he, most likely, had some short flings in the past. I seriously doubt that he ever had any serious relationship before you though. It's so new to him. At first it would seem like nothing has changed between the two of you at all. Surprisingly, it looks like he even became a bit more distant.

Aventurine doesn't want to attract any unwanted attention to your relationship since it will only endanger you. Plus he doesn't want to overwhelm you. Plus he doesn't want to overwhelm himself. Plus he is scared shitless.

He can't help but feel that he looses everything he holds dear. After all, it's been like that for all of his life. And he simply can't loose you.

Mini spoiler for his leaked character story, but there is a moment there when he looks at the aventurine stone Diamond gave him and he realizes that despite the fact that he worked so hard for it, now that he has it, it holds no real value since it doesn't fill the emptiness inside of him. Logically, he knows that this won't happen with you. He loves you too much. But there's this subconscious fear inside of him that he's just so messed up inside that he simply would not be able to love you like you deserve.

Be patient with him, this mans doesn't know what he's doing. Don't give up on him and he'll crawl to your side, holding onto you for dear life.

Once he will calm down a bit, he'll make it up for all those times when you were the one reaching out to him. Texts you, calls you, arranges spontaneous dates.

In the beginning of relationship would spoil you with expensive gifts. He knows what it's like to have nothing so he doesn't want you to ever feel this way. And the best way to prevent it? To make sure that you will have anything and everything. Maybe it's a subconscious way to bribe you. Maybe. Not like he realizes it himself.

Once he'll feel more stable and more confident, his gift giving tendencies will get less overwhelming. He still like giving you gifts but now he picks and chooses. His sugar darling deserves only the best, after all.

Acts all clingy, playful and unserious but actually listens to your every word and is ready to fulfil your every need.

Is actually very caring. Shows his care by pestering you and easing you tho.

If you feel down, will sit stay by your side. May randomly start tickling you, if you're ticklish. If not, will find another way to touch you in a playful and somewhat annoying way. After you cheer up a bit, Aven will put his chin on your shoulder and hugs your waist, softly asking what happen and why is his dearest darling seems sad.

As for kisses. Aven will loooove covering your face with butterfly kisses. And not only your face. Will randomly grab your hand and kiss your knuckles and fingertips. If you've made a mistake of exposing your shoulder then be ready for it to be kissed endlessly.

Adores kissing those parts of your body that are usually covered with clothes. It feels fore intimate for him.

And if you have freckles or/and beauty marks. Oh well. Will trace them with his fingertips, connecting them with some invisible lines and sometimes gasp playfully, saying that he found his constellation. Just a silly little guy being a silly little guy.

So touch-starved it's unreal.

Has very mixed feeling about his tattoo being kissed. Would feel... weirs if you would kiss it during your casual cuddling session. He exposes it for the world to see, yes. But still, when it attracts attention of someone who knows the meaning behind it... Makes him a bit tense, it catches him off-guard. However, if you kiss it after a lovemaking session or when he shares some painful memories with you, he will feel reassured.

Will slowly start crawling out of his shell when he's with you. Before he only shared some brief memories of his past with you, now he'll start slowly opening up about other, much more painful stuff.

It still happens randomly and out of the blue. He remembers something, he tenses up. But now, instead of repressing this feelings, he shares them with you.

Don't push him too talk, he'll slowly open up on his own.

Loves waking up next to you. Especially if you're still asleep. Seeing the sun shining on your face fills him with love and tenderness. Only with you by his side he feels truly safe.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— take me back to eden || l.s.k

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader --- fem pronouns are not used, but written with fem!reader in mind. reader is afab

tags: high school au, college au, re2r leon -> re4r leon pipeline, childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, smut, a fuck ton of yearning MDNI 18+, male masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly, guys), loss of virginity, hand job, cunnilingus sort of, creampie, praise kink, breeding kink if you squint (sorry...) porn with plot, porn with feelings (like. too many feelings it's sort of gross)

summary: You try to desperately reignite an old friendship with Leon before high school wraps up. What starts out as a simple effort to mend things blossoms into something you couldn't have anticipated. But as summer ends, Leon’s moving away for College, leaving you in Raccoon City. Or so you thought.

word count: 10k ish

a/n: gosh, hi, it's been a while!! i've been fighting writer's block for nearly a year, and it definitely was NOT part of my plan to post leon smut before the knight fic, but cough ovulation week cough and uh.. this happened? big thanks to cressie for feeding the brainworms, and vivi for cheering me on, and of course eva for encouraging me to write again <33

also for the sake of my own sanity we're gonna pretend kairo was released in the 1990s because i just REALLY wanted them to watch kairo. and if you can catch all the song/movie references i make throughout this you'll get a gold star, anyway, enjoy! <3

playlist ⭑ masterlist ⭑AO3

If someone offered Leon a thousand dollars to pinpoint exactly where in the timeline of your friendship you’d grown apart, he wouldn’t be able to. Maybe it was just fate taking her course, friends growing apart. He’s tried to make peace with it, chalking it up to the inevitability of growing apart, another lesson in the long list of things he’s had to learn to accept.

But it doesn’t stop him from missing you. More than he’s willing to admit, even to himself.

Between college applications and finals, Leon’s life is already at full capacity, he’s fast-tracking, tunnel vision set on finishing senior year and getting into Stanford so he can get the hell out of Raccoon City. And he’s got it, he’s got this.

But then there you are, barrelling back into his life with all the force of something impossible to ignore, as if you’d never really left his orbit, as if the universe decided it wasn’t quite done with the two of you yet. Your smile hasn’t changed, still sweet and sticky like molasses. It’s disarming when  you ask if he can tutor you, voice light and breezy, as if no time has passed between you at all— just a few sessions here and there! You tell him, just to save you from failing another semester of chemistry.

He agrees nearly blindly, the words out of his mouth before he has time to think them through.

It has been so long since you’d even talked to him properly, anything other than a ‘hi’ or a ‘bye’ muttered in the school hallways before you’re whisked away by your friends. He’s honestly elated you’d approached him at all—he tried not to show it, though.

And he did great the first few sessions. Sure, it was more than awkward at first—but Leon was partly thankful for it. It left little room for him to entertain the idea of staying friends with you again for long. You’d create a simple routine together wherein you’d come over to his place, he’d teach you everything from organic to physical chemistry, then you’d bid him goodnight and leave. Simple. Predictable. Routine.

But then you started to break that routine, a variable that he hadn’t accounted for. You’d kick his foot under the dining table while you worked on homework together, laugh at his jokes even when they’re painfully bad because you think it’s cute. Then when you have to migrate upstairs after his parents come home from work, you’d settle onto his bed, glancing around his room and teasing him about how little he’d changed—still the same movie posters, still the same boy you once knew. 

You tell him about your day, he tells you about his, then you’ll go as far as to stay a little longer some nights, both of you acutely aware of the time but not doing a thing about it. 

He finds with time, he’s learnt to enjoy your company again. It isn’t so tense, no longer like walking on the glass shards of your previously shattered relationship. It’s easier now, as if none of the vast ocean separating you was ever there to begin with. He tries not to dwell on the fact that this newfound relationship is built entirely on the twenty dollar bill you hand him each night.

Then one night Leon’s mother invites you to stay for dinner, he expects you to politely decline, hand him the twenty dollar bill for the tuition, and leave. 

But much to Leon’s surprise, you don’t.

It’s catalytic, like a domino effect that he’s helpless against stopping. It gets so much worse when you offer to stay behind to help clean up. All but glowing as you strike up casual conversation with his mother, as if you’d never stopped visiting over the past six years. You’re a sweet talker, always have been, you compliment his mother on her cooking, ask her for the recipe, she tells you you’ll just have to come over and help her make it one night. You laugh, meeting Leon’s gaze as you tell her you just might have to.

God, Leon’s so fucked.

Absolutely fucked when he catches himself thinking about you in the middle of class, eyes trained like a hawk on the door to the classroom, waiting to see if you’ll show or not. You don’t. He’s not really surprised. He finds he doesn’t exactly mind though. Frankly, it’s none of his business whether you show or not, and a part of him likes the extra attention he gets out of it when you ask him all the questions you’d know if you did show up to classes while he’s tutoring you.

You’ll have your pen between your teeth like you always do, run a hand through your hair as you watch him work, bat those stupidly pretty eyelashes at him when you don’t understand what he’s trying to say. 

“None of this is making sense,” You huff, shoving your head into your hands, elbows braced on his dining room table. 

You catch the glimpse of sympathy that flashes across Leon’s face when you peek at him through your fingers, and eternally cringe at how you must look.

“Just one more chapter, then we’ll be done.” He promises, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on your notebook. 

He’s got that boyish smile on his lips when you meet his gaze, his thin-framed glasses perched atop his face make him look so much cuter than you remember him being when you were kids.

Your heart constricts in the familiar way it always does nowadays. A sickening reminder that you have a secret; closely guarded in your heart, tucked away by lock and key. You’re in love with your best friend.

Well, your once best friend. The term "best friends" feels outdated, like it belongs to a version of you that no longer exists. It’s partly your fault— well, mostly your fault. The rift between you didn’t just appear; you carved it out with every sorry excuse you’d made at fourteen when you’d chosen your flashy new friends over time spent with Leon.

But what were you to do? Middle school turned to High School and you’d gone from the sad lonely girl at the back of the class to someone worth looking at. 

And Leon? Well, you convinced yourself he was only dragging you down, or that’s what you told yourself to help to ease the guilt every time you brushed him off.

Was it shitty of you to pay your way back into his life? Yeah, but you’re also sort of a coward when it comes to confrontation. There were a million better ways to try to fix what you broke, but here you are, handing Leon twenty bucks a week for a chance to be close to him again.

Either way life moves on, and you find yourself falling for him. Stupidly, helplessly, completely.

Leon finds he’s drowning just as you are.

He’s so far past the point of just fucked. He’s utterly infatuated at this point. You’re stunning, every bit as beautiful as the word allows, beautiful as he watches you across the gym at a morning assembly. You’re busy talking to one of those jocks on the football team, Calvin? Chris? He can’t remember, he doesn’t care. Or that's what he tells himself.

He cares. He cares entirely too much, especially when you curl a lock of your hair around your finger, smiling at whatever bullshit Chris must be spouting with that mouth of his. Leon sinks into his seat further, diverts his attention to the front of the auditorium, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. He’s desperate to ignore what definitely seems like you flirting with someone who definitely isn’t himself. 

He’s not jealous though, Leon isn’t jealous. ‘Course not.

That’s what he repeats to himself later that night, alone in his bed when his hand curls around the length of his hard dick, tip weeping as he gives a pitiful tug, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. 

He tries incredibly desperately to stifle the whine that bubbles up his throat, hand moving on its own accord as his eyes flutter shut. He doesn’t even realise he’s holding his breath until he starts getting light headed, too caught up chasing his own high. He comes embarrassingly fast, one, two, three, four more pumps and he’s done for, your name the last thing on his lips.

Leon swallows thickly before the crushing reality that he’d imagined you as he came fills him with a burst of shame. He tries to push the thought aside as quickly as it comes, groaning as he moves to sit on the edge of his bed. 

Yeah. He’s fucked.

A few weeks later, Leon finds himself sitting on the bleachers after class. He wouldn’t be caught dead out here less than a few weeks ago, but you had given him such a sweet smile when you’d told him you had cheer practice, asked him if he’d be okay waiting just a little before going back to his place for tuition.

It’s not so bad, he thinks, as he flicks through the songs on his cheap mp3 player. But even with that distraction, you’re far more captivating. You're dazzling, to say the least—dress glimmering under the afternoon sun as you go through your routine. Leon watchs and tries not to stare. 

It’s when you walk up to him though, all but shimmering, glowing under golden hour, that it hits him like a freight train all at once. He’s fallen horrifically far from his pedestal, what he feels for you now is so much more than what he did for you as kids. Not just as a friend, and yet much more than a schoolboy crush. 

The next few events unfold very quickly—you sit down next to him on the bleachers, the skin of your thigh pressing to his where your dress rides up. He freezes, his own skin flushing a shade of pink that he hopes goes unnoticed. You press your ear against his headset, stick your tongue out between your lips as if you’re in dire concentration, trying to hear what’s playing.

“What’re you listening to?” You ask when you pull away, pushing the headset off his head before you slide them over your own ears. 

You light up at what you hear, “The Smiths? Seriously, Leon, you have not changed.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair to fix it from where your hands had mused it. “They’re good,” His voice is soft despite the protest in his tone. It’s then, you realise, that he’s blushing. 

Cute, cute, cute, you think. There is a particular warmth that blossoms in your chest seeing him like this, one that only Leon can really elicit.

You smile brighter,  “Yeah, I know. I love The Smiths.”

Leon looks starstruck. Of course you do. 

It doesn’t stop there, much to Leon’s own disappointment. He’d hoped after the school year was over you’d go back to not talking to him, and he could move past this and never think about it again (yeah, as if). 

But you don’t. At this point he should just stop wishing for anything at all. Clearly the universe is working against him in the fickle way it always has.

You call him every few nights, ask how he is, what he’s doing, if he’s busy. Things friends would ask each other. Do you count as friends? Leon would like to think so. But then again, he probably shouldn’t be picturing a friend’s face when he’s tugging at his own dick.

You should come over sometime. You say over the phone one night, voice sweet even over the shitty receptor of his home landline. His back straightens a little at your words, the lilt in your voice, as he leans against the counter in his kitchen.

He imagines you lying on your bed, feet kicked up as you hold your flashy new flip-phone between your shoulder and your ear. He wonders what you’re wearing. 

Hello? Your voice crackles, and he’s immediately pulled from his thoughts. C’mon, it’s not that bad of an idea. You laugh on the other end.

He hesitates. Yes, yes, yes, his mind screams at him. Well, I mean… what for?

Lame fucking answer.

Do I need a reason to invite my friend over?

He goes a little rigid at that, mulling over his next words as he feels heat climb up his neck. So we’re friends again now?

The line goes quiet for so long he’s sure you’ve abandoned your phone and left the line open. He nearly hangs up, letting out a sigh as he goes to rehook the landline back on the wall before your voice filters through at the last minute.

Of course we are, silly! Well, I mean— I know the secret Kennedy pasta recipe now.

He smiles then. That you do.

When Leon gets to your place, the cold Summer night air is sharp against his skin. He’s barely touched the doorbell when the front door swings open, the wide smile on your face is contagious—a spontaneous reaction sets off in his heart. 

“Hi,” You grin.

“Hey,” He greets, albeit a little awkwardly. 

You’re endeared, to say the least.

You lead him through the familiar hallways of your home, past family photos he’s seen countless times before, into the family media room, tucked away at the back of the house. It hasn’t changed much from the last time he was here—God, what was that? Six, eight years ago?—he recalls fond memories of escaping your parent’s annual Christmas parties to watch Christmas Mountain while snuggled up on the couch together instead.

“What about that one?” You hum, legs pulled up onto the large plush sofa in your media room, tucking your knees under your chin as you wave a hand at one of the titles in the box of your father’s old DVDs.

“You wanna watch Kairo?” Leon sounds amused, pulling the title out of the box before handing it to you.

You shrug, flipping the case over in your hand, honestly having no idea what the movie is about or what you’re getting yourself into. You just want him to pick a damn movie and get on with it. He’s always been like this, indecisive and hesitant about most things—you’ve always been the opposite, headstrong and impulsive. Yet, the two of you have always been tied together with a gold thread of string, your mother likes to say so, anyway.

You and Leon. Leon and You. An apple and an orange, not the same yet still belonging side by side.

It’s Leon’s voice that pulls you back to the present, taking the case from your hands before he cracks it open and insert the disc it into the silver DVD player. The screen flickers to life, and you quit chasing the DVD logo with your gaze as it bounces across the screen to fish for the TV remote as Leon joins you on the couch. 

He sits at the opposite end, and you’re acutely aware of the distance he’s put between the both of you. You’re not surprised at how your heart sinks at the implications of his actions.

Leon finds the remote before you do, silence settling over the room like thick fog as he flicks through the DVD menu. You will yourself not to get too freaked out by the eerie music or the haunting silhouette of the girl pressed against the screen.

“I didn’t think you liked horror movies,” Leon muses, not really meeting your gaze as he flicks through to press play. “Most people I know say it’s not all that great but—” And he rambles. God, he rambles and you want to kiss his stupid mouth shut.

The first thirty minutes of the movie are slow but not short of horrifying. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or frustrated when all Leon does is talk about SFX or behind the scene cuts, or how they did this and how they did that —endearingly sweet in a way that makes your heart flutter. You’re semi-grateful for the distraction.

He’s a sweetheart in every sense of the word, asking if you’re okay after you startle from a jumpscare. Partially annoyed until you realise he’s not even teasing you. You find it twice as sweet, though, when you notice him all but staring at you in your periphery.

Charming blue eyes that set you a little more on edge.

“The movie’s on the screen, not my face,” You tease, finally meeting his gaze when you glance back at him, kicking him across the couch playfully. 

He swallows, praying for the upteenth time that you don’t notice the burning of his skin he feels at getting caught, before he glances back at you.

“I mean, I think I’d much rather look at you than the movie,” He shoots back, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself.

The air leaves his lungs the moment you turn to look at him, nearly giving yourself whiplash. Leon’s sure he should find this moment awkward, scary, any number of things, but he’s too distracted. You’re so tempting, sweet doll eyes, lashes that kiss your cheeks as you smile at him, and again, he finds himself starstruck. 

Your gaze holds his for a moment longer than it should, a gentle tilt of your head and he’s done for. The teasing smile lingering on your lips slips into something softer, the room feels smaller, the space between you even more so. 

“You alright?” You hum, you’re not even sure what you’re saying, you can’t hear your own voice over the blood thrumming in your ears.

Leon doesn’t really hear you either, he tries to, he does, but then your gaze drops to his lips and— God, is this happening? He’d ask you to pinch him if his voice wasn’t stuck in his damn throat.

You search his face, trying to find any hint of jest, but all you see is the way his eyes linger on you, tracing the curves of your lips, the line of your jaw. For the first time in a long time you find yourself nervous to kiss a boy. There’s a current between you, energy fizzling in a way that pricks your skin—fireworks, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Before you can give yourself the chance to second guess it, you close the distance, your lips brushing against his. His breath hitches, and you smile against his lips, a gentle hand cupping his jaw, curling into his soft hair. The rest of the room drowns out, all he can hear is his heart beating in his ears and all he can feel is the flush of his own skin and you. Impossibly close in a way that’s already got him hook, line and sinker.

The kiss immediately and successfully turns Leon’s brain to mush, letting out a shaky breath as you incline your head, a soft groan falling past your lips and tumbling into his. Your shoulders drop, another arm looping around his neck. It’s a lot at once, your body against his, the thrumming of his heart, the way he tries desperately not to fuck up the kiss, or give away that he hasn’t exactly had much experience in this department at all.

Leon only realises he’s still rigid when you pull away, your breath a hot puff of air against his face. He thinks you must’ve laughed, cheeks heating up, but then his eyes flutter open and you’ve got a look on your face that he can’t place. Your hand smooths down the golden locks of his hair.

“Are you nervous?” Your voice is so impossibly soft.

Leon blushes deeper. “Is it obvious?”

“A little,” You smile.

“I don’t– I haven’t–” He stutters, the words coming out a jumbled mess that makes your heart ache a little.

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” You rush to reassure when you realise what must be going through his mind. “Just… follow my lead, yeah?”

He nods, tight lipped then.

Your laugh is sticky sweet, alluring in a way that makes him feel all too light-headed. You lean in again, “Relax.”

He lets out a breath, and you take the opportunity of his parted lips to deepen the kiss properly, the muscle of your tongue flattening out against his bottom lip. Leon lets out a strangled moan—fireworks burst across your skin for the second time.

“You can hold me,” You mumble against his mouth, hands tightening in his hair. “If it’ll make you less nervous.”

Leon swallows thickly, nodding as his nose brushes against yours, lips already red and aching. One of his hands tentatively moves back into your hair, he tilts his head, trying to deepen the kiss the same way you had. His movements are albeit clumsy, uncertain; betraying his inexperience, but there’s a raw sincerity in his attempt that leaves you charmed. Slowly, he slides down against the sofa, pulling you with him, his body sinks into the cushions until he’s lying down, your body resting atop his.

You want more, more, more . Want to press your tongue to the seam of his lips, part them, taste him properly—you almost do, growing just as eager as he is as you push yourself higher atop him, bracketing his waist with your thighs as you press your lips to his harder. 

Your nose knocks his glasses askew when moving your head, and you feel him tense ever-so underneath you, as if realising it at the same time, and you can sense his confidence wavering.

You pull back just an inch then, he all but groans in protest. His nose bumps against yours, lips parted and eager for more. “Slow down,” You giggle. “M’not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” He mumbles, his voice laced with embarrassment. The warmth from his blush radiates under your palm.

Without missing another beat, you reach up to carefully slide his glasses off his face. Leon blinks up at you. He looks like he’s short-circuited, giving way to a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. 

“There,” you whisper, folding the frames before setting the glasses atop the coffee table. “How’s that?”

You’re cruel, though, don’t give him a moment to gather his thoughts, let alone respond. It’s a bit of cat and mouse to you; tease, tease, tease. Gve in just a little, pull away a little more. 

You’re pressing your lips back to his again before another moment can pass. But Leon doesn’t protest; how could he when you’re so close, your bodies pressed together like this?

Leon’s confidence grows with each swipe of your tongue against his. His hands grow bolder, they move over your shoulder blades, down your spine, pressing against the curve of your back. A soft groan tumbles from your lips, your hips pushing down against his, he lets out a shaky moan in kind.

Cute, cute, cute. You’d drown in the soft sounds that tumble from his lips given the chance.

Your hands begin to wander, trailing down his chest, over his beating heart. You rub circles against his chest, as if to satiate the burning desire that’s stuck between his ribs. 

Your lips, on the other hand, begin their descent.

You start with the corner of his mouth, then you follow the line of his jaw, down the column of his neck, the divot of his throat (that rewards you with a mewl). You decorate his collar in a blossoming painting of delicate bruises, tug down the collar of his shirt enough to reveal as much skin as possible for your lips to work over.

A soft smile curls on your lips even as you kiss him, and you realise with a flicker of amusement that he’s shaking beneath you—It’s an endearing quiver, like a newborn fawn finding its first footing. His hands tighten in the fabric of your shirt, holding on as if trying to anchor himself.

“You okay?” You hum as you pull away, Leon assumes you’re gracing him with a breather before he registers your hands working his shirt up his body. 

It’d be rude to let you do all the work, so he shifts enough to tug it over his own head, discarding it on the floor of your theatre room bathed in blue—the movie long forgotten.

