#in a way that runs deeper than pretty sounds and pretty words and drives its roots into me as i am

[pristine-starlight]

I think it is important and good for the soul and whatnot for every person who considers themself to be even marginally Music Aligned to have collected a list of songs that are, in some shape or form, Them

I don't mean your favourite songs, I don't mean whatever sounds best, I don't mean making a playlist for yourself like you were a fictional character

I mean songs that feel so intrinsically linked to your very being that they might have just taken up residence in your soul. Songs that are somehow part of your story, your experience, your...you

Grab those songs. Put them in a pile. Make a playlist and listen and watch and feel as its heart starts to beat, a monument to you

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

What are ur language hcs for Rody? I've seen ppl hc him speaking languages like Spanish, Italian, Portuguese or Dutch, so I'd like to know if there's any language u particularly like to hc him speaking. Also is there anything u want to say about the language Othenic that u made for ur last fic? Does it sound like any existing language or did u not put much thought into it?

okay, let me try this again now that I've had a day to rage about tumblr deleting my original reply kasdjfa

OKAY

Simpler answer first-- When I wrote in the "othenic" language, I never really thought of phrases or words for it, it's just another lesser know language of the world. My head imagines to have a sort of heavier touch on consonants, like Maya or Nahuatl, and a certain speaking rhythm that would make it sound musical, similar to Irish or Italian. But no actual phrases.

I headcanon Otheon having its own language typically, with English as the sort of European tether (as I've noticed in european media. Most people have like conversational English down pretty early on). HOWEVER---

So, when I saw Otheon in WHM, I sort of gasped and teared up a little bit because it looks so similar to my city in Mexico. The colorful houses, the tin roofs, the mountainous region with trees.

To the left is Sierra Ventana, where one of my great grandmas lives. I visit her every time I go to Mexico (hold on I think I even have photos I took last summer because the Rodydeku brainrot had already gripped me by the throat)

Ta-da!!! the view from my abuelita's patio!

So, of course I started projecting a lot of Mexican culture concepts onto Rody. That's why in "To End Up with You" he uses the phrase "Pampa nimitzlazohtla nochi no yollo." It's actual Nahuatl, one of the native tongues of Mesoamerica (the Aztecs, specifically). Like, yeah, he's European, but what if, y'know?

Okay, so now a deeper nosedive into my Rody Soul analysis.

I feel like we all forget that Rody was kinda rich before his dad was killed, so I think he managed to get a bit of schooling before they were run out. That makes me think that he had to be bi or trilingual at a young age, maybe not perfectly, but for sure enough to get by, especially on the streets.

Add to that the fact that a lot of europeans learn multiple languages because of how close so many other countries are to each other and how easy it is to travel between them (it's like an hour??? hello??? I drive an hour, I'm still in my fucking CITY).

I think I do kind of have Spanish and French as a given because of that, I mean they're very popular languages. And then Italian is pretty easy to comprehend if you know those two since the three are very intertwined and similar. Portuguese is super similar to Spanish as well, just with a throatier sound (like the French), so I think he'd at least be able to understand those at a surface level.

Of course, I headcanon he teaches himself Japanese because of Izuku, and since I'm teaching myself (with duolingo and some workbooks and music ksjfka), that's why I'm so specific about Rody being better about understanding when he hears it slowly, but not really being able to read Kanji much less write it. Also why Roro is a bit better at speaking it than Rody (living where the language is spoken really forces you to figure it out lmfao); he's had way more practice. Actually, if you pay attention, when Izuku describes Roro speaking, he describes it as proper, over-pronounced, and a bit choppy. But when Rody describes it, he considers it very flowy, even if it's not as fast as Izuku's. That was just the perspective since Izuku of course is a native speaker and Rody is just really fascinated with how quick his brother picked it up.

ALSO because English is a learned language in Otheon in my headcanon, I imagine that Rody also has an accent when speaking English!!!! And of course Izuku has one as well. I love accents. I love cultures. I love languages. And I love this couple because of how much I get to play with that, especially with expressions of affection, things lost in translation, creating a new language to let them say things. Like the Nahuatl Rody speaks, he describes as something you say to suggest a bond, a deep-rooted connection, etc. But the literal translation is "Te quiero con todo mi corazon" which, again, can't even be correctly translated into English since there's no word for "te quiero." Though the closest would be "I love you with my whole heart."

I also think Rody would love to learn other languages when he becomes a pilot, like at least enough to have a conversation even if he can't exactly read or write it, which is why I added Arabic and Hindi to the fic when he talks about languages. I think he'd want to get a good grasp on some of the most spoken languages in the world. I also think he'd like to learn Hebrew and Greek just because I think they're really pretty.

God, there's so many languages, and in a perfect world, he'd know them all at least a little, but ah well. I do think he'd really admire other languages, Dutch, German, Swahili, and all the ones that don't get quite as much love, you know?

Ahhhhh this is really long, but I hope I make sense. I hope you enjoyed reading this very long answer lmfao <3

[haripawali]

What is Hatha Yoga?

What is it? Is it just Yoga? What is the difference?

I know the world of Yoga can be a confusing one if you are just entering this glorious world, but I will say that I am here to clear a few things up for you.

Basically, most yoga practised in the west is Hatha yoga. It can be translated as ‘disciplined force’ (ref: Britannica.com) and hatha is a practice of postures or poses (asanas) that relieve tension and stress from the body to enable a state of meditation and peace to occur.

So that is the ‘overview’ but how has something that is an ancient practice changed its look & purpose over the years.

A lot of Hatha has adapted for the needs of the western world – the drive for a leaner body, stress relief from work overstimulation have meant that a lot of the yoga has changed its look. It is sometimes derived as Power Yoga, where the focus is on strength & fitness.

This type of Yoga is still founded in the poses of Hatha Yoga but really focuses on the Asana side.

In fact so many styles of Yoga (Ashtanga, Iyengar, Vinyasa, Bikram) all take their foundations from Hatha Yoga.

Asana

Recognisable in their beauty, the main element of yoga that we are aware of are the body shapes/poses. The sanskrit word for these is Asana.

Pranayama

The deeper side of Hatha Yoga, incorporates Pranayama – breath work.

I cannot begin to adequately express the level of healing and transformation that the boy & mind go through just by using the breath! The breath has a huge effect on the vagus nerve and thereby the para sympathetic nervous system, immediately stimulating a calmness to the body & mind.

There are endless pranayama practices involved with Hatha Yoga, each one as valuable and profound as the next.

Manta

The chanting of mantra focuses the mind – basically ‘giving it something to do’. But aside from that most basic principle, the actual sound therapy within the body is the true magic.

Everything in the universe runs on frequencies. If you have experienced a Gong Bath, you will know what I mean. Each cell in the body vibrates continuously but at different levels of frequency. When using sound in a monotone vibrational way, the cells of the body vibrate.

This stimulates emotions to come up and healing to take place. The movement of the tongue within the mouth and touching the roof palette of the mouth access certain part of the brain and stimulates the hypothalamus.

Mudra

A mudra is a hand gesture. The positions of the hands and fingers has a more scientific purpose rather than just looking pretty. The body is a complete flow of energy and the polarities such as the feet and hands are the ends of particular circuits. How the hand/fingers are positioned or touching seals/closes or opens a circuit.

They also give the mind a point of reference. Once practiced enough, the simple act of touching your thumb to your forefinger will stimulate endorphins and the feel good chemicals.

Visualisation

During any kind of Hatha Yoga, be it asana, pranayama, mudra or mantra, visualisation will intensify your experience. The word Yoga means to ‘yoke’ or join, so the connection between mind, body & breath are all bought together with your clear visualisation.

When breathing, visualise silver light travelling up & down your sine with your breath.

When standing visualise roots connecting your feet to the earth, grounding you.

Your mind is your most powerful tool, so allow it to support and enhance your Hatha Yoga.

The Take Away

Hatha Yoga, may have changed some of it’s look over the years, but it still remains an ancient, proved to work practice that guides the Yogi to a place where by calm meditation can take place, if they so want to. Whether you want a power burst, a chant or a stretch, Hatha is still the tradition to provide you with all,

[watchmegetobsessed]

Good morning - Harry Styles

a/n: oh wow look at me, double posting, can’t stop won’t stop. anyway, here is this lil birthday smut i wrote today, totally not while working, that would be unacceptable *cough cough*.... whatevs, enjoy and let me know what you though!

warning: it’s a smut, straight up, morning blowie for the bday boy

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

The warm morning Sun peeks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the half open curtains giving the rays a free pass into the hazy bedroom that’s filled with warmth, sleep and little snores coming from one particular birthday boy who is turning twenty-seven today.

Harry lies on his back, one hand on his bare chest, the other one sprawled out to the side, his lower arm hidden under the pillow your head is resting on. Your legs are tangled with his long ones, one hand on his stomach, the other one tugged under your head.