Leon’s large hands settle back against the swell of your hips, his thumb runs over the bone of your hip through the fabric of your shorts. He gives you a gentle nod. “M’alright,” He mumbles, but his voice has grown thick, stuck in the cavern of his throat.

“Do you… want to keep going?” You ask softly, your voice is tentative, as if dipping your toes into the deep end, testing the waters.

His mind screams yes, he settles for a “ Please ,” that comes out shakier than he’d like instead.

Your hands make quick work, moving down to undo the button of his jeans, fumbling clumsily in the wake of your excitement that you try incredibly hard to school. For the most part you do, refusing to cave too fast.

You’re acutely aware this is Leon’s first time—he doesn’t have to tell you, you can tell by his shaky voice, and shaky hands, by the way he looks at you as if you’ve just about hung the stars and the planets. To be fair, he’s always looked at you like that. Something akin to a sweet puppy.

Jesus Christ, you’re losing it.

When you finally pop the button, tug the zipper down achingly slow, Leon mewls, his hand on your hip curling into your flesh bruisingly. Fuck.

Your gaze meets his once again. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna go slow, okay? You’ve gotta tell me to stop if you don’t like anything, alright?” As desperate as you are to get your hands on him, you’d never forgive yourself if you ruined his first time.

Leon nods like he’s on autopilot, dutifully, as if the idea of you ruining anything for him is a stupid one. “Yeah, I will– Just, please, ” His voice grows impossibly quiet, “Don’t think I can wait–”

God. You go a little lightheaded.

Your hands make quick work of his jeans then, pushing them down along with his boxers. You’re blessed with a heavenly sight. His cock, pretty and flushed and all but drooling. It’s nearly erotic, has your head swimming. 

“Jesus, Leon.” You huff, eyes wide as you look back up to meet his gaze.

Leon swallows thickly, throat bobbing as his eyes bore into yours, blown wide, rings of blue barely visible. God what a sight. He doesn’t respond, can’t. His throat is thick with something he cannot place. You’re a vision to him like this—hair spilling over your shoulders, framing your head like a halo, thick eyelashes that flutter sweetly down at him. His cheeks heat, neck growing impossibly hot. 

Your hands dance over his stomach, his abdomen, tracing the contours of his skin as you watch his face to gauge each reaction, each shiver, every tremble of his lips.

You’re cruel, you’re so impossibly cruel and, oh— Nevermind. You’re an angel.

You giggle at his blissed out expression as your hand curls around the base of his dick. “That what you needed?” 

Leon’s eyes flutter shut, head tips back as your hand inches up. He resists the urge to buck right into the tunnel of your palm. “Mmhmm…”

“Can’t speak now either?” You coo sweetly.

Something soft bubbles up past his throat, a mewl, a whine, you don’t know what to call it, but God does it make your cunt flutter in time with your heart. “C’mon, Leon, let me hear you.”

And God does he.

You pull whimper after whimper from his pretty lips, tumbling out like prayer each time. You are the chappel he worships at, the altar where he falls to his feet. He thinks if he died like this he could be happy, would go willingly, accept his fate—

“D’you want… more?” The words echo around in his skull.

He couldn’t have nodded faster. 

You’re both giddy and giggling as you pull away, his hands eager as they pull your shorts and underwear off at once. If you could memorise the way he looked at you right now, you would. Leon’s eyes rove over your thighs, the space between them that glistens, in a way that makes you shy despite the hesitance in his own. 

“You’re pretty,” He says thickly, and there’s not a tease behind his words, not a jest. He says them with such sincerity you stutter to a halt. 

You blink, caught in his gaze. Leon watches you carefully, his own eyes wide, as if he’s not sure whether he’s overstepped some invisible boundary. The heat in your cheeks burns a little brighter, and you find yourself instinctively breaking eye contact, glancing away to gather yourself.

His words feel as if they’ve lodged themself in between the left and right ventricles of your heart. Suddenly, you feel the need to close the distance again, your hand slipping to cup his face, brushing a thumb over the flush of his cheek. 

He hums against your lips, hands climbing up your back, under your shirt, slipping under the strap of your bra. 

Your hips are gentle, moving over his instinctively, like something written into your DNA. The subtle brush over the underside of his length has him gasping—you preen internally at the reaction.

But you’re impatient, as impatient as he is, eager for more, eager to take, eager to please. You sink down over him slowly, revel in the silky stretch you’re graced with, moaning around his tongue as your heart feels like it’ll burst out of your chest.

The feeling is near incandescent to Leon, his mind already too far gone. 

“Eyes open, baby,” Your voice comes, shattering the haze of his mind. 

Baby, baby, baby.

He’s hardwired to comply.

You’re something holy above him, head crested by the glow of the moon spilling through the windows, wings of starlight, angel-song falling from your lips as your hips move over his. He wants to swallow each sound. You have the grace to let him.

Your body presses to his as you lean down, chasing his lips in a kiss that surely rewires his brain chemistry. Each moan you let out is like honey in his mouth, sweet and addicting, his tongue pushes past your lips, seeking out as much as you’ll give him.

You’re ecstasy. Entirely too addicting; Leon can’t get enough. Each time you sink down on him again, he’s sure it steals more breath from his lungs. And with earth-shattering realisation, he knows he’s not going to last. “M’close.”

He’s puppy-dog cute like this, pout on his lips, a cinch between his eyebrows that you smooth with your thumb. “I can tell.”

His hand moves to where yours are on his chest, taking one in his own, intertwining your fingers. It’s so fucking over for you. 

“I can’t—” His hips buck up into yours, but his movements are reserved, you clock his desperation to hold out immediately.

“God, Leon, please do. I want you to.”

It doesn’t take much longer than that. He comes within three, four, five ruts of your hips against his, a warning on his lips before you pull off him and his release coats the muscles of his abdomen. You’re left aching, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind, not when you have him underneath you like this.

“Shit, God,” He groans. “That was… fast.”

You sense the apology on his tongue and shake your head before he can get there.

“No, don’t. It was… it was good.”

Leon can’t believe his ears. It was good? He did good?

“Yeah?” You hear the anticipation in his voice, higher at the end, a question.

Smiling, you nod. “Uhuh. Plus, we can… Work on it.”

The implication of doing this again sometime is enough to have him mirroring your smile. 

But soon summer’s over and college is starting. You decide to take a year off, figure yourself out. 

But Leon’s always had big dreams. Before you know it he’s packed his life into boxes, ready to move across the country to California. You can’t lie to yourself forever, pretend that what you feel for him is superficial, that you won’t miss him with a longing that will linger for months.

Your heart aches the night before he leaves. His head on your stomach, looking up at you with those puppy dog sweet eyes, half lidded and hair mused from where you’d grabbed and tugged while he’d lapped at your sweet cunt all night.

“I’m gonna miss you,” The words slip out softly, surprising even yourself. Lately, you’ve found vulnerability escaping you more often around him. A tenderness you’re learning to grow used to again.

Leon’s gaze lifts to yours, sweet baby blues that you try to memorise even in the low light of your bedroom. “I’ll visit.”

“I know.”

There’s a sickening silence that follows. You ache to tell him everything, pour your heart out for him to pick up, but you don’t.

Leon promises to call you as soon as he gets to his new dorm, and he does. For the first few months, everything goes smoothly. You and Leon fall back into that regular routine—you call him every now and then, he updates you on his day, you tell him about yours. But as fate has it, the chasm between the two of you begins to split once more, you feel him drift away, caught up in his flashy new life. 

Turns out distance does make the heart grow fonder.

There are things Leon doesn’t tell you either. Like how he’s been binge-watching those awful horror movies you always mention nowadays (you’ve developed a weird fondness for the gore). Or that he’s started tutoring again. Or that he wishes you were here. God, he really wants to tell you that last one.

He thinks of you all the time, even when he probably shouldn’t—between classes, during his morning coffee before the 8 a.m. lab, while driving from his part-time job to campus. He thinks of you in the inbetweens, when his mind seems to wander. The thoughts come unbidden, when there’s a million other things he should have at the forefront of his mind, you’re there.

And then there’s the way he pictures you every time.

Leon’s not exactly proud of the number of hook-ups he’s had since college. One party turned into two, then three, then four. Simple drinking games blurred into long nights with countless girls underneath him who he now doesn't even remember the faces of.

Convinced if he shut his eyes, if he really focused, he could imagine it was you whimpering under him instead, your hands on his body, your lips melding around his name oh so perfectly.

It was never the same though. Never would be.

None of these girls sounded like you, none of them fucked like you, none of them felt like you did. Like they were made for him, like he could get lost in their cunts forever. It was pathetic, really, the way he’d so willingly chase that unmatchable high forever. Nothing would compare. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

So by the time semester break rolls around, he’s already packed his bags, and the four hour route from California back to Raccoon City has been set before he’s even finished his finals.

Raccoon hasn’t changed, still the same sleepy city tucked away between twin mountain ranges, the smell of pine heavy in the air. His house is how he left it, so is his neighbourhood. He drives by the familiar faded sign of Emmy’s Diner, the Police Department with its big white hollywood-style letters and rusting iron gates.

He heard that you work at the new video store down the road from his house now. Flashy, neon signs and all. Leon wonders what it’s been like for you, staying behind when he left for college, how the city has cradled you in its unchanged arms. If you’ve missed him like he’s missed you.

He pushes the glass panelled door to the video store open, the store bell tinkling in wake of his arrival. He’s fidgety. Leon hasn’t been fidgety in a very long time. He does not remember the last time he hesitated around a girl. Well, he does, it was you when he was awkward and nineteen, but since then? It has been a long road. Too long.

But then he spots you, and it’s as if the world narrows down to this one moment.

You’re leaning against the counter, eyes downcast, lazily flipping through a magazine. The overhead lights catch the strands of your hair—it’s shorter now. He wonders when you had it cut, why you chose the new style. A part of him aches, realising just how much time has passed, how long a year can be when he’s not in your orbit.

Without thinking, he beelines for the horror section, eyes scanning the rows of movie titles as his fingers brush over each DVD spine. He glances at you out of his periphery, half-watching the way you absentmindedly flip through your magazine.

Come on, come on, come on.

H, I, J, K… 

Bingo.

He slides Kairo across the counter, heart stumbling in his chest. You don’t even glance up as you take it into your hands, half-focused on whatever glossy pages have your interest, but you do smile when you register the title in your hands.

“Good choice,” you hum, your fingers already moving to punch the movie code into the register.

“Yeah? You think so?” His voice is a little rougher than he intended, but he presses on, tries to act casual as he leans up against the counter. In honesty, he feels like a dork. “Most people I know say it’s not all that great…”

Your fingers freeze over the buttons. That voice, those words. Your eyes shoot up to meet his. 

“Leon?”

“Hey.” He smiles, catching the way your expression shifts, disbelief melting into something warmer. “What’s wrong? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You laugh suddenly, that bright, familiar sound, filling the empty space between you. For a moment the months apart don’t seem so long. “God, you did not just quote Scream at me.”

Leon’s dusty blonde hair falls into his eyes as he drops his head to hide his grin. “Yeah that was… Not my best.”

Shaking your head, you slide the DVD back across the counter, still smiling beautifully at him.  “You didn’t tell me you were going to be back in town!” You sound breathless as the words escape you.

“Just for the semester break,” He says, his voice steady but soft. “Figured I’d come back before you forgot what I look like.”

You blink. Something in his expression must’ve given him away, because then you smile—small, almost shy. “I missed you too,” you hum, and the words hang in the air like they’ve been waiting to be said.

But just like that you bounce back, as if the vulnerability in your tone was never even there at all, drumming your fingers across the countertop. “You shoulda told me, we could’ve planned something nice.”

“Oh, like a date?”

You blush. Blush. Fuck. You don’t remember him being this forward.

“Are you suggesting something, Kennedy?” You tilt your head, honeyed gaze and all.

Damn you and those fucking eyes, he thinks.

“Well, I was thinking… maybe we could go to Emmy’s after your shift? You know, catch up, and I can tell you all the terrible jokes I’ve collected since I’ve been away.”

Your smile widens, and there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel like he might’ve just found his way back home. “I’d like that, Leon. A lot.”

Emmy’s diner hums with a life that he’s missed. The sound of casual conversation, plates clattering, the soft croon of Bob Dylan from the old jukebox. It’s how he left it. Same peeling leather booths, linoleum tables, vinyl floorings, bottomless pots of coffee and the smell of sizzling burgers over the griddle in the back. 

You share a booth at the back, your boots propped up on the round metal base of the table while you watch Leon with a small pout as he stands by the counter, waiting for a takeout box. The old fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting the little changes—slightly broader shoulders, a more defined jawline, longer hair, no glasses. But he’s still your Leon.

When he turns back, takeaway box in hand, he catches you in the act—a fry pinched between your fingers, dragging it through his ketchup in lazy swirls. You beam up at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and Leon feels his chest do a violent lurch, feels his heart rattle in the cage of his ribs, clawing to jump out and into your waiting hands.

It’s the kind of smile that would have driven him crazy when he was younger—when he was all nerves and stuttered words around you. And God, if it doesn’t still have the same effect.

“You know,” Leon starts as he settles into his seat, “there’s a fine line between sharing and stealing. You’re definitely crossing it.”

You roll your eyes, pushing the fry basket back towards him in a silent peace offering. “You weren’t going to finish them anyway.”

Leon chuckles softly, he doesn’t know what to say then, no witty quip on his tongue or eager reply.  “It's about the principle," His voice finally comes, something soft. "But I guess I’ll let it slide this once." 

You laugh, and the sound is like a balm, soothing the ache in his chest. “How generous of you,” you reply, playing footsies with him under the table. It’s in this moment Leon realises, everything he’s ever wanted is right in front of him. He’s spent so much of his life chasing. Chasing, chasing, chasing, he’s always been chasing. 

Now he thinks he’d like to slow down.

And that’s what he does, when he takes you home that night, you twirl through the door of his old home, giddy as you track the familiar path to his bedroom. It’s how you remember it, same posters on the wall, same black Paul Reed Smith tucked into the corner.

Leon, however, is so much gentler than you remember him being, careful hands sliding up your waist as he walks you back towards his bed. Your calves hit the edge, breath caught in your throat as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His lips find yours, slot perfectly, he groans against your lips and you melt into his embrace.

Leon’s palm slides down to the underside of your thigh, lifts it up enough to help you back onto the bed. 

Your words get caught in your throat, but they’re not needed—not now, not with Leon. He’s always known you like the back of his hand. His lips move over your face, your cheek, your jaw. Your arms settle around his neck.

It’s like muscle memory to Leon now, the way he slots his knee between your thighs, how his hands move over your torso, up your body.

Your mind wanders—a dangerous thing in times like these—and you find yourself growing a little jealous. You're not dense; you know he’s probably had other girls in his bed between his time away in California. You wonder if they were any good. 

Leon doesn’t let you dwell on those thoughts, has your voice catching in your throat as his fingers tease the underside of your breasts. He looks up at you, those same deep blue eyes studying you, yet unreadable all the same. Your skin burns beneath his gentle touch. Hot, hot, hot everywhere he touches.

One of his hands come up to cup the same cheek he had kissed earlier, his touch featherlight. He looks at you—part adoring, part like he’s planning your ruination.

“Leon… Please. ” You beg desperately then, and in response he groans. As if he’s waited too long to hear you say his name like that again, all needy and breathless.

“Makes me wanna wreck you,” He murmurs against your mouth, his breath hot and heady, “when you talk like that. So fuckin’ sweet.”

And God if that doesn’t do it for you. A whine falls past your lips, eager, tender, desperate, and Leon’s sure he’s never heard anything as beautiful in his life.

Your skirt is off in a flash, so is his shirt, then yours, then his jeans, so on and so forth until your bare cunt is pressing against his thigh he’s conveniently slotted back between the apex of your legs. He presses his knee up against your wet cunt, mutual groans filling his bedroom. All it takes is a tremble of your lips, and Leon’s kissing you twice as hard.

“Tell me what you need,” He’s eager to please.

“You.” You, you, you, always you.

There’s a reverence in your words he cannot shake, a promise laced into the moan that tumbles from your lips. His hands smooth over your abdomen again, spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him in the space between.

“Yeah?” He hums, one of his hands runs from the corner of your jaw to your chin, the other gives a purposeful squeeze to your waist. “I need you too. Want you.”

The sincerity in his voice floors you, hits you harder than any kiss, any touch. This isn’t just lust, this is Leon, raw and open, offering you something more than you’d expected. Something you’ve always wanted but were too scared to admit. You feel the sudden sting of tears kiss the corners of your eyes, startling yourself. 

“Leon…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. He cuts you off with a gentle kiss, one that’s soft and sweet, filled with a promise that leaves you breathless.

"You’re it for me. I’m yours," he whispers into your mouth. "If you’ll have me."

Your heart stumbles over itself, caught somewhere between disbelief and a feeling you’re not sure how to put into words. “I’ve always had you.”

He laughs softly then, “Yeah. Guess you have, huh?”

It’s now, he realises, you’d never left his orbit in the first place. You’d always been there, one way or another, a constant in his life he’d never be able to shake despite how hard he’d try. You really are it for him.

“I want you too,” You blurt, the words tumbling out too fast. “I want this, want you. I always have.”

The rest is unsaid. He kisses you again with a smile, your hands drift over his back, trace the contours of every plane of muscle, press against the space between his shoulders. His hands run over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waists, caress the skin of your thighs and leave gooseflesh in their wake. You can’t stand it—how utterly gentle he is. It makes you want to cry.

You take Leon’s hand, leading it down to where you need him most. With precision you drag his fingers up through your folds, tantalisingly slow before pressing the pad of his index to your clit. You let out the softest of whimpers at the sight, his hand on your cunt. Fuck. You don’t take your eyes off the sight before you, even as you push his fingers back down, until you slip just the tip of his finger past your walls.

Your gaze flicks up to gauge his reaction, and you're more than pleased at the sight before you. Leon Kennedy, his eyes wide, mouth hung open in a small ‘o’, like he’s never seen pussy before.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You hum, amusement dripping from your lips—but your voice comes out in between panted breathes, unable to still your thump, thump, thumping heart.

He looks back up to meet your gaze, shaking his head as a grin stretches across his lips. “No, sweetheart, don’t play your games with me.” He huffs, withdrawing his hand, leaving you whining, before he pushes your thigh up to your chest.

You’re disappointed by just how fast he manages to school himself, no longer desperate for more, now invested in the waiting game.

“You want it that bad?” He croons, voice a teasing lilt against the shell of your ear, kissing the skin behind it as his body comes back down over yours. Your leg hooks around his back, hands on his shoulders, in his hair. 

“Are you gonna make me beg?” Your laugh is soft, breathlessly incredulous.

He grins against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

His lips trail a path from neck to collar, tender kisses that intensify into bruising hickeys so fast your head swims. He litters your chest in lovebites, his hand moving on its own accord as he presses two fingers against your sopping cunt. He teases you, drawing circles around your entrance, grinning against the valley of your breast as he kisses down your sternum when your cunt flutters against his hand.

He drags his fingers up, up, up, presses them to the bead of your clit in a way that makes you squirm, another round of featherlight circles that makes you keen.

“Leon, holy shit—” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, watching as he sinks his fingers into your cunt, right down to the knuckle.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the shit eating grin in his words.

The pads of his fingers press against ribbed flesh, scissoring you open. When he pulls them back out, palm against your clit, a moan bubbles up past your lips. He shushes you, sweet nothings whispered against the cavern of your throat. 

His hand, glimmering with your arousal, finds its way to your lips. “Open,” He murmurs, and so you do, lips parted for his fingers to press curiously against your tongue. Your heart hammers in your chest, thighs pressing into his sides as you blink up at him. You’re beautiful like this, a picture of pleasure that he wants to sear into his mind, brand across his heart so he won’t forget. 

You moan around his fingers and his heart stutters pitifully in his chest, he needs to hear you like that again. “Want more, sweetheart?” His voice is rough as he pushes his hips against yours teasingly, has your eyes fluttering shut and rolling back. “Need words, baby.”

Leon chuckles as you struggle to speak around his fingers pressing to your tongue, a muffled yeah caught in your throat. He placates your whine that follows with a kiss to the underside of your jaw, lining his hips up with yours as he goes.

He sinks in as deep as he can get, searing hot, like he’s desperate to melt through, skin to skin, atom to atom. You push back, chasing that same euphoric feeling, a groan falling from your lips as you choke around his thick fingers in your mouth. You twist your neck, your nose pushing into his cheek as you seek his warmth.

“Got you,” He mumbles into your skin, voice ragged. A forearm is braced by your head before he pulls his hand from your mouth, moving to hold your body. His hand presses into the gentle curve of your waist like it was made for the palm of his hands. Smearing your spit across your skin as he goes.

When Leon’s with you like this, your body beneath his, he’s so sure this is how it’s meant to be. God, you’re perfect in every sense of the word—surely this is fate’s crashing course, isn’t it? Driven together by some higher power, an invisible thread of gold looped around both your fingers.

Has to be, surely. Feels too good when his hips push into yours, shared moans tumbling from both your lips, when his lips find yours once more and he’s swallowing each one like a man starved. You’ve missed the way he feels, how he stretches you out so deliciously, fills you up and seats deep inside you like he’s made for it. 

Your hands on his shoulders blades dig burning half-moon crests into his skin, dragging your nails down his back, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest.

“Shit, pussy’s fuckin’ made for me,” He all but groans into your ear, dick pushing in at a steady pace, sickeningly slow in a way that makes you ache.

Please, please, please, your mind screams, begging for him to hurry up, give you more. You’ve waited so long to have him like this again, why should you wait any longer?

Leon’s laugh vibrates against the shell of your ear, “Beggin’ already, sweetheart?”

Oh. You’ve said it out loud.

“Don’t tease,” You plead with him.

“Tease? No m’not teasing, that’d be cruel,” He croons, “M’just taking my time with my baby.”

You want to sob. God, he is cruel. You think this must be karma for all those times you’d teased him when you were younger, worked him so close to the edge then pulled him away—

But then his hips slam against yours and a sob lurches from your throat. “Leon!” You cry, nails digging deeper into his back you worry you might draw blood.

“God, just look at you, sweetheart,” He pulls back enough to meet your gaze, hand on your hip moving to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “Crying on my dick. Fuck. ”

His hips are bruising, not an ounce of mercy in the way he ruts into your cunt.

“Can’t,” You whine, tears in your eyes.

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face, obstructing your pretty view, as his hand cups your jaw. “Yeah you can, baby.”

“No, it’s– too much—” You try to get him to understand, you won’t last like this.

He knows before the words even leave your lips. “Aw, pretty baby, gonna come f’me already?” 

More tears spill from your eyes, he kisses them away with gentle lips, almost humorously different from the pace of his hips. “That’s okay,” He decides, “You wanna come now, that’s fine. Jus’ means you gotta keep taking it till I'm done.”

You’re so fucked.

“Can you do that, sweetheart?”

In the haze of your mind you comply.

“Good girl,” You arch your back at the praise, he slips in deeper if that’s even possible. “Good girl, come for me. Let me see you.”

Who are you to deny him?

You come with a soft cry of his name, words sticky with the tightness of your throat, a babbling mess underneath him as he works you through it. He’s not a complete dickhead though, he slows down to accommodate the ache between your legs, gives you a moment to collect yourself as his hand moves to interlock with yours, holding it by your head.

“How was that?” He asks you on the comedown. 

You’re burning bright, you feel like the sun, your heart ablaze in your chest. Your mind is left in a haze, and when it ebbs away, it’s as though sunspots linger in your vision. You look at him, really look at him now, rings of blue in his blown out eyes, hair tousled, lips red and raw. 

You kiss him in lieu of a proper response, tongue and teeth, messy and desperate as your hands hold his face. He groans against your mouth, you feel his dick pulse between your tight walls and you preen internally. Even after all this time you still have him wrapped around your finger.

You giggle at the thought, drowning in the gilding golden haze of the pleasure he’s given you.

“What’s so funny?” He hums, smile sweet on his lips. 

“Nothin’,” You hum, eyes half-lidded.

He grins a little wider, something cunning. “Come again, sweetheart, didn’t quite catch that.” His hips roll into yours, a moan falls past your lips.

“I said– Oh. ” Nevermind.

Another roll of his hips.

“Speak up, baby,” Another, another, another.

You give up trying to get any words out, fruitless attempts reduced to whimpers as you melt into the mattress below him. Your hands wander back over his back, shoulder blades and muscles shifting under your palms as you sooth the ridges that have emerged from where you’d left your stinging mark.

You're tight as sin, sucking him back in salaciously. Leon’s not going to last much longer at all. 

He makes as much known. He whines and you swallow each sound like it’s a sweet prize. His hips snap into yours at a brutal pace, whimpers falling from your lips at each time he drives it home. He has half the mind to pull out, but then your legs are wrapping around his waist, trapping him, keeping him firm in place.

“Sweetheart– fuck , baby–” His words carry the weight of protest but you’re stubborn, always have been.

“ Please Leon?” You’re so sweet, aren’t you? “Want it inside, want you to come in me pretty please–?”

He couldn’t say no to you if he tried. “Shit, that’s what you want, baby? Huh? Need me to fill you up real good?” His voice is low in your ear, a bark that matches his bite.

“ Yes. ”

“Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, I’ll give you what you need, alright?” He placates, and you’re sweet as you mewl in response. “Yeah, anything you want.”

“M’so close,” He’s brought you to tears again, and this time he lets himself relish in the sight of them dribbling down your cheeks. “So close–”

Leon’s thrusts grow shallow with time, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy once more. “Let me feel you, baby,” He mumbles into the skin of your shoulder, his hand gripping yours in a knuckle white grip, the other so tight around your hip it’s sure to leave behind bruises in the morning.

Not a thing you’re saying is comprehensible anymore, slurred words sobbed into the crook of his neck as your cunt does the talking for you. You flutter around his aching length, clamping down around him as the pressure building at the base of your spine snaps in half, a broken cry of his name tumbling from your lips.

Leon reaches his breaking point in quick pursuit, tumbling over that edge just as you do, fucking his release deeper into your cunt. “So sweet, so sweet, so sweet,” He chants, a babbling mess of emotions as you milk him dry. “So good, s’good, baby, fuck. ”

For a few moments, you are nothing but two bodies, twined together, panting and huffing as you catch your breaths. Leon’s hand, still in yours, squeezes reflexively. His face falls into the crook of your neck as his fingers dig further into the flesh of your waist. You hear his breathing grow ragged, his body trembling above you. You think you hear a whine slip past his lips, only solidified when he pulls back and you catch the glassy look in his eyes. 

“We should do this again sometime.” You grin playfully.

“Jesus, Sweetheart.” Leon shakes his head, wet chuckle caught in his throat. “I plan on doing this a lot more often than sometimes. ”

You hum, your knuckles tracing the curve of his cheek before you sweep his hair out of his eyes. “I’d like that.”

There’s a pause then, words hanging in the air. “But at least let me get it right this time. I’ll take you out to dinner, how’s that?”

“Perfect.”

"I meant it, you know." His voice is quieter now, more vulnerable. "About wanting to get it right." He looks at you like he's seeing everything he's been chasing, right in front of him.

You tilt your head, a soft smile playing at your lips. "I know."

Fate is curious, you think—tugging at the golden threads that make up the spider's web of your universe as she pleases, weaving people together and pulling them apart with equal ease. You realise, as you lie with your head on Leon’s chest later that night, that fate has been kind to you. Leon's strong arm envelops you, grounding you in a way only he ever has. Home is inbetween his arms. You listen to the gentle beat of his heart, steady in his chest, pounding beneath your ear. 

Without much thought, you find yourself holding your breath, syncing the thump of your heart with the beat of his, a satisfied smile curving your lips when your breathing finally falls perfectly in time.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING CONVERSATIONAL !!! CARLOS S. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: just two good friends having deep conversation… or just simply a heated conversation over a call.

💌 re:moony's planner request: "hi, can you write phone sex with carlos sainz?."

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, phone sex, dom!carlos x brat-ish!reader), masturbation (m and f), dirty talking, degrading + dumbification, friends with benefits type beat (with a hint of yearning), squirting, brief mentions of orgasm denial, extremely filthy i did not write this i promise.

note: my demons won today pls be proud of them. enjoy xx (also! please don't hesitate to give me your opinion or talk to me!!!)

ps: i’ve also been spending my time on character ai too much and i just subconsciously thought of being in a poly relationship with fernando and lewis… anyway… enjoy

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

she didn’t know what drove her to call him in the middle of the night. they were nothing but friends, after all. 

friends don’t usually call to check in… let alone to get off as if they hadn’t placed their labels below the expected standard (everyone could have sworn that they were dating; they both laughed at the thought while continuing to (eye) fuck each other.) 

so she had no clue why she was willing to submit to him no matter how far he was. she was willing to listen to every single thing he’d tell her.

did she want the orgasm or the attention? she wasn’t sure— but either of the reasons had something to do with him, and it was becoming worse for her yearning as she cursed beneath her breath. today had been the worst of all days for hers

she huffed quietly and got comfortable under her covers, but her exhaustion left soon enough that she became more frustrated and agitated. her frustration left her with the stupid idea of calling him. 

carlos sainz picked up at the second ring and she could practically hear his smirk through his voice as he greeted her, “shouldn’t it be past your bedtime now, bonita?” 

she rolled her eyes, “shouldn’t it be past yours?” she didn’t even think to say hi to him, instead she snarked back at him with the same amount of playfulness in her tone.

“no,” carlos hummed as he spoke with his usual deep tone, “in the hotel though. we just finished our media day duties.”

“nice,” she muttered, his voice sending signals straight to her brain as her legs involuntarily closed.

it was as if he knew what she wanted at this moment as carlos chuckled quietly, “i could get into details about what i’ve done today, but i don’t think you’re that interested in listening.”

she snapped out of her thoughts as she replied monotonously, “i’m a good listener. good friends come with good listening ears.” even carlos knew that she was lying. 

“uh huh,” carlos said as he held his phone closer. “and this good friend knows a lot about you.” 

“that right?” she taunted, feeling the tension between them rising no matter how far apart they were from each other. “what do you know then, good friend?” 

carlos scoffed, his domineering attitude getting the best of him as he smirked, “you’re getting too mouthy, princesa.” 

he nearly laughed at the sound of fabrics rustling from her side of the call, knowing that she was squirming in anticipation already. he could imagine her heart beating fast, waiting for him to make the next move as her face feigned innocence.

carlos always had the upper hand and they both knew that. they both knew who was in control and she was in no place to oppose. 

“you’re acting like this because you are so frustrated,” carlos deduced with a tut, “you’re talking back like you’d be able to handle the consequences of your attitude.”

her free hand had snaked down her nightdress as she felt her bare mound becoming more damp as she proceeded to push his buttons. she replied back, “maybe i’m just projecting my frustration onto you, carlos.”

“by acting like a brat?” carlos’ voice became more stern as he spoke lowly, “you know that begging is the best way to do that, bonita. if you wanted to release it, you should’ve asked nicer— you shouldn’t be touching yourself without permission like a fucking brat. take that pathetic hand off your pussy, princesa, i’m warning you now.” 

like an instinct, she immediately pulled her hand away from her wet cunt. she didn’t even realize that he picked up on it until she found herself writhing while she subconsciously toyed with her clit at the sound of him. 

carlos chuckled with a demeaning and teasing tone, “see? you do listen then. and i thought i’d have to deny you orgasms when i get back.” 

“carlos,” she whimpered, rubbing her thighs for friction as she listened to him laugh aloud. 

“oh, no no, bonita, you don’t get to ‘carlos’ me,” he replied with a mocking tone. “you don’t get to see me right now, bebe.”

“but i want to see you,” her lips trembled, her mind shifting away from reality to her submissive state. she continued, “i wanna see you touch yourself and your cock.”

“how badly?” he murmured sweetly. 

“so bad,” she mumbled through her phone, her pleading tone making carlos’ cock twitch as he continued to stroke himself slowly. 

carlos knew that he was torturing himself with the teasing, but he couldn’t find himself to stop as his sweet tone turned to a mocking one as he replied, “too bad.” 

he settled himself on his hotel bed as he spat on his palm and stroked his cock. he then instructed her, “go on then.” 

she seemed so lost as she asked, “what?”

carlos laughed haughtily, “don’t tell me you’re already dumb just thinking about getting your pussy fucked with my cock, princesa?” he then clicked his tongue, “touch yourself. i wanna hear you cum.” 

she wasn’t even sure anymore. she was just eager to please him and herself, her fingers gathering the wetness that oozed out of her cunt before she pressed down on her clit and moved them in circular motions. 

she bit her lip as she sighed, making carlos demand, “i wanna fucking hear you.” 

she elicited a whiny sigh as she continued to torture herself slowly. she told him, “i’m so wet.” 

“i can hear, baby,” carlos crooned, his own hand moving up and down his length before his thumb rubbed his thick tip. “i can hear your pretty pussy perfectly well.” 

“those noises that you make are making my cock throb really hard, bebe,” he muttered, earning a whimper of ‘fuck’ from the other side of the call as carlos continued, “they make me want to fly back and fuck you until you’re shaking and sore.” 

“mmm…” she cried out, feeling her hips rising to meet her rubbing fingers halfway through. “…fuck!” 

“your pussy— fuck, princesa,” carlos cursed, “it makes me want to see how fucking wet you will be the next time i fuck you everywhere in your place.”

carlos’ hand increased its pace as her breathing became rapid. carlos growled, “i want to hear you in person- i want to hear you screaming for my name because you’re a pathetic slut who’s desperate to cum all over my cock.” 

“o- oh, fuck,” she sobbed, “can i please fuck myself with my fingers? please, carlos?” she knew that she couldn’t risk not asking him to cum all over her own fingers. she was so lost that she needed his guide. 

carlos permitted her, “go on. put those two fingers inside of you, bonita. i want you to fuck yourself fast.” 

she immediately obliged, her middle and ring fingers scissoring inside her cunt as she wailed in pleasure. her fingers curled up against the sensitive spot inside of her as she uttered, “ah~ fuck~!” 

“it feels good, bonita?” carlos asked huskily as his breathing rapidly increased, stroking himself at the sounds that her squelching cunt made as she fucked herself at a pace that he wanted her to be. 

“mhm,” she nodded, not even realizing that he wasn’t there. “so good, ‘los. fuck.” 

“it’s not as good as mine, bebe,” he growled lowly, “when i get back i’m gonna be fucking that pussy of yours with something more bigger. gonna make sure you cum all over my mouth, my fingers and my cock— gonna make sure your bed’s all filthy from the mess that i’ll make of you.”

“car— los! fuck, i’m cumming,” she babbled as she pleaded, “can i please cum, carlos? please?”

“fuck, i’m cumming too, bonita,” he let out a deep groan as he demanded firmly, “cum all over your fingers, princesa. fucking cum.” 

she let out a high pitched whine, fucking herself through her orgasm as liquid trickled out of her pussy. her sheets were covered with her cum as her body shook before easing off. 

carlos came all over his stomach, groaning aloud as cum shot out of his cock.

both of them breathed heavily and rapidly, falling into silence as they gathered their thoughts and breathing. 

carlos then reached for his phone and asked, “you still there?”

“yuh huh,” she mumbled, laughing to herself before she said, “never came this much over the phone before. watching porn never worked this much either.” 

carlos chuckled, cleaning himself up as he spoke, “what can i say? i’m a miracle worker.” 

she scoffed playfully, “yeah right. okay.” 

perhaps there was a real reason why she called him in the first place. she just needed to see it for herself before realizing it. 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129

[milaeth]

୨୧┊ 𝐈𝐈. 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. ( charles leclerc )

ꖛ ─ you’re reading part two ∿ part one ∿ part three

✧.* pairings ─ charles leclerc x fem! singer! reader

✧.* genre ─ social media au ⨾ fluff & chaotic

✧.* summary ─ in which your best friend George gets fed up with watching you and Charles secretly yearn for each other while claiming to be just friends. so, when you lose a bet to George, he takes control of your social media accounts for 24 hours, using the opportunity to help you make a move on your crush.

✧.* face claim ─ suki waterhouse

✧.* warnings ─ some suggestive jokes, other than that this is just as chaotic as the first part

✧.* mily’s thoughts ─ part three is coming soon! hope you enjoy mwah <3

˗ˏ ➶ IMESSAGE ➜ w/ charles <3 . ✧ ˚

y/n: hey charles i really don’t want to be a bother but i quickly wanted to apologize for the insta post that was made about us a few hours ago!

charles <3: Hey, don’t worry, you’re not a bother! :) And I don’t really care about the post.

y/n: wait

y/n: you don’t care?

charles <3: Nope, I thought the whole flirting thing (the comments etc) was just a joke between friends, yk. At first I was a little confused, to be honest, since we don't usually joke like that, but I figured it was just the way you interact with people you feel more comfortable with!

[ seen 1:29pm ]

˗ˏ ➶ IMESSAGE ➜ w/ princess george . ✧ ˚

y/n: i’m so scared

princess george: WHAT DID HE SAY

y/n: he thinks it was a flirty joke between friends

princess george: HUH? So I did all that painfully obvious flirting for nothing💀

y/n: AHA

y/n: SO YOU DID DO ALL THESE THINGS TO GET ME TO CONFESS TO CHARLES.

princess george: Someone had to do it! I'm sick of watching you guys literally be in love with the other and still claim to be "just friends" 🤓

y/n:🧍‍♀️

y/n: that isn’t the point now

y/n: the point is WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY

princess george: YOU HAVENT REPLY YET??

y/n: NO I LEFT HIM ON READ BC I PANICKED IDK

princess george: i'm going to have to call carmen to give you some girly advice if you don't start getting bold💀

y/n: OKAYOKAY BUT WHAT SHOULD I SAY

y/n: HURRY UP HES BEEN ON SEEN FOR FIVE MINUTES NOW

princess george: IDK ASK GOOGLE

y/n: GEORGE WTF

princess george: DONT ‘GEORGE WTF’ ME! YOU KNOW I DONT WORK WELL UNDER PEER PRESSURE

y/n: you’re a racing driver💀

princess george: your point?

[ seen 1:37pm ]

princess george: hello???

[ seen 1:38pm ]

y/n: I ASKED GOOGLE LIKE YOU TOLD ME TO AND THEY DIDNT DO SHIT

y/n: they had the audacity to correct me too

princess george: 💀💀

[ seen 1:40pm ]

˗ˏ ➶ IMESSAGE ➜ w/ charles <3 . ✧ ˚

y/n: you think it was a joke?

charles <3: Well yeah

charles <3 I mean

charles <3: It couldn’t have been anything more

y/n: what if it was tho?

y/n: hypothetical ofc!!!!

charles <3: Well I honestly don’t know

charles <3: If we are speaking hypothetically, I think I would be flattered.

y/n: and if we aren’t speaking hypothetically?

charles <3: Then I would probably still feel flattered.

charles <3: Y/n? Hello?

y/n: SORRY MY PHONE FELL DOWN

charles <3: LMAO

charles <3: Does that mean those flirty jokes weren’t just jokes?

y/n: well.. to me, they’re not jokes, but i’m not the one who made them. i wasn’t supposed to tell you yet but i’m getting sick of george so idc

y/n: i lost a bet to him and had to hand over my main social media accounts for 24 hours, meaning all the comments/posts you saw from my main accounts were made by george😭

charles <3: That explains why I saw your private accounts constantly fight with your main accounts in random comment sections💀

y/n: yeah he was really messing with me

y/n: i’ve gotten lots of angry mails from my pr team

charles <3: I can imagine😭 It's only fair that you get back at him.

y/n: oh absolutely.

charles <3: Can I ask a question though?

y/n: sure!

charles <3: Is your newest single actually about me?

y/n: yes it is. i’m sorry you have to find out like this but i really like you, like a lot. i’ve liked you for a while now but i was too scared to talk to you about it because i thought you don’t feel the same.

charles <3: That’s not true

charles <3: I actually do feel the same, and I literally had the same dilemma!

y/n: WHAT

y/n: YOU ALSO LIKE ME??

charles <3: YES!! I really like you :)

y/n: SINCE WHEN

charles <3: Probably since the day I first met you

y/n: no way i thought you hated me back then💀

charles <3: No don’t worry I didn’t😭 My brother Arthur said I always have this certain look to myself when I meet new people. He said I tend to look a little “off” when I’m overwhelmed, so that was probably it lol

y/n: oh yeah, george said the same about you

charles <3: Aha very nice of him💀

charles <3: Btw I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking this, but what are we now? I’m just a little confused

y/n: how about we take it slow and start going on little dates? like trying this whole thing out and seeing if we can actually be more than friends.

charles <3: I had the same in mind :)

charles <3: And George still has control over your main accounts?

y/n: yep for the next 2-3 hours :’)

charles <3: alright, ready to get back at him?

y/n: ABSOLUTELY

[ seen 1:59pm ]

˗ˏ ➶ IMESSAGE ➜ w/ princess george . ✧ ˚

princess george: Y/N DID HE REPLY YET?

[ sent 1:43pm ]

princess george: Y/N?

princess charles: HELLOOOO

[ sent 1:44pm ]

princess george: CMON I CAN SEE YOURE ONLINE

[ sent 1:46pm ]

princess george: DONT BE SO CRUEL

princess george: PLEASEEE

princess george: I WANNA KNOW WHAT HE SAID

[ sent 1:50pm ]

princess george: UGH fine

princess george: Guess my finger slipped again🙄🙄🙄

[ sent 1:55pm ]

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, georgerussell63 and 8,379,158 others

yourusername save a horse, ride a char- COWBOY

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 268,368 comments…

user375 HELP ME WHAT

user121 girl you gotta stop being horny on the internet😭

georgerussell63 Oh. My. God.😲😲 Y/n this isn’t your private account

user54 you’re acting very sus there mate

user488 well someone needs to get laid💀

user224 simp of the day🫵

pierregasly i can’t watch this

yourusername then look away🤷‍♀️😂

user865 you’re so relatable

user308 cowboy charles😍😍

urusername_alt🔒 YOU DID NOT

yourusername I did xx

urusername_alt🔒 DELETE THIS RN

yourusername Nopee

carlos55sainz I’m so confused

charles_leclerc my lap is free🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️

yourusername WHAT

urusername_alt🔒 wait- fr?🤭🤭

landonorris pause. stop right there.

yourusername | 📍 paris, france

liked by senelagomez, carlos55sainz and 21,488,321 others

yourusername feels good to finally have this account back

view all 170,325 comments…

zendaya stunning as always✨

liked by yourusername

user965 mother is mothering🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

user233 does a stronger word than mother exist??

user355 @/charlesleclerc you better wife her up before i do

user212 there’s no way they’re actually together, now that she revealed that george was behind all those comments/posts

user593 i was NOT prepared

charles_leclerc come to monaco, we miss you

landonorris who’s we

yourusername @/landonorris stfu you salty bitch, you’re just jealous i didn’t visit you last year💀

charles_leclerc just added to their story !

∿ taglist ─ @81astri @ch3rryknots @cs55version @fdl305 @remuslupinsbtch @kissesandmartinis @teenagedreams-cl @headinthecloudssblog @mrsmaybank13 @glai1023-blog @luvrrish @hevburn @charlespear @bibissparkles @siovhanroy ( my taglist if you want to get tagged in my works )

don’t forget to like, comment & reblog (it’s very much appreciated <3).

© milaeth | 2023

[sempersirens]

iuvenalis

part one of strangers in the night

a joel miller au

main masterlist

author's note: welcome to part one of strangers in the night! this is going to be a six part anthology of joel x reader meeting throughout different lifetimes. expect a lot of angst, pining, and yearning. i'm so excited for each and every era i have planned. they will all be different kind of stories but will pretty much be heartbreaking across the board. thank you for reading and don't forget to follow my updates blog @sempersirenswrites as i don't have a taglist!

warnings etc (spoilers): [historical fantasy au] no outbreak (yet...), ancient rome, reader is a vestal virgin, implied misogyny/sexism/patriarchal society, angst, punishment for sexual transgression is being buried alive (not graphic), historically accurate, no smut, no use of y/n, this has not been beta read pls forgive any errors!

Rome, 216 BCE

The door creaks as it opens. 

You know this dance by now. You should’ve anticipated the wooden shrill beneath your toes alerting the entire household of your deviltry one final time.

The walls hold their breath as you descend to the floor below, the warmth from the hypocaust crawling up your shins.

Yet, all remains still. Not even the feral cats who roam the cobbled streets stir from their slumber. 

Tomorrow they will march you down this road; praetorian guards brushing your bare shoulders with no fear of corruption.

But dawn is yet to break and your palms yet to dampen with fear.

“Iuvenalis?” The muggy air clamps around your throat as you speak for the first time in days.

You know his footsteps as intimately as you know the beat of his chest. Months moving in darkness, knowing one another only under the veil of the night. You’d recognise the weight of his step if you were robbed of each and every sense.

“Mea columba.” 

You shut your eyes as his sweet, misplaced worry fills your ears.

“Iuvenalis.” You breathe his name, surrendering to his hands desperately finding their way from your waist to your cheeks.

“You are too trusting of these streets, mea columba.” My dove. You hadn’t seen him the first time he saw you. It had been the day of your inauguration; he says he mistook your hair for a dove in flight. Wild, white, and too soft for the wind tangled within it.

“These are streets I played in as a girl. They have treated me well.” 

“But, tomorrow-,”

“Tomorrow is a far-off thought, corculum. Be with me as I am now. That is all I ask.”

He nods. You know he disagrees, but tonight he swallows any indication of contention as he silently takes your hand in his and leads you toward the walls of the city.

You can see the Colosseum from here. You always hated the wretched thing. Slaves and beasts banished to Tartarus simply to divert the eyes of Rome far away from treaties signed in the stands.

You hated how as a daughter of Vesta, your presence was expected at each game. As a girl, your father had once caught you squeezing your eyes shut as two lean slaves delivered their final blows to one another's pink flesh.

“You think me naive to have taken up the post, do you not?”

His brows pierce into his forehead as he considers your question.

“I think your family cruel to sentence you to death from girlhood. I think the Gods merciless for requiring such sacrifice.”

"You are brave to speak of the Gods so recklessly." You scoff. Part of you feels guilty; he was devout when he found you. All soldiers must be; how could you believe in nothing as the enemy charges toward you?

It didn't take long for you to become his temple. You replaced his exaltation; the ripples of your thighs his temple; your stifled moans his prayer.

You had corrupted him just as much as he had you.

"Let them hear me. I would sooner accompany you to Elysium than press my head to the altar of these false prophets."

"You don't know what you speak, Iuvenalis."

His grip finds your arm, turning you to feel his breath against your forehead.

"You are dimidium animae meae, there is no punishment I would not endure to remain by your side in this life and the next."

"What a wretched soul you must have for that to be so."

His fingertips find your cheek before you even notice the tears falling.

"We could still flee. I would grow old in the slums of Carthage if it meant I could watch your hair turn grey."

"Traders would recognise a Vestal Virgin as far as Babylonia."

"Then we will go farther."

His beard scratches beneath your palm.

"I will not lament any longer, corculum. Tomorrow, you will walk beside me, and then I beg you turn and do not look back. I can't bear to think of you watching."

For the first time this night, a smile creeps across his cheeks.

"You forget the man with whom you speak. I will be at your side until they drag me from you."

The crowds in the street do not look at you as you walk.

Your mother wails somewhere behind you, but she is blocked by a procession of praetorian guards. She does not weep in sorrow, but in shame that her only daughter approaches the grave unchaste.

He is there, beside you. The guards that encircle you owed their lives to his leadership in a battle on foreign soil.

Your fingertips brush against one another as you walk. You are already ruined, you think, what more could they punish you with?

You think that if not for his presence, you would fall to your knees in the street. You would claw at your skin and the cobbles beneath you, leave scratches in the road and beg to be forgiven.

But he is there, and you will not leave the world as you came into it.

The priest waits at the end of the procession. Iuvenalis' fingers weave between your own, and he squeezes three times as the water is brought forth. Enough to last you a day; their hands are clean if they keep you alive for a little while.

A final prayer is read, and the crowds turn their backs. His hand squeezes tighter; you fear he will not release you.

"No," you mutter, loud enough for only him to hear.

The guards herd you both forth like cattle, the marble descent to your tomb the only viable path for you now.

But he is still here.

Your palms grow damp as the men flock closer.

"No!" You shake your head, searching the faces of the praetorian for an answer.

"It's okay, mea columba. It's going to be okay."

The realisation sinks into your skin like a tick; he never intended for you to enter your grave alone.

The light grows dim as you both are forced into the chamber, and silence rings out above you. Soon, everything goes dark.

You weep and beat into his chest, engulfed almost entirely by darkness. Slim arrows of light beat across his face, and he is here, smiling down at you.

"Why condemn yourself?" You choke between gulps of grief.

"You think I would wait to walk the fields of Elysium by your side? There is nothing for me on this plain of existence without you. Dimidium animae meae. You are half of my soul, I will follow you anywhere. Even into death."

Under the darkness you began, in the darkness, you would end.

[rebelliousneferut]

finding you | lando norris x model!reader

summary; in the midst of social media pressure you find your soul mate

genre; smau, fluff? i'm not really sure

face claim; angelina michelle

note; english is not my first language

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

f1wags

liked by f1gossip, y/nfans, norris.updates and others

f1wags rumors have been circulating since the beginning of this year about formula 1 driver lando norris and model y/n l/n being in a relationship.

there had been some photos of them being together with friends and they were also captured by some paparazzi but neither of them had confirmed these rumors until today.

this is the photo that lando shared through his Instagram stories.

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username oh... this is weird

username how weird?

username do not misunderstand. i love her and i think she is a very good model, but she looks a little... cold? to be with him

username this is how you perceive her on the internet, but you don't know her and you don't know her true personality. so don't assume those things.

username am i the only one thinking that this is like marketing or smt?

y/nxlando i actually think they are a very good couple ❤️

username how the hell you might already have an account dedicated to them

y/nsource as long as my girl is happy i will be happy too

y/nl/nuser

liked by landonorris, f1gossip, y/nsource and others

y/nl/nuser ✨

view comments

f1gossip lando doesn't miss any post of her

username just like all of us

y/nsource you are always so stunning 😍

❤️ liked by the author

y/nsource she liked my comment!!!!!

y/nxlando mommy slayyyy!!!

username i can't imagine lando dating her, he's so outgoing and she looks so cold

username you assume that just because of a photo. you do not know her so leave her alone

username yes but still

landonorris cute

❤️ liked by the author

username cute??? seriously??? there's no way you could have gotten his attention like that.

f1gossip 🤭🤭🤭

f1wags we need you in the paddock!

username i think she and lando are dating for pr, they don't seem in love

username i agree, they are trying to give her a lovely image

username i genuinely think she is too much for him.

username can you fight lando?

the camera flash is my constant companion, a blinding beacon in the manufactured world i inhabit. every smile, every pose, is a carefully constructed facade. i am a mannequin, a living, breathing doll, expected to embody perfection. the weight of this expectation is crushing my spirit.

behind the scenes, the laughter is forced, the conversations shallow. i am a ghost in my own life, a character trapped in a script I didn't write. the world sees me as a flawless goddess, but the truth is a stark contrast. i am lonely, insecure, and desperately yearning for authenticity.

then, there's lando. amidst the chaos of the fashion world, he is a breath of fresh air. a world away from the superficiality, he is grounded, genuine, and possesses an infectious laughter that makes my heart skip a beat. our paths crossed at a normal day, a chance encounter that ignited a spark.

in his company, i feel seen, truly seen. his eyes hold a depth that mirrors my own longing for something real. there is an understanding between us, a silent acknowledgment of the masks we both wear. in his arms, i find a sanctuary, a place where i can be myself without fear of judgment. lando is my escape, my reality check in a world of illusion.

"what are you thinking about?" lando asked, noticing my distant gaze.

i sighed, my phone still clutched in my hand. "people are saying we're incompatible. that i'm only with you for the image." disappointment laced my voice.

he squeezed my hand reassuringly. "don't let the online noise get to you, love. they don't know us. i love you for who you are, even the cold parts."

i couldn't help but chuckle. "i'm not always cold."

"i know," he replied with a tender smile. "and i love you for that too."

we shared a long, comfortable silence, filled with unspoken understanding.

the following weekend, we walked into the miami gp paddock, hand in hand, ready to face the world together.

f1wags

liked by norrislando.fans, y/nsource, username and others

f1wags lando and his girlfriend y/n arriving at the paddock together today. it is their first public appearance as a couple and also the first time y/n attends a race.

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y/nxlando i love them sm

username of course she was going to be there

y/nsource my girl is so beautiful ofc

username he seems tired of being with her 😂

username for god's sake, get a life

f1 and mclaren

liked by y/nl/nuser, username, norrislandofans and others

f1 LANDO NORRIS WINS HIS FIRST GRAND PRIX 🤩

#f1 #formula1 #miamigp

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y/nsource that was y/n's influence

norrislandofans he won his first race with his girlfriend being there for the first time 🥺🥺

y/nxlando she is his lucky charm for sure

lando.fans my boy did it!!!

username our*

landonorris posted a story;

[caption; my lucky charm ❤️]

y/nl/nuser

liked by landonorris, y/nxlando, franciscacgomes and others

y/nl/nuser miami you will always be so special ❤️

view comments

landonorris i love you

❤️ liked by the author

norrislandofans please don't miss you any race 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

y/nxlando what a beauty moment you two shared after the podium

username fr! for everyone that was saying that they weren't in love

y/nsource i love you!!

we emerged from the storm stronger than before, choosing authenticity over the perfect facade. the world saw us as a couple, but we knew we were soulmates.

standing on the balcony of our secluded retreat, hand in hand, we watched the sunrise. the outside world faded into a distant hum. all that mattered was this moment, us, and the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and unwavering support.

it was a world away from the superficial life I once knew. now, i was living my truth, a story written by my heart, not by the demands of the industry. and by my side was lando, the man who showed me the beauty of being real.

together, we were a masterpiece, an unfiltered portrait of love.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

Have some art + fic rn cuz i had this idea plaguing me for a whlie in my first playthrough of the game and i needed to have it realized.

I don't want to edit my writing just yet so i'll do that later, but for now have some mentally unstable Siffrin 👍

I'll come up with a title ltr, prob when i edit this and post to ao3 (so if this gets reblogs just check out the og post for latest ver.)

For now the warnings you should know of are just character death, lots of Siff hating himself, and i think suicide ideation? I wrote this a few hours ago n still don't want to go back just yet but basically its nothing that doesn't already exist in the game

Fic starts under the cut! Roughly 2000 words

(edit: i forgor some colors don't exist/can't be seen 🤡, fixed now!)

Siffrin can’t seem to fall asleep at all anymore. The night right before the loops he can only pretend to get some rest before facing the king. He isn’t quite sure what the reason is. Being stuck in one place for too long? Useless? His urges to reach out for Isa’s touch that keep him awake at night, yearning for connection that is immediately are followed by disgust in himself?  The pure exhaustion at the thought of repeating the next day again? None seem to be the answer. Maybe its a combination.

He only knows that he’s exhausted. Exhausted, yet unable to rest. Even if he were able, would he want to risk what ever dream or nightmare his head might concoct? A blend of memories and deaths to remind him that he can’t escape?

Not being able to sleep makes them worse at the loops too unfortunately. They got along fine for the first few loops after his first sleepless night, though the mistakes ramped up. They cursed their body, cursed themself for being so weak. Simple and stupid mistakes getting them killed via boulder when they forgot and slip of the hand resulting in the weakest of Sadnesses offing him.

Loop of course taunted about his failures, like they always do. He couldn’t fully blame them, knowing deep down he deserved it. There was a pull he sometimes had though, to rest with them, even for just a little bit. He’s hung out with them before, when it gets overwhelming, never for very long. Despite that, to actually sleep with them is a different story. Different vulnerability that, he wasn’t comfortable with. Too weak, he didn’t need another thing for Loop to tease him about. No matter how tempting it would be to sit in the tree and doze off. He wouldn’t doubt that, if he could rest at this point, he would doze off until the next loop.

He can’t have that. He can’t let his family die again.

The next loop began, the stage set, and Siff opened his eye, despite every ache in their body telling them not too. They can’t listen to their body right now though. They need to travel the entire house in the next few loops for anything he might have missed before. One more sweep. 

He carries out his lines, plays the role he’s meant, rehearsing the other actor’s lines in his head before they speak up. Familiar steps, expressions, directions. When they get to Isabeau, they slip up again, Isa’s concern blooms. But they’ve seen this before. It’ll be fine. Their gut twists at forcing Isa to be concerned, but theres a warmth in it too. That Isa cares. Cares about them. It’s strange, when Odile gets close to the truth, stars when she FINDS OUT the truth, there isn’t any warmth. Just, fear. But knowing Isa won’t find out, just cares and makes them promise to talk about it at a time they know won’t come, it’s a guilty pleasure. At least, for now. Before it becomes meshed with all the other lines Siffrin has come to expect from The Fighter.

While navigation the House like normal, they slip up occasionally, interacting with objects that spark Odile’s concern. They don’t bother reversing the mistakes, he hasn’t slipped up that much. There’s no way she could know. Siff crumbled on the first floor at the counter they jabbed themself into again. Unable to see it and always stupidly forgetting to be cautious there. Stupid. 

And they kept making mistakes. Their exhaustion pulling at their body, their nerves eating them alive. There’s no warmth with new lines of concern from their actors. Just spikes of panic followed by their attempts to reassure them. To continue on.

By the final snack stop before the King, their actor’s change the script again. Siffrin tensed, their hand tracing the handle of their dagger in case of emergency. Odile… odile doesn’t call out suspicious connections to time craft this time. Everyone just.. Just asks him to nap.

The third floor they had fumbled the most, their quick grabs at the keys became more clumsy against his will. His hands can’t stop shaking. The aches won’t cease their whining in his body. Change, of course they noticed, they aren’t blind. The script is similar, repeating the words that simultaneously warm his body and send nausea through it. They’re a family. They care.

Absently, Siffrin notes Mira’s asking him if he’ll accept a comb, again. At least that’s familiar. At least one of them new the script to stick to. And, he really wouldn’t mind it again. The loops reset his hair back to the tangled and knotted mess it was when he startled back to awareness in Dormont. Everytime. Sometimes they briefly wondered if Mirabelle would comb their hair out back in town too. They would never ask though.

Their family quietly chated as Mirabelle combed through his hair. Gently, dare they think lovingly. Careful not to hurt him. Like he’s fragile and weak. Pathetic. They are pathetic aren’t they. For wanting this. Selfish for forcing them. Their hands continued to tremble, as much as Siff tried to suppress it.

The Fighter changes the script first. First to notice. Notice a slip up. They tense, not for any particular reason just, they don’t know this script. The Fighter’s face is concerned but softens. Isa. Isa asked hesitantly it he could see their hands. Siff let him, letting their pathetic shaking hands be engulfed in Isa’s large ones. He hesitantly rubs their knuckles, Mira continues to brush the tangles out of their hair. Siff’s eyelid got heavier, their body screaming to just let go, just relax. They haven’t reached the king yet, the head housemaid, they can’t yet. 

When they heard Odile close her book, another off script action, they jolted up and looked her way. Odile was about to speak up, but hesitated at their startled form. Her concerned and piercing expression remained.

“Siffrin, did you get any rest at all last night?”

They stop and meekly speak up, “I slept..”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Siffrin grimaced, tensing up. “I got.. Some rest. Why do you ask?”

“The fumbling around and absent performance don’t suggest you did.”

She had them there. Their fingers twitch as they internally remind themselves their dagger is still on their person. Even if their hands are occupied with being held by Isa’s. They take a breath.

The other actors contribute, sharing their nerves about facing the King. Needing to be ready before confronting the Threat, that could be their final standing place. No. No they won’t fail. They won’t die here. He might, but he won’t let his family.

Odile is actually the first to suggest Siffrin rest before they face the King. They can’t have any weak links before such a moment. Weak members. Weak. They were clumsy this loop. Their other family members share in the sentiment. They probably think he’s weak too. Their concerned smiles are hard to say no to though. The aches and exhaustion overwhelming his body probably wouldn’t let him refuse such an opportunity either. Surely. Surely they went through the first couple floors quick enough that another fifteen minutes before the king wouldn’t be too long. Right?

It’s a thought that didn’t seem to cross his family member’s faces when he gave into their requests and laid down. Mira scooted over, getting started on the next clump of tangled hair. Isa offered his lap as a pillow, and Siffrin’s slow mind just. Accepts the request. Not noting the dark shade flooding The Fighter’s face as they dragged their body to his lap, their head and partial upper body relaxing immediately. They rest their head on their blind side, one hand interlaced with The Fighter’s, behind them Mira finishing off the last of their tangles. The concern from their family’s faces hasn’t completely disappeared, but it’s eased. And that is enough to release the remaining tension in his body. It’s enough. 

Their family makes a few jokes that their brain muffles. Some laughing. Bonnie’s working on their snacks in the corner, still. They’ll be ready when they wake up. Their legs adjusted and placed in someone else’s lap, they think. Whoever it was, rubs circles into their calf. His eyelid grows heavier, their breathes come easy. Deep breaths. Someone rubs their back. 

It’s nice. Really.. really nice. One could easily forget they were even about to face the King at all. Face the end. They close their eyelid. It’s warm. One breath in. And out. Just.. just a quick nap. Where they are loved. They.. they are loved right? This is what this means… at least right now…

Yeah. They hope this is right.

Sleep engulfs them for the first time in several loops and their breaths slow.

The chatting continues around him, not lacking some glances exchanged between the adults in the room. But mostly, just relief fills the air. Mira stayed by Siffrin’s side, threading her fingers through his now completely combed out hair. The flush in Isabeau’s cheeks still hadn’t fully left, every movement reminding him of his crush resting so peacefully in his lap. Like a sleeping cat that once it has claimed you as it’s cushion, you are bound by the universe to not move for any reason. Odile didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease him, met with Isa’s shushing and hushed whisper “what if he wakes up and hears you!!”

Siff had done a lot today, and everyone would have assumed he was completely calm about fighting the king if not for his uncharacteristic clumsiness. Mirabelle supposed it made sense though. A night of rough sleep right before facing the most dangerous threat facing the country? That would make anyone mess up.

After another twenty minutes, Bonnie comes over with the freshly prepared snacks. Made extra special since they were more ahead of schedule than expected. Last hurrah before the king, everyone needed to be at their best.

Mirabelle smiles, heading over to were Bonnie had announced the snacks. Isa attempts to move but flounders at the idea of moving Siff. Mirabelle giggles at his flushing face as Odile moves their legs out of their lap. Well, time to end their nap she supposes. Their sleepy family member probably won’t be too thrilled about waking up but it is snack time.

Mirabelle collects her choice of snack and crouches over to Siff, moving their hat from where it had obscured their resting expression. Isa looked both upset to have the time his crush sleeps on their lap come to an end, and relieved. He lets out a chuckle as Mira gently shakes their shoulder.

“Time to wake up, Siffrin! Bonnie has snacks for everyone.” Mira moves a few hairs out of their face. “Siffrin?”

Isabeau adjusts, and joins in. “Siff? Sorry to wake you bud but..” He pauses, seeing Mirabelle’s face shift. Odile’s gaze sharpens as Mirabelle’s leans over them, placing her ear to their chest.

“They- th-they aren’t” Mira cries out. “They aren’t breathing! No no no-” 

Isabeau moves Siffrin off his lap with shaking hands. Odile rushes over to their side, checking their wrist and neck for a pulse. Bonnie’s face crumbles in the corner, alarm replacing the happy air.

Isabeau shakes Siffrin’s still body, Mirabelle readies a heal craft as Odile begins to try resuscitating them.

but 

the 

world

goes

blank

Siffrin first feels the gentle breeze around them. The grass moving in tune, sometimes brushing up against the small areas their clothes don’t cover. They hear Mirabelle in the distance and when they open their eyes, she’s right above them, apologetic for waking them. Siffrin blinks. It’s been a while since Mira’s been the one to wake them up. 

“Good morning! Well, more like good afternoon, I gue- wow. Are you okay?”

That’s new. Why would her lines-

“You’re crying.. Is something wrong, Siffrin?”

He blinks and brings a hand to his face. Sure enough, his cheek is stained with tears. He doesn’t remember crying, he just woke up too. From..

“Must’ve happened in my sleep” He says absently.

Mira frowns, “Oh no! What did you dream about…?”

Siffrin shrugs and repeats lines he remembers that will reassure her the quickest. She sighs and returns back to town. They’ll be waiting for him.

He takes a moment to think about what happened in the last loop. He.. doesn’t remember dying. Must have been when he went to sleep. That. That probably should worry him, that falling asleep could end a loop, but he doesn’t feel any regret about it. Actually, it’d be nice if all his loops ended like that. Just, dying with his loved ones around. It would take too long though, even if it could happen again. This loop needs to be faster. Last loop they didn’t even reach the king, and they have questions. 

He grumbles as he sits up, a part of him yearning to go back to that warmth. Oh if only the universe could have let it be permanent. A permanent death that didn’t even hurt. That’s wishful thinking though, the universe isn’t so kind. And they have work to do, his family- actors. They need what he knows. He can’t rest forever yet.

The show must go on.

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

summary: hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn't fail to give you his absolute best.

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

warnings: heartbreak, lots of tears, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), praise kink, sucking fingers, female masturbation, fingering, oc is extremely wet and jk is rly rly hard for her <3, squirting, multiple orgasms, jk tells her off kinda and it's hot, pet names, raw and rough sex, the abandonment issues are heavy in one part, mention of a sex toy

note: hi, my loves. this was absolutely painful to write, but i know i made a good decision. unfortunately for those who are waiting for the next series—i'm sorry, but this will have another part. it's already so long and if i kept going, it'd have probably like 20k plus words and i don't want to take up your time. i think i can manage to post the last part THIS week, so look forward to this. one part of the happy ending done. <3 i love you, guys, i hope you like this. don't hesitate to let me know; i worked hard and i want validation skfjslkfjsklfs. enjoy, my loves. <3

A dead man for the fifth time, Jungkook finds the unfolding of the events quite ridiculous now. And he’s not surprised, how could he really be at this point, that there’s radio silence within the chambers of his heart. 

The food court is muted, the lights are ever still bright, but the corners of his eyes gain peculiar shadows that cling to the side of your face as you swirl your spoon in your hot soup. His phone is ringing and its obnoxious sound is but a vibration in his hand and the only thing that’s delaying him from sliding his thumb across his device is some sort of consent in your solemn, yet saddened features. He can see translucent threads lining your rounded lips that have sown your mouth shut, preventing you from speaking out your tender heart and it’s predominantly this thing, among the obvious other ones, that drives him to make a scene in front of all of these people crowded around him. 

If he has to, he will rip those wisps. Make it as painless as possible because whether he likes it or not, he needs you right now. Needs your word of advice, needs your consent in order to do what the entirety of his organs yearns to do. And if you say no, he’ll willingly turn his phone off and refuse to speak to his once-closest friend. 

Just for the sake of your mental health. Just to outrun fate and grasp her wrist to stop her from furthermore scarring your heart. 

You have enough of them and he has only one pair of lips to heal them. 

Lifting the spoon to your mouth, you keep your gaze on its silver coat and it unnerves him—the fact you won’t look at him, the fact that you so evidently don’t want to be in this situation. Your own boyfriend is chasing you around town, even though he transmitted waves of nothingness your way when he had you under his roof. He doesn’t fucking understand it. Doesn’t understand how he’s capable of doing such a thing and fury rises in his gut, soars high to his throat, which constricts around it so tightly that it forbids him from inhaling any oxygen into his lungs. And he fears that if he speaks, it’ll soak you. Make you even smaller than you are and he’ll hate himself for the rest of his life for it. 

However… 

He needs to talk to you. Time is pressing down on his shoulders once again and here and now, he’s too burdened, too fragile to bear it. His stoicism has long been fractured, its shards cracking cacophonously under the soles of his sneakers and… the singular tear rooting on his pale cheek hasn’t even dried up. 

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” Jungkook says, his voice a soft, deep murmur; a plea. His surroundings gain volume, little by little, the lack of air in his lungs causing his mind to spin. His body grows cold and, unwittingly, he bounces his leg underneath the table. “If you don’t want me to pick up this call, I won’t. It’s your decision.” 

He knows that whatever it is that will come out of your mouth and change the trajectory of his fury, he’ll protect you nonetheless. No matter what, no matter what it takes. He’ll unleash what’s been swarming in him for a long time in private sometime later if you ask for it—he’ll gladly tell his organs no and they’ll have to listen. That’s certainly not an issue. 

What will be an issue is if you remain quiet. He doesn’t know what will happen to him under that circumstance. He has very little trust in something that’s out of his grasp and he has  strong disliking for the looseness of it all. Doesn’t feel right. 

A quick, soft slurp of your soup. A lift of your weary eyes. A kick in his heart. “I don’t want to make any decision. If you want to pick up the call, you should. I don’t mind. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.” 

He must be dead because he’s staring at his own reincarnation. 

You’ve walked so far on your pathway of suffering that you reached the point that you don’t care anymore. Don’t care that there’s a risk Yoongi will see you or hear you. Don’t care about what’s going to happen when he does and about the events after. It’s as admirable as it is disturbing and a faint pulse begins to sound in his chest. Thrill nips at his skin; a sense of responsibility uncoiling within, linking to the surety of his instinct to protect you. To stand up for you. To make things right in a way, way different manner than he’s ever tried before and it’s those inclinations that drive his thumb to swipe across the screen. 

Though he doesn’t look at Yoongi. No, he looks at you, studying your features. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your words, he does and vehemently so, but this is a difficult situation that you’re both in and it would be only understandable if the gravity of it washed over you all of a sudden and you weren’t comfortable with this anymore. He wouldn’t hesitate to end the call right away. Fuck what Yoongi thinks. 

But nothing changes about your weariness. It’s a still pool of water, unmoving and utterly impenetrable, like the pond behind his cabin during cold, winter times. When this is over, he promises to get warm and dip his fingers in, permeate your skin with rosiness and coziness. Stall the change of seasons unfurling in you. 

And Jungkook pleats that promise into the palm of your hand as he takes it, his thumb against your head line. Watches you stuff your mouth full with noodles. His own stomach churns, the fury half parting, making a way for his hunger to suffuse his senses. He’s so happy you’re eating that all he can think about is how he’s going to make your life better with this one singular video call. 

He leaves you to it and focuses his gaze down on Yoongi. His once-close friend is driving in his car and despite the shit view he has of him, due to his service and the way Yoongi’s phone is angled, he can still see the way he’s swathed by murkiness. The purple marks under his eyes are a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and his hair is a mess, tufts of black strands sticking in different directions as if he had been on the verge of ripping his hair out. He has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other runs over his upper lip. Over and over, back and forth, waiting, patiently, for Jungkook’s attention. 

He starts speaking once he knows he has it. 

“Sorry to bother you, I didn’t know who else to call.” He sighs and explains that he’s calling because of you, the mention of your name causing his voice to crack. “I drove up to her apartment, but she’s not there. She told me she was going to her place when she… when she… left.” 

So he heard you loud and clear, and yet he didn’t have the decency to respond to you, make you know that you were heard. Jungkook looks at you and this time you look back at him, too. A tight, painful exchange of glances. He squeezes your hand, even as Yoongi continues. 

“She’s not picking up the phone. I’m worried about her—”

Jungkook is swift with his words. “You should’ve thought of that before you let her leave,” he snaps, his whole body tense, hanging yet again by the thread. He keeps his hold over your hand gentle, despite it all—despite the fact that his form yearns to explode. “You’re too reckless. Leave her alone.” 

Your eyes widen while Yoongi’s narrow, but he doesn’t regret what he said. He knows there’s utmost truth in them, something that should scramble his brain until he comprehends it. Yoongi’s mouth purses in a tight line and his fist clenches before he places it on the steering wheel with a thud. 

“Don’t talk to me like this. I don’t need this,” Yoongi mutters, pulling out his hyung card and while it angers Jungkook even more, he also thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit that has ever come out of his mouth. “I need to know where she is.” 

He gazes intently at you as he says, “It’s none of your business.” 

And those big eyes of yours round in a good emotion that he can’t really recognize and slowly, you swallow down your noodles. Speechless, he deduces. A tendril of adrenaline courses in him, strengthening his responsibility and protectiveness over you, kissing it ever so sweetly when you squeeze his hand. 

A validation. 

Jungkook could stay like this. He wouldn’t mind at all—it feels too nice. Feels like you’re his. And perhaps at this very moment you are. 

The feeling is so overwhelming that he doesn’t give two shits about the fact Yoongi is detonating on the other side of the screen. He keeps his eyes on you. 

“What the fuck do you mean it’s none of my business? Is she with you?” 

It’s at this moment that a proud smile curls Jungkook’s lips. And it’s joy that absorbs his organs, his heart beating loudly and clearly. Even the people around him seem happier in his peripheral vision. He thinks this night tops in the best days he’s ever had. 

Tension has grabbed a hold of you, too. But he will make it better. He’s got you. 

He continues with the truth and he’s not afraid of it. Not at all. 

“Yes, she’s safe with me.” 

Those words, most peculiarly, soothe Yoongi’s rage. Silence fills his car, one that forces Jungkook to flick his eyes to his phone because he truly can’t believe what’s happening. Yoongi runs his hand down his face and nods once, the murkiness loosening a fair bit before it pulps him. It’s now that he becomes small. A tiny boy, at the hands of his own repercussions. Displeased, but relieved. A strange, strange sight.

“Good,” Yoongi says and Jungkook’s stomach drops. “She should be with you. You’re better than me in ways I could never be. She doesn’t need me anymore.” 

Your mouth parts and a vexation of your own clutches you. Enough for you to drop your spoon and lift your hand, palm up. The adrenaline in Jungkook’s system thickens. “Give me the phone.” 

Yoongi's head turns to the screen at the sound of your irritated voice and Jungkook’s smile widens, handing you the device. He knows what you’re about to say will put an end to this difficult situation and he’s eager to hear it, eager for it to happen. 

“Careful, don’t make him crash his car,” Jungkook whispers, ever so smug, just for your ears, but on the other hand, he doesn’t care if it finds a way to your boyfriend’s as well. You gaze at him most solemnly, fleetingly, and he can’t read shit in your expression. He’s not troubled by it, however; he wants you to let loose in whatever form of your choosing, of your liking. You deserve it, to be boundless like that. It’s been a long time coming.

His phone in your hand is too large and he finds it so cute that it helps him relax. Without withdrawing his hand, he hunches over his soup, getting his utensils ready. 

And his first taste of his meal is as good as the first words you hurl at Yoongi. 

“Are you joking right now? Is that all you have to say after everything? You’re actually unbelievable,” you spit, shooting daggers at the screen, your brows furrowed, a lethal glare directed at him. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he hears him sigh. “I’d like you to know that it’s my decision that I’m with him. Not yours. You’re not in control of it and you never will be again. I’m with him because I want to be with him, not because you let me be with him or because you think it’s good.” 

Your voice rises in volume ever so slightly, respectful of your surroundings, but untethering your heart free nonetheless. A tortured pain coats it, despite the fact you’re holding yourself strong and it drives Jungkook to let go of his spoon, unable to eat when he feels your agony in all its raw immensity. You struck his awe and all he can do is watch you make order of your life. For your sake and also, most remarkably, for his. A beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love unable to be real turning away, slowly, from the dead end. 

“So, we’re over?” Yoongi asks, small—small voice. Jungkook has never heard it before and butterflies zap his stomach with the strongest electricity they could come across. 

Your face doesn’t change and you don’t hesitate to unleash your next words. “I think you should go see other people and heal from this mess. You’ve grown too attached to your own fucked up impressions and you need a reality check.” 

Such coldness, such brutality. Jungkook can’t breathe—finds it hard to believe this is happening right now, that angels are by his side, keeping his bloodstream flowing. He feels as though he’s dreaming again due to the speck of vagueness in your answer. Yes, you’ve told him to go see other people, but he’s also aware that Yoongi needs the raw truth on a silver platter. If there’s anything he hates with all his being, it’s the abyss of obscurities. It’s the space in his brain for him to make up for the emptiness of your words. 

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb fondling the crook between your thumb and your forefinger, giving you the little strength he possesses in him—the last of it, all he has. 

Are you breaking up with him or are you taking a break? 

Jungkook longs to know, perhaps he needs it, too, even though both options are more than merciful for such a wretched dreamer like him. A dreamer that has stumbled upon gold in a poor, poor world. 

“Honey, please.” Yoongi breaks into sobs and it’s now, now as Jungkook hears the sound of a raw emotion from such a detached person that he softens, his fury snuffed out in a blink of an eye, and he can’t feel his arms, nor his legs. He realizes, most strangely, that it’s his friend, one he spent the last ten years of his life with. The aftertaste of copper pools in his mouth again and his own eyes wet. Yours, too, your chin quivering the more you take in his devastated state. “I can’t do this without you. I–I don’t know how to.” 

Despite your tenderness, your words remain firm. “I think you’ve managed quite well these past few days. You’ve pushed me away, needed space. So go have it. I won’t suffer through it, though. I’ll do what I want, you should, too. You need to heal in the only way you know how. Alone.” 

Yoongi sniffles, taking long breaths to seemingly calm his shuddering lungs. And pity enfolds his heart, pity for his friend that he’s become such a wreck and that he’s a witness to it, more than the cause behind it. He puts the latter to the side, now is not the right time for it. 

He knows what will happen to him once he breaks the dam of self-blame. It’s not what you need right now and he will make sure to keep that dam of your own safe and stable. It’s his duty. 

“Will you wait for me?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook feels that question curl around his gut. With a light layer of sadness, he returns to his food, his stomach grumbling. 

You sigh, swiping your fingers under the skin beneath your lower lashes, perhaps so Yoongi doesn’t see your weakness. Jungkook watches you as he slurps on his noodles, nervous—terribly, terribly nervous. 

“I don’t know if I’m able to trust you like that again,” you conclude, taking a big breath and Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing so hard that you untangle your hand from his and slap his back. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” You end the phone call and gently lay down his phone, rubbing his back soothingly as Jungkook splutters. “Are you okay? What happened?”

What happened? You gave him life. Made a pathway for his dreams to come true. Gave him a leeway to walk upon this earth with no weight on his shoulders. Turned something inaccessible accessible. 

Love unreal becomes real, running headlong in the opposite direction of the dead end. 

The last of his aching coughs emit out of his throat and he swallows, lungs heaving with freedom and easy, easy breaths. The air is different, the oxygen much sweeter. You put his tall glass of water into his hand, encouraging him to drink, never letting go of him as Jungkook takes a big sip, the cold liquid washing away all of those dark ashes left from the fire of his fury. His vision blurs once he looks at you in this new, shifted reality and there’s a smile to his face, calmness surging through his body, exhilaration most needed twining around it. 

“You tell me,” Jungkook says, almost out of breath—out of his mind. “What just happened?” 

You go back to your soup, squeeze your fried egg open with your chopsticks. “I’m not letting him hurt me again. I don’t have to be strong and take it, do I?” With the yolk spilling in, you push the entirety of the egg white into your mouth, huffing in delight, rolling your eyes back and chewing, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. His own utensils go slack in his hand, watching you enjoy your food, his heart enlarging. But then you furrow your brows and stop chewing. “Fuck, it’s cold, but it’s so good.” You sigh and resume chewing, your eyes flicking across the table, your body bouncing excitedly in your seat. You act as though you didn’t just break your own boyfriend’s heart—as if you led a normal conversation with him, in which he was just checking up with you. Jungkook’s awe is so struck that he can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but watch you with all that love abounding in his being for you. And then you flick your eyes to his and the wrinkle between your brows deepens. “Why aren’t you eating? Is it too cold?” 

He calls your name, firmly. Leans back in his seat with a big sigh. Rubs his eyes with his fingers. “What just happened?” 

There’s simply no way this is real. 

You devour your noodles, swallowing spoonfuls of soup. “I ended things with him, Jungkook, and I’m not coming back to him.” 

His mouth dries, heart picks up speed. How are you saying this with such ease? Isn’t your heart split in two? Your devotion clung to his guy with every breath you took and back at his cabin, you wouldn’t let him play with you unless Yoongi was present. How come it seems like you’re anything but heartbroken right now? 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks in all honesty, confounded by your behavior. 

You push away your bowl, cradling your full belly. “Yes, I’m okay.” 

He doesn’t really believe you. Losing your appetite was proof enough. “Positive?” 

You look over to the side and your chin begins to quiver. There it is. Your hand flies to your face and you hide the rupture of your pretense behind it. The corners of your face, the only parts he gets to see, flush in red and Jungkook grabs your things with a heavy, sinking heart. Walks over to you and gives you his hand. 

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” 

The weeping clouds have migrated not just to your eyes but to his, too. The night is deep and Jungkook feels it, ardently, coming to rest beneath his skin, floating on its back upon the stream of his tears that he’s stifling. He’s holding your hand and your purse as he’s leading you to his place. You didn’t want to see the face of your apartment. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t stand anything that reminded you of Yoongi and you begged him to take you somewhere you’ve never been before. Jungkook only nodded, brushing away the tears that managed to escape. Thought he’d bring you to any place you’d ever ask, just as long as you stuck with him. 

He’s gained what he wanted for a long time, but at what cost? The two people he loves the most are broken. One, his dearest, he’s grasping tightly so she wouldn’t fly away. The other is becoming but a memory, ten years going down the drain—never to be seen again, never to be continued. 

He has you, but he lost Yoongi. And the realization hangs, heftily, over his clavicles, swinging back and forth, kicking into his chest. 

He can’t stand the sight of him either, however. How strange. 

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can’t help but rid you of the hideous flannel of his that you’re wearing, bunching it up in his fists and throwing it away to the corner of his bench on the side of his wall without you knowing. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his living room and he lets you skim your sight all around it, slipping his fingers under the hem of your tiny top, just touching you there. White walls, brown leather couch, a TV that takes up the most of the space alongside the kitchen with a plain dining area consisting of an old wooden, rectangular table with four chairs. A huge singular space of nothingness that has never felt home-like, not until you’ve stepped inside. 

Now, all of a sudden, it has colors. Vibrant, yet soft-toned with each inhale of his breath. You bring your oxymorons everywhere you go and they stay where you reside, even if you move someplace else. The evidence of it is in his very body. While he feels at his most fragile, he also senses himself to be strong. Strong enough to take care of you right at this moment, be there for you and give you anything you’d ever want. And while his eyes are still wet, cheeks bedewed by his softness, he also wants to break this place—self-blame creeping in, threatening to emerge from the hidden spots somewhere within the battlefield of his chest. 

This is his fault. Had he never said yes, you wouldn’t be in pain and neither would his friend be. But in that scenario, he wouldn’t know you existed. Wouldn’t have you. Would lead a forlorn life, with his paints and his alcohol. 

You would be happy with Yoongi. Radiant, glowy. With your glitters, your little dresses. Your nighttime robes and your little lingerie. 

Would you? Has he ruined your happiness? Has he ruined you? 

Jungkook turns you around to him. He needs to ask you; he needs to have the certainty, otherwise he won’t sleep tonight. Won’t even close his eyes—the thoughts would eat away his drowsiness. Leave only wakefulness in their wake. Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there, formulating his words, carefully. His hands clutch your shoulders. Your frail, slender shoulders. 

Yoongi devastated your appetite enough that you lost all your soft fleshiness. He took it away and he doesn’t even perceive it. It was clear to him by the way you pushed your plate away, when your emotions rushed through; you didn’t have to say a word. And although he grieves the personal loss, still this is something he’ll never forgive him for. 

“Would you have been happy if you never knew me?” he asks, subduedly, torment clawing at his vocal cords. “Would you have been happy with him?” 

A teardrop spills down your cheekbone, plopping onto the material of your top, soaking it. You furrow your brows, seem angry at his choice of words and he regrets them, enough that his mouth rounds in a tender emotion that he’s too weak to stifle back. And then you bunch up his T-shirt, just like you did earlier in the dressing room, and there’s a tendril of relief that maybe he didn’t fuck up so majestically. He wants to weep; holding them back pains him too much and that ease, that repose is all he wants. It’s not that he’s shy or unwilling to let out his feelings—it’s just that he’s putting yours above his, deeming them more important. He wants to be strong for you, someone you can lean on—and how can he do that for you when he’s crumbling on the inside? 

“How can you say that to me?” you ask in disbelief and Jungkook wants to rewind back the time. Wants to keep quiet and just hold you through this fateful night. He winces, looking away, his own chin quivering this time and he can’t—he can’t hold back. He possesses no strength. A tear trickles down his cheek, one full of agony, hot against his skin and he whimpers, he whimpers when you cradle his face in your hands, step on your tippy toes and press your lips against his. Your mouth is so warm and he’s shivering with cold; silky while his are ruined by the constant biting he did in the car. He is a ruination—how can you want him? He ruined your relationship. And now even his tears have stained your angelic, pure face. 

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” he admits and his chest hurts, lungs tight, body trembling in that persisting cold. “I’ve ruined your relationship. I’ve ruined your life. Yoongi’s. Caused so much pain, so much trauma. Only because I let my friends convince me into going out when I came back from the military.” 

The wrinkle between your brows smooths down and you pout, caressing his face. Jungkook can’t halt the rivulet of his liquid emotions. Not when he feels your love so awfully intensely, embracing him around and around, tightening, giving him a sense of safety. 

“Can I tell you something?” You take his hand in yours and Jungkook already misses your warm touch on his face. He nods. “Where’s your room?” 

He leads you there and you crawl onto his bed, patting the space beside you, curling on your side. He mirrors your position and you prop the side of your leg on his, intertwining your fingers with his on the bedding, moving his hand to your mouth. 

And your words seep into his fist. 

“We were together for five months and I never met his family. Never met his friends, except you. I never really thought about it in depth because he kept me busy, despite the fact all we did was fuck. It was enough for me, I guess, because I’d been alone for a long, long time before I met him. And I’m a bit of a loner myself so I didn’t mind that we spent all of our time in his apartment, fucking and watching movies. It wasn’t until I met you, Jungkook,” you pause, taking a big breath in, fondling his knuckles with your thumb, soothing him, soothing the drowsiness that is suddenly falling upon him like a blanket, waving off his tears, drying them. “That I realized it’s not really supposed to be like this in my life. I remember that night when he was out with you and I was in the bathroom. I thought about when was the last time he took me out and I shivered. I shivered, Jungkook. It was the first seed sown and I didn’t know. And when you came into my life, I spent my weekends out with you. You took me to your cabin, you took me out to dinner dates. Even today you took me to the mall. I realized it’s supposed to be like this. Yoongi never did that.” 

Your words tingle across his fist and he’s quick with his own. “But were you happy?” 

So are you. You don’t hesitate. “I thought I was, but the way I’m happy with you can’t compare to the way I thought I was happy with him.” 

The truth wafts in the air, sweetening it and another onrush of tears come out of his tear ducts. He leans in closer to you, nose to nose, sniffling, sobbing quietly and you kiss his hand. Over and over, breathing against his skin. Light opens in him as the truth unfolds—with the little time he had with you, he managed to make you happier. Not just happy, but happier.

“I had a lot of time to think about this. It wasn’t just today that he didn’t speak to me. He barely did throughout the week, but today was the worst of it all and I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much,” you continue and Jungkook knows how much it pains you, when Yoongi abandons you over and over, clawing his fingernails in your scars. He’s glad, brims completely with that gratefulness that it also rolls down his cheeks, mingling with his tears, that you were strong enough to put a stop to it—as hard as it was. “And you know what I think? Yoongi needs someone like that. Someone who’s a much bigger loner than I am. Someone who’s okay with staying home, with keeping things casual. He needs a friend and I’ll continue being that for him, but not in the way he wants. I’ll be there for him, but not as closely as he was used to, you know? It has to be a process. I can’t just disappear out of his life. I don’t have the heart to do that.” 

Extending his arm, Jungkook invites you to rest your head against his bicep—only because he yearns to touch you. Without untangling your intertwinement, you lay against him, breathing in his scent and Jungkook wraps the same arm around your shoulders, cocooning you in. Body to body, his lips against your forehead. You look up at him and he looks down at you, a profound exchange of glances. The reality shifts once more, the energy deepens, filling it with something beyond affection and love—fate thickening the air, intense, earnest and impassioned. And submitting to it, Jungkook raises your chin and kisses you, deeply, slipping his tongue inside just briefly. Kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, hides himself in that crook, breathing with you and nothing else.

A brand new reality. 

He can’t help but think about how smart you are. How admirable, how good. How well you handled everything, how well you made an order out of your life and ultimately out of Yoongi’s, too. Like Jungkook will take care of you, you will take care of Yoongi—not leaving him on his own with his shattered heart and mental health. He just hopes that sometime soon, he will be able to have a part in it, too. It’s his utmost wish. No matter how upset he was with him, how strongly he disliked him in certain moments, it’s still a person he loves, a person he spent the last ten years of his life with. A family, almost. 

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Jungkook whispers, squeezing you against his body, drawing you closer until your lungs and his gain that singular synchronization. Your leg straddles his torso and he grows greedy, needing you even closer. Needing to get underneath your skin. 

“I’ll try my best to make it happen,” you whisper back, running your fingers through his hair. The light that shines in your eyes faintly illuminates his shadowy room and it’s precisely the one he longed to see. Something tells him it’s here to stay and it drives his thumb to caress your wet lashes, the skin beneath your eyes, your rose-kissed cheek. 

Jungkook trusts you. You’re such a badass that you will succeed in anything you set yourself out to do. And he tells you. Asks you if you want to take a bath. Thinks it will distract your heart from what it knows, from what it’s used to. Teach it something new—something you will connect only with him.

And your reaction enlarges his heart to the point that it breaks his ribcage. Your eyes widen, its light erupting, blinding him, and you gasp, lifting your whole body and grabbing his shirt in your fists. He chuckles in endearment. 

“You have a bathtub?” 

And your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of it once he carries you to his bathroom and sets you down. He kisses the back of your head, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer to the bathtub, reaching over to lift the tap and let hot water pour down. You both need it after such an emotionally-exhausting day and Jungkook is eager to get in with you. 

“Stay here. Don’t strip. I’ll get your candle,” Jungkook says, lowly, squeezing your hips once and caressing your bum as he turns around and heads to the kitchen. 

He wants to be the one who takes off your clothes. Plans to do something with you he hasn’t done in a long while, something he deems you deserve after everything you’ve been through. He grabs your mango-scented candle, your bag of cheese balls, a lighter and a chair and returns to you. 

You’re crouching by the bathtub, your hand flowing in the hot water, its steam curling, tenderly, your hair cascading down your back. Jungkook pats the back of your head to announce that he’s come back and you smile up at him, your eyes big and twinkling, so magnificent that he grows weak in the knees, butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach. 

Lighting up your candle, you watch as he does it, each three knots flaring up to life and suffusing the air with a balmy, tropical scent. He sets it down on the chair and, helping you stand up to your feet, he doesn’t waste a second. His fingers hook under the hem of your top and fling it out. And because he knows you’ve never bared yourself like this before him, he hides your nakedness by pressing you against his chest, your soft breasts a pleasure, his digits sliding beneath your leggings and dragging them down your hips, looking over your shoulder. You shimmy out of them, moving your hips ever so delightfully and before he knows it, he’s on his knees—kissing the apex of your thighs as he takes your feet out of the pant legs. And he thinks he could stay here all his life. 

Jungkook looks up at you as he removes your socks, kissing your knee without breaking the gaze, and he hopes that you can sense his love for you in it, the unyielding stability that he will cling to you with his body and soul—simply, with his entire being. 

Rising slowly, he kisses his pathway up, leaving behind the translucent evidence of that love. Your mound, which makes you giggle, a celestial symphony to his ears, your full tummy where he hopes your invisible rose tattoos still are, both sides of your ribs, the middle of your breasts, your sternum, your collarbones, your throat, your chin—up and up until his lips find yours. And he devours them. With such vigor that you hum into his mouth, your hands reaching for his shirt again. 

Oh, you want him to get in as well. Very well. 

He wanted to be the witness to your relaxation, but if it’s your desire that he shares it with you—by all means. He lets you take off his shirt, lifting his arms for you, and you’re quick to allow your hands to discover the parts they don’t know. His mole beneath his left pec that he caught you staring at shortly after that turn of events at the cabin. You press your mouth against it, unravel your love for it there by grazing your teeth against it before you lick it over with your tongue, going as far as marking the spot right beside it. Jungkook sinks his fingers in your hair, reveling in it, tummy tingling, holding you like that as you do what you please. Your own digits descend to his pants, setting him free from them and when you get on your knees just like him, his cock tightens in your face. 

And he dies, angels know for how many times today, when you rub your face in this intimate part of him, his heart bursting.

Not now—he can’t let you do that now. He wants your muscles to relax first before he can strain them all over again, in a much different way. 

“My sweetie,” he starts, sighing, rubbing your scalp. He takes you by the back of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your armpit, and drags you up. A healthy, radiant flush adorns you and he’s glad for the paleness to be gone. Glad his body is the cause of it. It makes his heart happy. “Not now. Let’s get in the tub.” 

Your stiffened nipples brush against his bare chest and he almost doubles over, loving the feeling of it. The sigh that leaves your mouth, so akin to his, too. 

“But you’re hard,” you whisper, tugging down his boxers until his cock springs free and you immediately wrap your small hand around it, squeezing him lightly. 

He can’t help but to grunt, the faint pleasure dizzying. He missed your hand, missed your touch. Haven’t had it in so long. It fits so well in your fist and he believes, in all seriousness, that it belongs to you. It’s yours. 

He brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. His brain malfunctions a little bit, the pleasure you’re giving him zapping his dominance. “You like holding me like this?” 

You fondle his tip with your thumb and he hisses, sparks of electricity coursing down his body and he hums at the aftershocks. So good. He feels his arousal drip for you; feels himself lengthening in your hand. You nod, watching it happen, and while it feels nice to be looked at like that, he wants your eyes on him. He cradles your face in one hand, making you look at him, and he pecks you. At the contact, you finally nod your head. Jungkook envelops his palm around your fist and guides you to squeeze him harder, groaning onto your mouth. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises and embraces you, hiding himself in the crook of your neck again, inhaling you. Petrichor, mango, your personal scent. It’s all he wants to breathe in for the rest of his life. It’s what heaven must smell like. Actually, heaven must be what he’s hugging. 

You whimper and for it Jungkook tightens his hold around you. Skin to skin. He’ll never get over it. “I love being good for you.” 

He hums his approval, following the cascade of your hair down your back with his palm, rooting at your bum, grasping the flesh. “You’re the best girl. Let’s get you clean.” 

The loss of contact aches and he can see it even on your face, an adorable pout forming on your mouth. Helping you get in the bathtub, you wait until he joins you and it’s only then that you sit down, unsure of how both of you are going to fit in such a small space like this. Knees in between his, you exchange a few giggles in the awkwardness of it all before Jungkook kisses them and leads you to lean back against him, your spine against his chest, your body getting lost in his. 

Turning off the tap, the water is scorching but pleasant, his muscles relaxing, the very little remnants of the fight of his self-blame tearing apart at last. It must be as enjoyable for you because once you settle in and you take in the heat, the effect of the candle, the dimmed light and the soft shower of rain pittering against the windows, you let loose completely, your head slack against his sternum, breathing steadily, eyes fluttering closed. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, your breasts pressed against them, and he loves the feeling of your raw femininity in his hands, in such a nonsexual context. His arousal might be alive and longing for you, but that feeling, somehow, overweighs it in a way he’s unable to understand. 

He doesn’t mind; he could stay like this. 

And both of you do for some time, feeling each other’s top halves of bodies, resting, thinking of nothing, until you tip your chin and, puckering your lips, you ask for a kiss. Arch your back until your breasts bounce free from his hold. His cock twitches against your back from the sight and you smirk. 

Sly little girl. He cages them once again, though this time quite differently. One hand grabs the flesh at the base, the other sneaks to your chin, your other breast nudged in the crook of his elbow. His finger traces the lines of your lips, flattened now, kissing it every once in a while. And as if it was a signal for you to open up when he stalls his movement in the middle, you open up for him. And the feeling of your tongue, the suction of your lips, the sound of it all—it drives him to head down the path of absolute madness. 

He might have just found his ultimate weakness. 

Jungkook adds a second finger in, when you angle your body, so he can have a good view of it, your head propped against the bathtub wall, lidded eyes fixed on him. 

So much for relaxing. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, swiftly, causing your brows to knit in confusion. It humors him, but you’re not getting your way that easily. 

“You should relax,” he scolds in a teasing manner, not meaning a word of it. “You’ve had a long day of shopping.” 

You laugh through your nose, a soft smile gracing your lips and for a split second, Jungkook wonders if he didn’t ruin the moment again by altering the reality again, bringing back the memory of what’s happened. If he didn’t invite in your guilt, perhaps. You’re here with him, about to be made love to, while the person you still love is dealing with brokenness on the other side of the city. 

And he tells you in the form of a kiss sunk into your cheek, drawing your body closer to him, cradling the back of your neck, squishing you against him. It causes you to turn your body to the side, slightly, and Jungkook hikes you higher, letting you lean your face against his cheek like that, pecking you over and over again. There isn’t enough body of water to overspill from the tub, but your shifting caused small waves to lap at your body and Jungkook finds himself transfixed by the sight of it. It seems as though the ripples are worshiping your body and an inkling to do the same, to do better, rises in him—as well as the impulse to tell you with words this time. 

He should verbally communicate with you. Just to be safe. 

“Did I remind you of it again?” 

Your fingertips follow the valleys of his abdomen, half dipped in the water. 

“Remind me of what?” you say and there’s a striking gentleness to your voice, some kind of blissfulness that feels terribly foreign to him. “Of my freedom?” 

A bearable tightness clutches his chest, interlaced, most heartily, with the simplicity of his shock. Freedom. With his directions, you set yourself free. It should be something to perhaps honor and rejoice over—so why is there still a morsel of pity swarming in him? He needs you to tell him. 

A streamlet of tears blurs his vision. Because his clinginess to you intensifies with each move forward, for the most part. Because he feels bad for his friend, for the lesser. 

“Why do I feel so bad for him?” Jungkook questions, pressing you harder against him until there isn’t any more space to push you into. 

You plop your body onto his. Chest to chest. Tummy to tummy. His cock, a bit soft now, against your femininity. Nonsexually, in all its beauty. You drag your thumbs under his waterline, collecting his essence of pain. His heart constricts. 

“My freedom is his,” you say, still holding him like that—both palms on his cheeks. “We’d be stuck in a circle like this. We’d go round and round until one of us would burst and end things eventually. He’d never fully heal in this environment. He’d never look past his own insecurities, not when I’d continue to enjoy myself with you the way I always did.” 

He thinks the merry go round had already begun the moment he and Yoongi made up and tried again. And considering the last thing he said to him on the phone today, there’s nothing left to do but to accept it. 

Your freedom is his. Those words ring in his headspace, settling there. By unbuckling yourself from the seat of that ride, you did the same for him. And while you got off, Yoongi still remains seated. 

For now. 

He’ll get out of there. Jungkook believes in him. 

“I’m meant to be with you,” you say and his heart goes wild, violently, under your forearm. For you. You’ve said it. You’ve made it official. Brought it into this new reality and Jungkook could weep again—and he does. Touched by his emotions, you kiss his tears, sighing against them. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Have been the moment I looked into your eyes the very first time.” 

Your bare, boundless truth drives him to reveal his, too. Such power you have, such strength. 

“You know I have feelings for you, right?” he murmurs, an allusion to the way you wept together in the dressing room, brushing your hair back, feeling his tenderness radiating off of his eyes, immensely. How easy it is, to tell you something groundbreaking like that, even as absurdly as he did. “Don’t let go of me. Don’t let go of those feelings. Keep them safe.” 

Your own tears pool in your waterline and you nod, a smile glinting upon your lips. So you knew, felt the love like he did, enkindled by your mutual release. He wasn’t wrong. His heart pounds and for the first time upon this trajectory, this doesn’t feel unreal. It feels real. Alive, possible, full of life. 

“I do, too. Held them in for so long. Never admitted it to myself for his sake. But that’s over now. I’ll keep it safe. All of you, Jungkook.” 

You love him. 

His sobs gather in his sternum, his lungs too small to capture them in place. 

You love him. And it’s real. 

Gripping your hair, he kisses you, deeply. And both streams of tears turn into one river—and both of you can’t halt the hunger creeping in. The hunger for more, for your love to burst at last and absorb your reality. Tongues mingling, tasting something new. Teeth clashing, lips tingling. Breaths hard and ragged. Jungkook can’t take it. Can’t hold back his body from lifting off of the rounded wall of the tub, the water sloshing and splashing all around. 

And then you say something that grazes his madness ever so unmercifully. 

“Put it in.” 

He groans, biting your bottom lip, fingertips making dents on your small waist. Horny girl, asking for something you can’t handle. He swears, his arousal awakening yet again in full speed, taking over him wholly. “I haven’t stretched you out yet.” 

You grind your femininity against his tightening cock and he’s done for, feeling your pulse. “Stretch me out like this.” 

He squeezes your ass hard, making you moan onto his mouth, in effort to make you listen to him and submit to his better knowing. “It’ll hurt, sweetheart.” 

Your breath wafts over him as you close your lips over his, sucking. “I can take it.” 

Such a stark contrast to the words you uttered in the dressing room. His madness heightens. So much that he moans into your lip lock, dipping you in the water to make you laugh, clutching onto him as you yelp, your adorable laughter vibrating through the bathroom, bouncing off of the walls and sneaking, in the long run, into the chambers of his heart, coming to live there.  

This is happiness. 

And the vibrations are too, too much for him to handle. So unusual, so beautiful. 

“Hold onto me,” Jungkook commands as he wraps your legs around his torso tighter and rises, stepping out of the bathtub and reaching for a towel in his cabinet while his other hand holds you steady by his forearm under your bum like a child. 

Leaving you to your own strength for a second, he wraps the large fabric around you both, bunching the ends in his fist on your back, exiting out of the bathroom and laying you down onto his bed. Your hair sprawls on his bedding and he thinks you look like an angel, maddened just the same by something beyond lust, by something way purer. He kisses your lips, fleetingly, and begins to focus on your neck, unfurling his love there. He sucks your wet skin, licking it all over, scattering his hard kisses there—the ones that drive you wild, moaning loudly and bravely, deservingly so. And he marks this victorious day there with pretty, pretty colors of red and purple. Doesn’t stop. Not until you beg him, writhing underneath him, excited and eager. 

“Please, Jungkook, take me.” 

Such sweet, innocent words. He listens, cooing, dragging you further up on the bed, so he can lie on top of you and take his hard kisses further down, marking all the places where your invisible tattoos are, bringing them to life all over again. Above both of your nipples, especially on the right one, where that frilly rose was, covering the peak. And he feels you melt, feels you soak his lower abdomen when he sucks on that nub, flicking his tongue, making you cry out so beautifully, so desperately that his arousal for you rigidifies. And when he looks at his artwork, fists propped on either side of you like his knees, it steals all of his breath. 

“You look so beautiful like this. All mine.” 

All his, wet with the last drops of water, with the pearls of his saliva, with your essence coating your folds. Adorned with red tattoos. He has his own on his arm and hand, except on his chest and he thinks the one he gave you make up for it. Thinks they’re his as much as they’re yours and it causes his length to twitch against his stomach, so terribly needy for you. 

“And you look beautiful like this. All hard for me,” you mimic his words and he grows feral, even more so when you continue. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” You take him into your hand again, but he pins both of your wrists down, above your head. And the smile you grace him with—it makes him yearn to make love to you like this. Bound, while the rest of you would remain the quite opposite. 

He growls, kissing you. “All yours. All yours for you to take and come around. All yours, my sweetheart. Always has been.” He kisses you harder and you whimper. Pulls away just to swirl his tongue around yours, open mouth and all, before closing his lips down again in a profound, warm and homely lock. “Spread your legs for me. I’m gonna get you ready for it.” 

He does it himself, folding you in half, the glistening of your folds visible even in the slight lack of light in the room. Oh, he can’t have you like this. Reaching behind himself, he turns on his bedside lamp, bathing you in a soft, yellow light that suits you the most. You’re holding your legs apart for him and he places wet kisses on the back of your thigh, ravagedly, to reward you for it, trailing them down until he’s face to face with your drenched princess parts. And it’s a groan of relief that emits out of him when he’s this close to you, hands pushing your knees down, spreading you even more to gratify his hunger. 

He’s starving. Terribly starving. 

And he rolls his eyes back when he takes the entirety of you into his mouth, tongue dragging upon your slit, up and down, drinking your dew, penetrating only a little bit just to tease you, just to mess around with your madness. And when he flattens his tongue against your swollen clit, you cry out. Surprise him when you grip his hair, enough to cause him to flick his eyes to you. Your mouth is parted, but grinning nonetheless, your own eyes heavily lidded, emitting light and joy and Jungkook simply decides to make this experience better for you. 

He lifts your hips in the air and devours you, lapping at your clit over and over again, letting you see what he’s doing to you without taking his eyes off of you, nose pressed against your shiny mound. You whisper your vulgarities and he’d let it pass if he didn’t consider this a holy, spiritual occurrence. He withdraws and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the way your slick trickles down your clit and your mound, rooting in the squishy part of your lower tummy. He hums, delighting in the sight. 

“Be good,” he scolds, smiling down at you and your grin widens. You nod your head, your hands still crossed above you without his to hold them down. Scratch his words—you’re already the best girl. He licks up the trickle of your essence trailing down your clit, making you writhe again. “Feel how wet you are for me.” 

Carefully, you skim your palm down your soaked belly, gasping, until your fingers reach your nub, the concoction of his saliva and your arousal seeping into your skin. He encourages you with noises of approval to keep going, bending you even more in half, your back leaning against his thighs, the pads of your fingers circling your center, eyes wide at the discovery, able to see just how celestially aroused you are for him. So beautiful. He bites onto the flesh upon the side of your thigh, only because he can’t help it, soothing down the sting with his tongue. And he hums at the sound of your moans, at the sound of your slipperiness when you drag your fingers down to your clit and stop there. 

“Hm, yes, sweetheart, rub that pretty clit for me,” he murmurs and his chest explodes at the principle that he’s able to say that to you. That he doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. That he can do whatever he pleases with you without any consequences to reap. That he’s free. You must be thinking about this, too, but in a different way, because you hesitate. He’ll destroy that dubiety. It won’t show its face again—as long as he lives on this earth. “You can do it, my love. You’re free.” 

The reassurance washes over you and rids you of that fleeting negativity. He understands this is new for the both of you—there’s some still getting used to, so it’s completely normal. He’ll try his hardest to make this as much of an easy ride for you as he can. It’s his duty. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he continues, adding your name, softly. “You’re here with me and you’re safe.” 

Jungkook leans over and kisses you. You nod into the kiss and he returns to his position, catching you rubbing your clit, slowly, with two fingers, the other spread on your folds. And both of you moan simultaneously. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, enthralled, making way for the sound of your slick to overpower the atmosphere. “That’s my good girl. Make yourself feel good for me.” 

You whimper his name, buckling your hips in his hold, squeezing your eyes shut and Jungkook can see the waves of pressure charging your tender body. Now is the time for his participation. 

He sinks his middle finger inside, making your eyes pop open and stare him down, just for you to submerge yourself under the surface of that sea of lust and let your irises whisk back. Your walls clench around him and he waits until you speed up your circles to join his other finger, biting his lip to push back his desire to sink himself inside you. He tries to pay little attention to the way he drips for you. 

But then you use the rest of your fingers to bring yourself to your climax and Jungkook takes it as a sign. Another finger in, he curls them, fucking you the way you like. Fast, grazing your sweet little spot that beckons your sweat out of your pores and when your pussy drools even more for him, he adds another. You gasp and he knows exactly how you’re feeling, how good this is for you. 

“You feel so full, sweetheart, don’t you?” he coos, jackhammering his hand harder and you drench it, completely. He flattens his fingers, allowing you to see the thick sheen and you mewl, a litany of his name spilling along. “You’re so wet. So horny for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna come?” 

You scream your agreement, squirming, strumming your fingers harder and this is it for him. He changes direction. Fucks his fingers up and down and your toes curl, chest heaving heavily and you just keep on screaming. A delightful sound. 

“Come for me, then. Like the best girl you are.” 

You clench around him. So much that he can barely move his fingers, sunk in so deeply. He just flexes them, drawing out your orgasm and you give it to him. 

And you’re wet all over again. Sprinkled by pearls upon pearls of your pleasure. He is, too, and it worsens his desperation for you. 

You’re panting, but he’s not done with you. Setting you down, he laps up the violent evidence of your orgasm, making you twitch in overstimulation and he eases the pressure of his tongue for you. Sucking on your folds, he decides to mark you there. Just below your hip bone, too. Such intimate places. Perfect for a temporary keepsake like this. 

Hovering above you, he circles his tongue tinged with your taste around yours, forcing you to moan again. And he kisses you softly. “You deserved that orgasm.” 

You whine, red all over, and Jungkook understands you need more. He pulls away, clutches himself to line up at your entrance, but you stop him. 

“I want you.” 

He smirks, longs to hear you be more specific. “How?” 

You huff. So adorable. “In my mouth.” 

He chuckles. Should’ve asked where, but he’s at your service—he’s willing to give you anything you want. “All right, but just for a little bit, okay?” You nod, vehemently, and he pats your cheek. “On your knees.” 

Oh, he’ll never tire of the view of your submissiveness, of your hunger for such a private part of him. He makes a mess for you on the towel, dripping more than he ever has, and he holds himself at the base, grabbing your jaw in his hand. Brutality, the one he’s obsessed with, swims past your irises when you gaze up at him. A feral animal, an angel in hiding—he’d love to embellish you with the sticky traces of his fixation, but he shouldn’t, no matter how much he craves it. He can’t stain you, not today. Can’t ruin the holiness. He’ll let you play with him before he seals it for all eternity. 

Tomorrow he will. Smear you with it until it’s all your pores know. 

Jungkook traces the lines of your mouth with the tip of his length, just like he did with his finger in the bathtub, and you hum, liking it. He can vividly see your yearning to rub your face against him again and he lets you, encourages you in fact, pulling you closer until you nuzzle your nose against his girth, his skin caressing your cheek, and you kiss him all over. Place your hands over his and suck him inside your mouth, drinking his precum. Only to withdraw right away, sit back on your legs without lifting your hands, and look up at him with the vastness of your overbearing innocence and love. 

“You’re mine,” you purr, fucking him with your fist. 

Jungkook nods, just once. Doesn’t even feel his butterflies anymore, too numbed by you, by the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s right, my love.” 

You suck in a breath, biting your lip hard as if it took all of your energy not to make him come at this very instant. And you lengthen your spine, asking for a kiss again, and he bends at the waist, kissing you nastily, pushing your head back to his cock, inciting you to do what you truly crave to. 

And you take him so well, your cheeks hollow, and he’s unabashed, free to let out his male noises, whimpering for you, panting heavily as you bob your head, slurping him, spitting on him. You toy with his tip, tugging at his length, colliding into his fist and it isn’t until you rub your face against his balls that it becomes his undoing. He stalls his orgasm, strains to do so, just to please you and he pries your hands away from his length, lets you focus on his sack. The least he could do to last. But then you grab it into your fist, sucking his balls, one by one, into your mouth, even try to take both of them at once and that’s it. He can’t breathe, his heart wringing painfully with all the love that brims in him for you. No one has ever done that to him. 

You flick your tongue against them, your other hand wrapping around his tip again, tugging and he nears dangerously close to the bursting of his orgasm. 

“That’s enough.” 

He draws you away from his cock, using all of his strength, and pins you down. A splutter of your giggles waft in the air, your chin wet with your spit and he moves his mouth so rapidly against yours that you struggle to kiss him back, growing calm all of a sudden, as if overcome with the gravity of it all. 

He looks at you for a long while. Puffy, red mouth, that he craves to bite onto—and he does. Darkened eyes, full of freedom and exhilaration. Neck, chest, tummy and the rest of the delicious parts of you scattered with hickeys, with his own personal keepsakes. He loves you so much that he becomes frustrated, needing to let it out somehow. All of his muscles tense and he clenches his grip on your wrists. 

“You want me to die? Is that what you want?” he hisses, speaking of the sloppy blowjob you gave him, gliding his wet cock across your seashell. You lose a breath, drowsy eyes fluttering, spreading your legs for him. No wonder you’re tired—you gave it your all. He sinks his teeth hard into his bottom lip, his frustration rising, brows knitted. “You can’t play with me like that. I was seconds away from coming all over your pretty face.” 

“I wanted you to,” you say, loud and clear, and Jungkook is hot all over. 

Turning you over to your side, he squeezes the flesh of your bum until it hurts as a punishment, knowing you’re not ready for the full thing. It’s too soon. Your wincing breaks into a low, alluring moan and it fills him with adrenaline. And then you smile at him, light flashing in your countenance. You’re anything but punished; you’re pleased. 

Looks like you need another form of punishment. 

Fuck it, fuck all spiritual aspects of this. The angels in heaven need to look away for now and cover their ears. He’s going to make love to you in a way they’ve never witnessed before and it’s good that they never will. 

“What did you say?” Jungkook feignedly questions, pinning you back down and burying himself in your heat. Having stretched you out well enough, he gives you his half right away, but he doesn’t stop there, not when you lift your chest off of the mattress, not when you lose yourself in the sudden fullness and the music of your mutual moans. You grip him so tight that he forgets, for a split moment, what he’s punishing you for. 

You stammer, seemingly forgetting, too. And when his mound kisses yours, your words falter altogether—a crescendo into silence. Eyes wide, unblinking, taking him most courageously. Jungkook hums, immensely proud of you, slowly pounding you into the mattress with hard strokes. 

And when he gives you a particularly unmerciful one, you scream, shaking all over in his hands. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s what you get,” he purrs, grinding his hips, loving the way he toys with your senses, your peaked nubs digging into his chest, and you can’t catch your breath, your whole body tense. “Too deep?” 

You nod. “Too deep, baby, I can’t take it, fuck. It’s too much.” 

Cooing, he kisses you. The pet name, your tightness—he’s losing his mind and it’s your fault. Your wonderful, wonderful fault. You don’t even let him pull out, you keep him caged in, your walls fluttering against him and he whimpers, shaking like you, unable to continue kissing you. 

“Relax, my love, or you’re really gonna kill me,” he croaks out, ascending to heavenly places where they don’t, in most certainty, don’t want to see him. Sitting back on his feet, he thumbs your clit, helping you calm down. “Good girl. Feels good, stuffed full like this? My thumb rubbing your sweet little clit, hm?” 

It is a miracle, the way he knows your body and knows what to do with it because your walls loosen, enabling him to fuck you, sloppily, your slick squeaking along with your quickening breaths. You scream out your yeses, driving him to give you his all. 

“Just like that,” he whispers, approving, his balls tightening already, the pressure in his lower tummy becoming bigger. 

You deserve the full thing, though. Jungkook places your knee on his shoulder. And with each stroke, his mound stimulates your clit, getting you nice and fast to his level. 

He cradles your blissed-out face, the heel of his palm putting pressure on your throat. And onto that expression of elation, he uncoils his love for you, brutally fucking you until your whole body ripples beneath him. 

“Whose are you, huh?” he moans, driving into you, rearranging your guts. Sweat drips off of his forehead. “Whose pretty girl are you?” 

Your own sounds of pleasure rise in pitch and volume and he senses, he knows you’re about to come for him. 

“Yours, Jungkook, yours,” you choke out and he’s so proud of you that he hums, his balls slapping against your bum, and he kisses you, giving you his tongue. You suck on it, getting him right there to the edge of his orgasm. 

“Fuck, such a good girl. All mine. You know that I love you, right?” 

And the once reappearing absurdity of his choice of words pushes over that edge and you squeeze him, squeeze him hard, milking his cum out of you and he growls into your mouth. You take over each and every one of his senses, making them yours, and he fucks his cum into you, his mouth smacking against yours, as you whisper your I love you’s and he swallows them down. 

Heaven or something beyond. You created it and he wants to spend the rest of his life there. 

Panting, he kisses your jaw, marking you there for the last time. Unbelief grasping him that he finds himself in such a place glazed with love. “You love me?” 

You whimper, shuddering all over, your orgasm still seizing you. “I love you so fucking much.” 

He licks into your mouth, ending your release. “My best girl. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. You’re never getting out of my sight again.” 

Jungkook lets go of your wrists. They must be cramping, tingling and he massages them in the air, sitting back, his length still inside your homely heat. Your eyes wet again, sobs break out of your mouth and he shushes you most affectionately, his heart twinging. He lifts you and sits you down on his lap, hugging you close to his chest. Skin to skin. You cling to him with everything in you and he holds you together, so you don’t fall apart. 

“You’re my savior. My healer,” you wail, gripping his hair. As if your breaking wasn’t enough, your words hit him hard and his vision soaks along with yours. You’ve never told him that before—never told him the roles he has in your life. He appreciates them so much, holds them dear to his heart. Never wants to forget them. “Don’t ever leave me, please. I beg you.” 

It’s him who now breaks. Right there on your shoulder, beneath the waterfall of your hair. 

“I could never. You’re my life. You’re my everything. How could I ever leave you?” 

You sob harder, lifting your head, and the sight of your rawness makes him fall even more in love with you. Jungkook smooths down your hair and wipes away your tears. Kisses you, deeply, and lingers there. And along with the kiss, you and him exchange your last I love you’s for the night. 

Tub drained, candle snuffed out, cheese balls devoured, the rain finishing like that chapter of your life—Jungkook feels himself entering a brand new one with you, one where Yoongi isn’t present, as he dresses you in his clothes. For panties, he slinks your legs into his boxers, keeping them warm with a pair of his own joggers. Then, he tugs his hoodie down your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves. Smirks at the way his clothes fit you well. As if they were your own. At the way he matches with you. 

He overflows with a thrumming life. 

A brand new chapter filled with myriads of different, ecstatic possibilities. And you seal them to completion, when tucked in bed, lying on his chest, you sleepily utter the first prospect that you want to bring to life.

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?” 

His breath hitches in his throat. He never thought he’d be returning there so soon, especially not with you. His mouth quirks up, body suffused with a foreign excitement, and right away he deduces the reason why you want to go there. 

“You really want that dildo, don’t you?” 

You merely laugh through your nose. 

Oh, he’s calling in sick tomorrow. Will take you there first thing in the morning. Will do absolutely anything for you. 

“I’ll fuck you hard with it until you completely drench it, then. Sleep for now, so we can get to tomorrow.” 

You kiss his clothed chest. Nuzzle your face in it. Whisper your thank you. Jungkook pretends he didn’t just get hard all over again. 

“Good night,” you say. 

He pecks your hair. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[spacebarbarianweird]

Snowstorm

Summary: As you stay together in a small inn, you accidently do something that triggers Astarion

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game, trauma talk

TW: a mild description of SA, a mention of rape

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

You want him.

Your body pulses with heat, and your veins course with adrenaline, the aftermath of the thrilling fight. Whether facing a dragon, a troll, or a devil, your muscles are taut, and the desire for more blood, debauchery, and victories fuels you. The longing for the fight to continue is undeniable, but nothing can hinder the path of your sword.

Yet, when the battle concludes, a different yearning takes hold. Your body desires something more personal, more natural, and at this moment, it craves Astarion.

A snowstorm blankets the surroundings with heavy flakes. You shiver in the cold. You get inside the inn, the only one along this part of the Long Road and go upstairs to the room you and Astarion have rented. It's the first time in months that both of you will sleep under a roof.

Astarion is there. Sitting on the floor with a book. 

It's something with beds, he once admitted to you. The only time I used to have a chance to sleep on them was when I was seducing someone. I slept on the floor at the mansion, often tied up or chained. Hard surfaces feel safer; I know it sounds odd. I-I will try to adjust to sleeping in beds. Cuddling with you is worth fighting another shadow from my past.

Astarion puts the book away, studying you. You see happiness in his eyes, absolute joy.  

"How was it, my sweet?" he asks. His voice is tender and caring.

"I wish there was one troll more," you pout. "I am ashamed even to ask the reward for such an easy kill."

"How dare they bother with you with boring tasks?" Astarion chuckles, finally standing up before you, opening his arms.

You are a weird couple. You effortlessly embrace your feminine side when you're in front of him, feeling like a beautiful, desired woman. To kiss him, you have to tiptoe a bit, and you revel in the sensation of sinking into his strong hands. Yet, you are the warrior, wielding a formidable two-handed axe. While you could easily lift Astarion (his elven bones being light and hollow), you refrain, knowing it annoys him.

You hang around his neck, nuzzling the collarbone. His arms press you tightly. "I should be upset with you for leaving me here," he teases, kissing your forehead.

"Just wanted to give you some personal space. Besides, that beast really took a toll on locals."

"Such a brave little thing, always thinking about the others. I still have a lot to teach you about selfishness."

You want to say something else but can't. You turn your eyes to the small window. The snowflakes are dancing in the winter wind, and you shiver. 

Astarion helps you remove the armor, and it falls to the floor with a loud thump. As his hand slips under your shirt, you realize he has desired the same thing you have.

You pull away a little and then lightly push Astarion onto the bed. He chuckles and lets you lead. You straddle him with your hips, feeling a hardening bulge between your thighs. You kiss him and then take his white shirt off. 

Astarion raises his elbows, anticipating your next action. You place your chilly palms on his chest, and although he would shiver if he were alive, the contrast between your usual temperature and that of someone who's just been outside in winter is barely perceptible to him.

You are burning hot, darling, he once told you. You are constantly burning like a campfire. No, more like… sunshine.

You tease his right nipple with your tongue and then lick the left one. Astarion groans, but you push him back on the pillow when he tries to sit down.

You don't notice that he stops looking at you and turns his face to the window. But you are already too aroused to pay attention.

You firmly grasp his wrists, using all your strength to pin Astarion to the bed, effectively restraining him. As he mumbles something, you silence him with a kiss, anticipating a response, hoping for a passionate reply that would make you lose yourself in the moment's intensity.

"Let me go," he mutters through clenched teeth when you part your lips from his.

"What?"

"Let me go!" he yells at you. His body is rigid; his fangs are bare, ready for an attack. You weaken your grip, Astarion frees his hands, and the next moment, you find yourself on the floor.

"A-astarion", you whisper. "What is wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

He is trembling; anger is mixed with fear and disgust. His mouth is half open, and his eyes wander as if looking for a hidden enemy. 

"Leave me alone- "his voice cracks as if he's been screaming too long. It seems he wants to say something else, but whatever fear gripping him is too intense.

He gets out of bed, snatches the shirt, and puts it on like light armor. 

What have you done; you think. You scroll through the memories, trying to figure out what has hurt him. Gripping his wrists? It's not like it could hurt him…

"Astarion, my love, » you stretch your left arm to him, but he recoils as if you are holding a razor to flay his skin.

"Go away. Go away!" he collapses on the floor, pressing legs to the chest.

There is no point in arguing; you will hurt him even more if you try to touch or console him. At this moment, you feel like your heart is pierced with a spear.

You leave the room and go downstairs.

The tavern on the first floor of the inn is empty. The snowstorm rages outside, threatening to bury the whole town.

Your heart and mind ache as you think about Astarion being alone with his fears and whatever nightmare you accidentally awoke. You are sure it was about hand gripping, and though it doesn't sound like something awful compared to what you usually do to each other, still - 

You should have asked.

You should have asked him, you stupid cunt.

Astarion is still healing his broken mind and soul, and even if you don't have to be extra careful around him anymore, it doesn't mean there is no trigger left.

But there is no point in returning right now. You know him. If you press any harder, Astarion will just run away. And who knows where he will go in such a snowstorm. 

You spend sleepless hours watching the snowflakes fall. The winds are howling like hungry wolves. Finally, you decide to come back – if Astarion still doesn't want to see you, you will just rent another room and sleep.

Because gods know you are tired. 

…Astarion lies on the floor on his back, eyes closed. There is no implication that he's tried to hurt himself (it has happened a few times before after enduring yet another nightmare), and you are happy that at least he is here.

"Hello, my sweet", he says, opening his eyes. There is no fear or disgust. It is only the exhaustion of a person fighting monsters within for too long.

"I just wanted to check on you. If you don’t want me here, I will go."

He sighs. "Sit with me," he finally says, and his voice removes the stone from your chest.

You can't help but notice he's rolled the sleeves down. "Tell me what I did wrong".

"You? Nothing. It was just a… coincidence. Something got into my mind, and…you know how it happens to me".

You feel the desire to hold him, to hug him. You haven't seen Astarion so vulnerable for ages, but you don't want to trigger him further.

"We both know it wasn't. Please, tell me. And I am sorry for making you feel whatever you felt."

He tilts his chin up, studying the wooden ceiling. 

"It just reminded me" he avoids looking at you. "One of my victims."

Oh no.

 "I don't know who she was. He usually gave me some time to hunt, to choose a victim. But that night, he wanted something soon, right away. He said he would carve another poem on me if I didn't bring him anything within hours."

Astarion makes a pause. "It was a very similar evening. The snowstorm. So cold even I felt it. No one was outside, so I just went straight to the nearest inn to pick up some unlucky victim. It’s not like I had many options in such weather. "

His gaze wanders the room as if he is ashamed to look at you.

"There was a woman. Some old prostitute, drunk and filthy. It wouldn't take me much to do the job, and I was in a hurry."

You recognize this emotion on his face. Utter disgust.

"Well, I didn't have to play any tricks on her. There was no point. She just dragged me to bed, stinking like a pile of dead rats. Ideally, I would prefer to forget all the intercourses I'd had before you. But if I had a choice to choose only a few to forget, this would be the first I would name."

"Did she do the same things I did?"

Astarion finally looks at you. A familiar light returns to his eyes. "Darling, there were so many things done to me and things I did to others. We would have nothing left to do in bed should I decide to avoid every detail about my past."

"But still?"

"Yes. She gripped my hands and pinned me to the bed. The prostitute was pretty strong, and I thought she would break my arms. Or something else. At least, I would not be surprised if it happened." 

It is not precisely that, you realize. Something after. 

"So," Astarion proceeds. "Since she thought I was her client, I needed to pay for the "unforgettable service." I said I would gladly give her extra gold, but we must go to my place, that rich mansion in the Upper City. And some people, relatives of mine, would want her services as well. She followed me despite the terrible weather. Things we do for money and sex, I guess."

Astarion is silent again. The light in his eyes is replaced by disgust again.

"For a moment, I actually thought he liked her. At least, her blood. He was pretty content in the process. I was standing about five feet away from them, watching life leave her body. And seeing the choice I had as usual."

"A filthy rat and a sharp razor," you mutter. 

He chuckles. "The rat wasn't really bad looking. Less filthy than the victim, that's for sure."

Astarion's shoulders start trembling.

"When he was done, he made me approach him. The moment I was in his arms' proximity, he started beating me. I don't know why. Because he didn't like the victim, because she was too drunk, because I did my job too bad or did it too good. But it was violent even to his standards."

The tears flow through his cheeks as if his body re-lives those moments of pain. You stretch your hand to show your intention but don't dare to touch Astarion. He looks at you but doesn't see.

"I don't remember how long it lasted. I started dissociating. It wasn't me. It wasn't my pain. Cazador beat me to the state where even vampiric regeneration needed time to repair the damage. And when I fell down on the floor, he –"

You know what he will say. You know what happened after.

"-he raped me"

The silence is unbearable. The only sound you can hear is muffled sobs. You feel like crying, too, but you get yourself together. That is the moment when he needs you, when it is you who is strong. Because he isn't. Because the monsters of the past have won.

"Astarion", you finally say. "May I touch you?"

He looks at you in horror, and you think he will either run away or snatch one of his daggers and slice his own skin.

"I don't know what was worse. That it was so painful because every fucking bone in my body was broken, that the other spawns saw it, that this dead woman was just near me. Or that after he'd finished, he ordered me to stay on that floor. I remember the window – it was a dark night, and the curtains were open. It was snowing." He points outside. "Snowing just like now."

Silence envelops you, drowned in a mixture of sorrow and rage. It feels like you've witnessed every horror that has befallen the man you love, only to discover that his mind harbors yet another layer of torment. The weight of it all is crushing. If it were within your power to end Cazador's existence a thousand times more, each demise would be crueler than the last.

Twenty-eight stabs by Astarion weren't enough for such a monster.

"My – My sweet, it wasn't you. I just heard his voice again in my head. As if he was still alive and that he gave an order not to move. Similar place, same weather, the grip." Astarion looks away. "I am sorry, it doesn't seem like… I will be able… for a while."

Now, there is shame in his voice, which breaks your heart for the second time.

"It's all right, Astarion. Take your time. Do you want me to touch you?"

"Not - not naked skin – please," he mutters. 

You finally hug him, and Astarion melts in your arms. 

"I am here, Astarion. You hear me? I am not going anywhere. I don't care about your past, about all these awful things. I am not scared. I am not disgusted", you say firmly. "Take all the time you need. Just let me know what you need.”

He finally relaxes enough to hold you again. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. Astarion, what can I do to make you feel better?"

"Can we just sit together?"

You sit on a bed, putting the pillow behind your back. Astarion sits between your lap, putting his head on your chest. You hug him as tight as possible, pressing him against you as you reach for the blanket.

"What are you doing?" he giggles.

"It's so cold I won't be able to warm you alone. Relax"

Astarion nods, and, in a moment, his whole body is covered by the warm blanket.

You start massaging his scalp, and he releases a sigh. 

"You are the best thing that happened to me," you whisper. "I love you. I will do anything to help you with your memories and your past. I am not ashamed, not disgusted. I knew what I was getting into when you told me the first details of your life. I am not with you for your looks. I am not with you for sex."

«That is still the most surprising because if you were for me for these two things, I could understand it.”

"Honestly, I really fall into your looks, don't get me wrong. Never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. But the more we traveled, the more I loved you.”

You kiss the crown of his head and are pleased to notice that he is no longer tense.

"Do it again, that – thing."

You kiss him, burying your face in his silver curls. "My beautiful elf, my love, my man, so strong, so beautiful, so resilient. Every spawn in that wretched place was broken in pieces. You were the only one who managed to preserve himself. Everyone was telling me you were a mess that would drag me to hell, but I saw such strength in you! You survived. You did the most unimaginable thing. You survived where anyone would die. Preserved your sanity where madness was the only remedy. And what you did back then, refusing to become the very monster, is the thing that makes me proud of you. Astarion, listen to me. You are everything. I want you. I need you. Your presence makes me happy."

He looks up at you and raises his hand to caress your cheek. His face is red with tears. He wants to say something, but words are drowning in cries. He covers his face again, and you start cradling him in your hands as if he was a little child.

Eventually the sobs subside, and Astarion finally relaxes. He turns his head toward the window, watching the falling snow.

"Do you want me to close the curtains?"

"No. I am making new memories."

"What?"

"The next time I see a blizzard outside the inn window, I want to remember at once how you held me, how I felt safe and loved. In time, I will be able to replace everything. "

He touches your knee cup below the blanket. "Tell me about that awful troll you murdered yesterday. With all the gore details."

You plant a kiss on his cheek. "Just don't complain you weren't there."

"Of course, I will complain. Had fun without me, how did you dare?" he laughs. "And what if this troll had hurt my darling girl without me by her side to protect her?"

"I thought I was the warrior in our relationship."

"You are the most amazing woman a man dares to get. So, forgive me for being protective."

You squeeze him in your hands. You feel like falling asleep, and the last thing that comes to your mind is how grateful you are for having Astarion in your life.

--

Tag List

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession

[justporo]

Hey you :D

Here’s a request just to add your huge list for after vacation muahaha 💖

How do you think a slow, bickering romance with Astarion (kinda like Howl and Sophie) would go down.

Hey darling ❤️ You might’ve forgotten about this ask but I have not! I'm combining this with another one asking about where Astarion rejected Tav at first but then slowly fell for them.

Also haven't done one of this headcanon posts for a whole haven't we? Here we go:

Headcanons about Astarion slowly but surely falling in love with you (and how he pursues you)

Oh, it's all just a game for him, isn't it? At least at first. But this silly little jester didn't realise he was playing himself.

He might have rejected you at first (because he's a prick who has looked at the sun a little too long, let's be honest) but he quickly realises he can't take his mind off of you

You keep stirring the vampire's undead little heart and it scares him at first - and of course you had given up on it after that first hurtful rejection

But his crimson eyes start to never stray far from you, no matter if in battle or at camp: he can't tear his gaze from you - gods dammit, you're lovely!

It's in the way you always put others first, always have a kind word to spare, always a warm smile. How you laugh and how brave you are, how you bite your lip when you're lost deep in thought.

Quite frankly: a stake to his heart couldn't have been more effective.

But he realises another thing: he wants to be real with you, he wants to fall slowly with you - not a vicious thunderstorm but a soft, warm summer rain

And so Astarion begins to yearn in silence as you too can't keep your thoughts from turning around him often

It's painfully obvious to everyone around you how much the two of you are in love with each other; so much so that bets are being made in camp if you're gonna make it before you all reach the Gate

You notice that Astarion keeps sneaking around you like an adoring cat would: always a playful quip on the tip of his sharp tongue that you never take serious because... this Astarion we're talking about. "Oh my heart, aren't you even more blinding than the sun today" "Look who's blessing us with their grace and insight." "A copper for the thoughts in your pretty little head, darling."

Astarion doesn't know how to live the teasing out of his tone, maybe out of fear you might actually start taking him seriously; but if you would peel back the generous layer of faked sarcasm you'd find he's actually being serious

This man is downright smitten by you and you don't realise it as he achingly yearns for you - so much the others can barely take it

Sometimes you find little gifts on your pillow when you wake up: a sweet treat, snuck away from the others, a single blossom, a mysterious line of poetry - you are at a loss at where this comes from or if someone is playing with you

Meanwhile Astarion swallows his pride to regularly go to Wyll and ask his advice who... does help him but not without a haughty grin whenever he sees the lovesick vampire stroll over in his seemingly hopeless endeavour

Meanwhile you keep doing your utmost best to be at Astarion's side because you truly only want to help him and be happy and safe

Again: have mercy with the poor tortured soul, sometimes Astarion almost feels like he could combust on the spot if you give him one of your adorable lopsided smiles

When Moonrise and unpleasant people happen something in Astarion breaks, it all bursts out of him at once, overpowering even his terrible fear of rejection

The hug and tender first kiss you share that night tears both if your walls down.

You have not defeated the big bad enemy but something in your heart lightens knowing you have someone who will travel the road to whatever end with you

From there on out the two of you become even more unbearable in your pining for each other - meanwhile not trivial amounts of gold are passed between the other companions with quite some grumbling - but be assured: all of your friends are rooting for the two of you.

There we go, I love idiots in love with each other, hope you enjoyed!

[tragicdruid]

Lost Love (2)

Pairings: Wanderer x Reader

Contains: Fluff, lots of yearning, platonic relationship, post-Archon quest

Word Count: 600+

Summary: After erasing himself from Irminsul, Wanderer thinks it will fix all of his problems. Instead, he finds himself with regrets.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

"You know I love you. Is it too hard to love me back?"

Those words continued to haunt him every time he sees you walking through Sumeru City's marketplace. That smile, those eyes --- he hates how much he misses them; how much he misses you. There's a tug in his chest whenever you look his way, but he refuses to meet your gaze. Maybe it's shame. Maybe he's just a coward. Neither of which he'd ever admit to.

Despite this, his heart continues to yearn for you. But it's too late, he decided. You have no memory of him. He is nothing to you, and you seem so at peace that he doesn't have the heart to break it.

It's the afternoon when he happens to come across you buying some baked treats for lunch. There's a lightness to your movement that comes from abandoning the Fatui and living a free life. Without his influence, he wonders what Irminsul has replaced your motives with to leave you alone here in the city. Wanderer stands at a nearby stall, casting you a subtle glance as he watches your hands smoothly take two wrapped pieces of bread. Pretty hands he wishes he could hold one last time.

"Just two will do, thanks. Well, actually, can I also get..."

Your voice is mostly the same, but there's a peace to it that he doesn't recognize. You sound happier without him; less stressed. Content. It's a pleasant sound that makes his chest clench. Would you have sounded this lovely had you not approached him back when he was Scaramouche? It's something he doesn't want to think about.

Wanderer snaps out of his thoughts as you thank the baker once more, turning away with a smile with a bag of baked goods in hand. Despite his noble intentions, he is not a noble man. Neither is he selfish, but he can be so so greedy.

As you begin to walk down the path towards another stall, he intercepts you. Your shoulders bump lightly, enough to catch your attention.

"Ah, excuse me," you exclaim apologetically, a polite small smile on your lips.

It's not enough. He wants to see that affectionate smile you once gave him. The one that makes your eyes twinkle.

"Be more careful," he responds coolly, tipping his hat slightly forward to avoid your gaze.

But he simply can't help himself. He turns his head upward once more and catches your raised brow, eyes curious as you take in his expression. Your eyes were always beautiful up close, especially when lit up by the sun.

"You bumped into me," you reply, tone both accusatory and amused. "But I'll let it slide though since you're cute."

Wanderer feels a familiar heat in his cheeks. It's something so childish to be flattered by, but it's only because it's coming from you. He can only scoff in turn, glancing to the side as he tries to focus on anything other than you...but his eyes finds their way back as they lock onto that smile. It's full of mirth and sweet amusement. He's the only one you should be smiling like that for.

"Trying to use flattery to divert blame? How childish," he chuckles, crossing his arms nonchalantly.

A huff of a laugh leaves you as you roll your eyes. "It's not flattery if it's the truth." You look him up and down with interest and curiosity. It's clear that he's not from the city; though neither are you.

"Do you want to have lunch?" You offer with a small smirk. "We can argue semantics over some treats."

You hold up your paper bag, giving it a light shake.

He knows that he should say no and let you go on your merry way, but the chance to be this close to you is too tempting to pass up.

"I don't have anything better to do. Why not?" His voice is cool and collected, but he feels anything other than that. Had he a heart, it would be pounding in his chest.

Maybe this time, he could do things right.

[urprettylittlething]

Hiii! Could I ask for a scenario about Cursed Kitty AU? Our little kitty is in her eating season and wants it so much... One morning, she wakes Gojo (or both of them) up with a blowjob... Thanks in advance~ I love this au! ^^

Thank you so much for this request, I truly apologise that it's taken me so long to get around to it but its finally here! I hope its okay <3 I kept it open so you can imagine either Gojo or Geto being the ones to receive the special treatment :)

Desperation

≧◠ᴥ◠≦≧◠ᴥ◠≦≧◠ᴥ◠≦≧◠ᴥ◠≦≧◠ᴥ◠≦≧◠ᴥ◠≦≧◠ᴥ◠≦

Yandere - Gojo Satoru x CursedKitty! Reader x Geto Suguru

A/N - thank you so much for all the love coming in on my recent post, it means the world <3 please enjoy this lovely little smutty drabble requested, I don't know if its my best work, I'm feeling a little rusty, but please enjoy nonetheless, let me know your thoughts :) I really appreciate and value what you guys think <33 I love you all so much <3 as always let me know of any errors or missed warnings, I try my best but sometimes I miss things :,)

summary - Kitty is too desperate to wait, so she takes things (a cock) into her own hands.

warnings - Yandere but it's practically non-existent here, could be seen as dubcon since they haven't spoken about it beforehand, but it is very well received and they would 100% want it again, smut ofc, hand job, mixed in with some blowjob action, she's also trying to hump the bed so there's that

genre - Drabble

word count - 450

~spelling and grammar checked~

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Snuggling deeper into the warmth that was surrounding her, Kitty searched desperately for any kind of relief. Her stomach muscles were tense, cramping up with every passing second since she had woken up.

She tries desperately to get back to sleep but the pulsating ache between her legs forbids it. No amount of rubbing or humping is fixing this little issue of hers. Even her whimpering and moaning hasn’t woken the two sorcerers sleeping either side of her.

What she noticed though, between all her fidgeting, was something particularly hard between the pair's legs. She could feel the throbbing anytime she brushed up against them, the warmth seeping through her skin. It’s something she is currently craving, yearning for, and since none of them have bothered to wake up and help her, she’s decided to take it for herself.

Shuffling down under the covers, Kitty paws at the first pair of legs she gets to. Nuzzling next to the warmth between the legs she turns her head and starts to suckle on the hard mass through his boxers.

Her hands almost frantically try to tug down the underwear he’s wearing, practically drooling at the sight of his cock being revealed to her.

She thinks that it looks heavy, almost bouncing when she pulls the boxers fully away. The flushed tip was almost dripping with liquid from where she’d been rubbing all over it.

Her ears flutter as her body does a full shiver, licking from base to tip she envelops the head into her mouth, sucking and licking as she does.

Her thighs rub and squeeze together as she moans around the cock in her mouth. Her tail curled and uncurling in delight.

Both of her hands come up, wrapping around his cock as best as they can and start pumping. She knows, has been taught, by the two of them that when she does this she can get the delicious milk they provide just for her. And she wants it bad.

So she lays there, sucking, licking, pumping away at his cock, practically humping the bed in her throes of pleasure. Startled nearly half to death when a hand comes down on the top of her head. Kneading deeply into the base of her fluttering ears and pushing her further down his cock every so slightly.

“Don’t stop now Kitty, come on, keep going.” A deep voice calls out announcing his awareness. Her eyes roll back, now working in tandem for what she so desperately wants.

Between the low grunts and moans she can just about make out a second voice, rumbling deep in his chest as laughter, before the sheets get pulled away.

“…Such a desperate little Kitty.”

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

[holrye]

A love she can't have

summary: a window into the sacred nights of a small island kingdoms queen and her lover

tags: plot divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, yearning, implied chubby reader (section is tiny)

a/n: ahhhh, so I'm super nervous to post this, lol. Im not the most confident in my writing, and I've been working on the idea for this for so long. tbh I don't know if I like how it turned out. I made so many different versions, and this is the only one that stuck. I hope you guys like it :)

One night, every six or seven months, the estate of this small island kingdom is empty.

No bustling of maids and butlers as they prepare meals and clean. The orange hue of the lights inside are dimmed and the sheer curtains are often drawn.

A tradition, some would call it. Others would say it's strange. What could the young ruler do all to her lonesome up in that immense estate? Does she force her staff to leave for nefarious reasons? What secrets could she be hiding? All fair questions that will go unanswered for as long as you live. 

Privacy as the ruler of a nation is somewhat expected to wane upon your coronation. The kings and queens before you knew this, and were mindful of it. But never has a ruler taken so many precautions as you on these particular nights. These nights were often random to the public as well, the only sign being when the staff are ushered from the large french doors at the estates entrance. 

What could the diligent leader be cooping herself up for?

Oh, if they only knew…

If your people only knew that their queen was hiding a scandalous affair, with a pirate no less. What would people think? They’d say you’d gone insane, and were seduced by some horrid marauder. You’d lose every ounce of power you gained and be left to fend for yourself. Not a thing to your name other than the clothes on your back, they’d raid the estate and denounce you. 

So, these nights are secret. Whispers between you and your midnight guest that never leave the halls of the estate.

Though the guest in question is far less worried about the conspicuousness of your meetings. Not because he lacks care for your reputation, but because some would say he's a bit obtuse. A fool in love with someone he should never associate with.

-

You only become aware of his visits hours before he arrives, leaving you little time to fruitfully convince your entire staff to leave. Though it sounds unchallenging, your estate employs hundreds of people. Gardeners, chefs, handmaids, every task you could do yourself is done for you, mostly at the behest of your late mother who ruled before you. 

There's only so many excuses you can use without sounding suspicious. You want them to spend the night with their families or you’d like the estate to yourself or you had an awful mark on your back you didn’t want anyone to see as you bathed (that last one only made your head maid look at you worried). 

By now, they’d chalked it up to your eccentricity. The queen is just a bit strange. It made you more likable to some, relatable. There was little judgment, at least to your face, though that too was likely because of your rank. You cared little, as long as they were all gone before he blew in. 

He usually arrived just before midnight, his boat tied just off shore. A small cove sat behind your estate, sharp boulders and thick shrubbery concealing it. This is where he hides his vessel, only doing so after it was nearly found the morning after by a gardener. 

You scolded him harshly in your letters through the following months.

You’d wait on your bedroom balcony, watching the bushes. Sitting at the small table, eagerly stirring your cup of tea and waiting. Your feet are bare, cold from the breeze and the stone underfoot. 

The chill of soft trepidation is a feeling you’ve come to know since you met him. An almost nauseous feeling in your stomach, stiff cold limbs, a heavy chest. The months worth of built up suspense that has you on the edge, tempting you to jump.

Only when a hint of tanned skin is seen through the leaves, does your chest tighten. The bush moves again and his body pushes through, nearly falling to the grass. He catches himself before looking up to your balcony.

A smile stretches his freckled cheeks, and his feet are moving again.

You stand, gulping the last drink from your cup before hastily fixing yourself. Crickets and his heavy breaths as he climbs up the balcony are the only noise throughout the garden. It seemingly makes your heart pound faster, anticipation building in your belly. 

With a few more pulls, the man hops over the banister and stands before you. A shallow and shaky breath leaves your nose. Months of letters, declarations of love and yearning built up to this meeting. It always feels like the first time, standing before him in your frilly nightgown. It's embarrassing and euphoric all at once.

“Long time, no see.” His voice is soft, smile apparent as he speaks.

You smile up at him, blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hello, my love.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be. He moves a step closer, and you notice the small bundle of letters in his hand. They’re addressed to him and the handwriting is your soft cursive. You question his purpose in bringing them, but don’t ask. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask. It’s a silly question now that you think about it, the man is known for his appetite.

He nods, still smiling as he moves closer again. His hand meets your arm, slowly sliding up to lay against your neck. The movement is soft, his thumb caressing your jaw as he looks at you. 

Your arms move to his shoulders, broad and strong. They slip to the back of his neck, dark, wet hair matting to your hand. He smells of salt water and sweat. He likely had to snow to shore due to high tide, which completely engulfed the cove most nights.

His eyes droop, as he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. It has you curling into him, his full hand meeting your hip. His feet start to move you backward, against the cold stone wall behind you. His hand moves from your jaw to the space beside your head, stealing your breath as he kisses you. Your hands twist into his hair, keeping him there until you both break with a gasp. 

He moves his hand to your lower back, pulling you into him again only for you to press a palm to his mouth. His eyebrows twist as he looks at you.

“I have some things inside for you.” You say, cocking your head to the left.

“Of course you do.” He smiles at you again.

-

Your bedroom, a large rounded room with a bed much too big for one, is lit with hundreds of candles. Two bottles of champagne sit unopened on the table in the middle of the room with two glasses sat to the side. An array of cheeses, bread and fruit sit on a plate to the side as well.

The bedspread is soft below you, your eyes glued to the liquid in the flute as you listen to Ace read your writing. Your hand wrapped around his wrist and your head rests against his hip as his voice nearly soothes you to sleep. You want to make a bed out of his tambre and sleep in it forever.

“I fear the selfishness I feel when you aren’t in my company. I cower at the thought of it boiling over and taking hold of me, interfering in my daily work. I yearn so much for the day I can be with you, freely, without the need to veil our flirtation. To think, I rule a nation as a queen. I wield power most only dream of, and yet I feel powerless in your absence. It nearly sickens me.” He pauses, looking at you over the parchment. 

“A kiss would satiate me for the time being. I soft kiss that speaks your tenor and goes by your name. I look forward to when we meet again, my love. May that heavenly time come soon.” He ends it by saying your signature out loud. He folds that paper again, placing it back in its envelope. 

The look on your face is melancholic, thinking back to the sadness you felt writing those letters to him. How much you missed him and what you would’ve done to see him at the time. It's embarrassing, listening to the heart you poured into the paper for him out loud.

He looks at you again, hand moving to the top of your head. He plays with the hair there, the comfortable silence taking the place of his voice.

“Is Edward well? I heard his health started declining again.” You ask, sipping from your glass again.

He nods, smile fading slightly as he speaks again.

“Yeah, the old man shouldn’t work himself as hard as he does. It's catching up to him.” Whitebeard was an acquaintance of your father, often meeting him for peace treaty signings. Even as a pirate, he’d earned your fathers respect.

“Hardworking as ever.” You smile.

He smiles as you sit up, finishing your glass off and setting it upon the bedside table. 

“You're one to talk, your highness.” He chuckles, extending his arm for you to lay against his chest.

“Ruling a kingdom is a lot of work. I do what I have to do. You’d think being a pirate, he’d use more of his free time being…free.” You say. A soft laugh leaves his chest as he nods his head.

“You’d think.” His voice evens out again as he looks down at you.

Your hand moves to cup his cheek, holding it there for a moment. It’s warm. Everything about Ace is. Whether it be his devil fruit or his personality. He warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. It makes it harder when you have to watch him leave, his broad form disappearing in the bushes. You’d say goodbye to him with tears in your eyes as he kissed your lips and abandon that warmth until you saw him again.

“You're so beautiful.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, biting your lip when your mouth speaks before you catch yourself. His lips quirk, eyes half-massed as he gazes at you.

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

The room goes quiet again.

He takes your hand in his, pressing your palm to his lips. It's soft and he keeps moving up your arm, to your shoulder. He pauses a moment before looking at you again. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, kissing your shoulder again. A blush brightens your cheeks. You know what he's asking.

With a dry swallow, you nod and he smiles for the millionth time tonight. He climbs on top of you, moving from your collar bone up to your neck. Your hands move to his head, grasping the hair there at the sensation. He kisses the section just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

A throaty chuckle falls from him as he starts his descent of your body. A kiss pressed to your collarbone, a kiss to your sternum, a kiss to your belly, it's all too much. His hands meet your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress slightly. He moves down, pressing soft kisses to the middle of your thighs.

“You're so soft.” He says, smiling into your sensitive skin. You sigh, wanting nothing more than for him to ravish you like he’s done so many times before. His hands bunch at the end of your skirt, slowly pulling it up inch by tantalizing inch. It's enough anticipation to make you sick. 

He raises the hem to your hips, your lacy undergarments showing. You sit up as he pulls it off of you, your breasts bouncing as they fall. He kisses your lips again, before laying you down on the bed again. Your knees press together, a familiar warmth swirling through your gut and into your core.

His hands land on your hips, softly squeezing the skin that lightly hangs over your panties. Your breath catches when he kneels at the edge of your bed, looping his fingers into your underwear and slipping them down your thighs.

He exhales loudly, seemingly holding his breath before. He takes your knees over his shoulders, nipping at the fat of your thighs. A long stripe from your inner thigh to your groin has you shaking. His hands move to yours scrunched up in the blankets, lacing your fingers together.

A slow lick to your clit leaves you breathless, eyes shutting as you squeeze his hands. 

“You taste so good.” it's muffled by your skin, but you understand him. He licks you again, softly sucking your clit into his mouth. 

His mouth is so warm and wet, it has you in a euphoric state. This feeling only he can give you, one that you want to feel forever. Making love to Ace felt otherworldly, no matter how many times you did it.

“Ace..ah-” Your voice is caught in your throat, his tongue moving down to your hole.

“Yes, my love?” His tone is mocking, as if demanding you answer him. Your lips are raw, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as you try to speak.

Words fail you, one of your hands moving from his, to his head. Leverage.

He hums into you, slipping his tongue in and out of you a few times before replacing it with his finger. His mouth moves back to your clit and your seeing stars, the blinding white matching the pace of the growing knot in your stomach.

“Ace-” You sigh as your muscles tense up. Your orgasm hits you in waves, leaving your thighs shaking around his face. He sucks the soft skin around your pussy as you come down, hands moving to your thighs.

“Mm, baby…” He says, his voice hoarse as he moves up to your face. Your skin is sticky, hair sticking to your face and palms sweating. He kisses you, the heady taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hands move to his face, draping your arms around his neck.

With little hesitation, he reaches for the buckle of his shorts, dropping them and climbing on top of you. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his hips. 

“You ready?” He asks, and you nuzzle your nose into his. With a huff, he’s pushing in and the both of you sigh loudly at the contact. His movements start slow, smooth.

His hips meet yours and your eyes go white. His hand rests next to your head, his thrusts making his bicep flex a bit. It makes you drool, pressing a kiss to his wrist as he evens out his pace.

“You feel so good…hah-” His breathing is erratic and his other hand moves to the fold of your knee. Your head falls back, moans leaving you otherwise speechless. It feels so good, you can’t move.

His pace picks up, quickening as both of you approach your highs. Your breathing is stunted and your eyes are clenched shut. Ace moves his face to the crook of your neck, licking a strip up to your chin. Everything is perfect.

“I love you.” You say, looking him in the eyes. You swear you feel his cock throb inside you.

“I love you too, your highness.” He smirks.

With two or three deep thrusts, he’s finishing inside you. You scream, voice breaking when you finally cum again. He thrusts a couple more times, only pulling out when his cock stops throbbing. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his cum dripping out of you onto the pristine sheets. 

He falls into the empty space next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you clench your thighs together again. The aftershocks leave you drowsy and you roll in to his chest, drifting to sleep.

-

You don’t wake again until the early morning the next day. Ace is awake, his warm hands brushing through your hair. Your eyes scrunch at the brightening horizon before looking back at him.

“You sleep ok?” He asks.

You nod, kissing his jaw before rising to stretch. He rubs a hand down your back and gets out of bed.

Mornings after he visits are melancholy, knowing the inevitable has come to pass yet again. He’ll leave you for another period of time unknown to him or you. Your letters will be the only form of communication you'll have for months. It’s all a bit too much to bear.

You rise, hugging him from behind as he puts his clothes back on. Freckles decorate his back and shoulders and you want to count every one of them.

Before you know it, you stand looking up at him on your balcony wrapped in a sheet. His kiss is as warm as ever, not wanting to leave. You hold him there for a while, tears nearly forming in your eyes already.

“I’ll see you soon.” You nearly whimper. He wipes your eyes with his thumbs, smiling at you. 

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts, my love.” He smiles and you remember your gift you still have to give him.

“Wait!” You say, scurrying inside and grabbing a small locket off of your vanity. You hand it to him, and he opens it.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You say. The picture inside is of you, and it warms his heart. A smile creases his eyes as kisses you again. He kisses your cheeks and your forehead as the sun starts to show over the horizon.

“I love you.” He says, slowly stepping back and over the banaster. You reach your hands out one last time, cupping his face and kissing him before he climbs down and runs through the garden. 

With one final wave and kiss to his palm, he disappears into the greenery.

-

No one knows why the queen hides herself away certain nights of the year. Maybe shes up to nefarious activities. Maybe she does have secrets. 

Maybe she's just in love with someone she can’t have.

[hippiepowrs]

he's a goner

eddie munson x gn!best friend!reader

a/n: this is the first fic i'm ever posting on here i'm so nervous plz don't eat me guys

warnings: pining. yearning. longing, if you will. just eddie being totally whipped. swearing. weed use/vague descriptions of being high. d&d terminology. one line from gareth. no use of y/n or reader's pronouns. eddie's pov.

wc: 571

Eddie’s in way too fucking deep.

Maybe this is salvageable?

No, he’s a goner.

It’s not like this is a scene he hasn’t watched before–his best friend laughing, giggling, and smoking with the rest of the older Hellfire boys–hell, it happens every week. But there’s a certain point where the high starts to hit him just right, and he can’t help himself from staring at you. Despite his typical loudness, the usual brash and joking demeanor that overtakes him, he just sits in his chair, quieter than ever. It’s not unheard of for him to get quiet, so nobody thinks anything of it.

You’re the prettiest person to ever exist, he thinks. He finds himself thinking that a lot. The way one corner of your mouth lifts a little more than the other when you smile, the way your eyes crinkle, the way you sparkle as you giggle; he loves it all. He loves the way you look when you blow smoke through your lips. He’s never been more honored to roll in his life. He’d buy all the weed in Indiana if it meant he got to watch you smoke it. 

Eddie often finds himself wanting to write about you or draw you, but he’s nervous he won’t capture you correctly. You’re the kind of beauty that only the Greeks could capture. He wishes he could sculpt like them, just to be able to sculpt you.

A nudge to his arm breaks him out of his trance. He sees you smiling up at him from the floor. It’s a sight he hopes he’ll get to see for the rest of time.

“Ed,” You say, voice soft and a little tired, “Can you back me up here? Can you please tell these nerds that fighter isn’t the best class?” 

“What?” He mumbles, still out of it. “Guys, literally any class is as good as you make it. Except monks.”

“Fuck off.” Gareth responds, throwing a handful of chips in his mouth.

Eddie zones back out after that. Whatever B-horror movie Jeff brought continues to drone on in the background as you and the guys continue to argue, but he can’t be bothered to listen to any of the words he hears. By the time he zones back in, the guys are standing up and brushing themselves off, clearly ready to leave. They say their goodbyes and Eddie waves them off, leaving him alone with you. 

“Is it cool if I sleep over tonight?” Your voice is his favorite thing to hear. Even better than Hetfield or Dio.

“‘Course.” He says, voice more grumbly than he expected. “You know you’re always welcome to.” 

He watches you stand up, watches the way your shirt rides up as you stretch, admires the sleepiness in your eyes. He wants you in his bed, next to him, he wants to wake up to your face in the morning. He wants the smell of your shampoo to overwhelm him. He wants to kiss you, soft and sweet.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbles under his breath, running a hand over his face before standing back up. Your footsteps are already trailing down the hall to his room, and he quickly follows. You’re halfway through throwing one of his shirts on, which you do every time you sleep over. He’ll never get tired of the way his worn-out shirts hang off your body. He’ll never get tired of you.