You wake slowly, with each drawn breath, gradually sensing your surroundings. The rays of sunshine on your back where the sheets are not covering you, Harry’s soft puffs and snores you’ve grown to adore so much, it’s now hard to sleep without them. The touch of his soft skin under your balm and his hairy legs tangled with yours, locking them together, anchoring you to him even in his sleep.

Blinking a few times you get used to the brightness as your eyes fall on the man beside you, sleeping so peacefully. You give yourself a few minutes to adore the line of his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the curves of his lips and his chiseled jawline that’s just screaming to be touched.

You sigh, feeling so lucky and gifted to have him as the first thing to see in the mornings, his presence makes sure your day starts perfectly.

Harry hums in his sleep, his arm that’s under your pillow curls until he is scooping you closer to his side and you gladly move to lie against him, running your hand up on his chest you trace the cross pendant that lies between his chest muscles.

“Mmm,” he hums again at your touch and for a moment you think he is awake, but when you look up at his pretty face, his eyes are still wired shut, lips slightly parted. You smile at how easily he reacts to your touch even when he is asleep.

With your wandering eyes, you take in every tiny detail of his perfect body, every piece of art that’s tattooed into his skin forever, every curve, muscle and blemish, you just can’t get enough of him. And today, you are ready to cherish him more than usual. Today is his day, it’s all about your love for him and to show how happy you are that he chose to spend another year of his life with you. You still remember his last birthday at the beginning of your relationship. You were still testing the waters with each other, not entirely cozied up to each other just yet, you just knew you wanted to be together.

Now a year later, you can’t be more sure about wanting to spend the rest of your life with him, share everything with him and love him every day that you have on this planet.

Your hand slowly makes its way down his chest, gently caressing his tummy, grazing your nails softly on the lines of his fern tattoos until your fingertips reach the elastic band of his boxers. Glancing up you see that he is still sleeping and a devilish smile tugs on your lips, knowing how you want to wake your man up on his birthday.

As your palm slides further down his body, you cup his cock through the fabric of his boxers, rubbing him gently and sensually to wake his nerves up down there. His reaction is almost instant. When you slip your hand under the band he is already half hard, ready for whatever you have in your mind. You give him a few gentle strokes just to make sure his body knows your intentions before you pull your hand back. You push yourself up from your lying position and throw a leg over his waist, getting on top of him and leaning forward you put your hands to his stomach for support, your lips meeting his perfectly cut jawline as you start peppering his warm skin with chaste kisses everywhere you go. You watch his face and see that his eyelids start to move, finally opening when you’re kissing along his collarbone, down his chest.

“Mornin’,” you smile at him as his hands instantly come up to your waist. To add to the experience, you gently rock your hips, rubbing yourself against him, feeling his growing bulge push against your core.

“Oh my, good mornin’ to you as well, my love,” he smirks, closing back his eyes, lying underneath you, letting you do anything you want with him.

Your lips travel down his chest, across his tummy and you kiss every leaf of his fern tattoos before you move to the very bottom of his stomach.

“Have you slept well, birthday boy?” you ask with a coy smile when his eyes open again, fixed on you as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

“Yeah. But waking up has been especially good,” he chuckles, his morning voice doing things to you without him even touching you.

“Thought you’d like your first birthday surprise as early as possible,” you grin and tug down his boxers. He buckles his hips up a bit so you can easily get rid of the clothing item, throwing it to the side.

“So thoughtful of yo—Ah!” he moans when you place a soft kiss to his pink head, hands sliding down his erected length before you grip the base and bring it up from his stomach. He is so hard and ready just for you, it waters your mouth.

“You think you’ll like my gift?” you tease him, gently pumping him, taking your time with every movement you make.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he breathes out, his eyelids are still heave from his sleep, but he can’t take his eyes off of you as you settle between his legs.

“I hope so,” you smirk before licking up his whole length, a whimper erupting from his pink lips. Keeping one hand on his base you bring your other one to play with his balls, knowing well it always drives him crazy. Your lips are not even on him, yet he is already moaning your name. He brings his hands to you, collecting your hair in his palm so he can see your face perfectly.

You wet your lips, give his head another sloppy kiss before you wrap your lips around him and start pushing your head down on his cock, his dick filling up your mouth just right as he cries your name out at the sensation.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, one hand holding your hair, the other one gripping the sheets beside him.

You start bobbing your head, going up and down his erection, taking him in as much as you can every time you go down, covering the rest with your hand, gently pumping his base. He is so big, your eyes start to water when his head pushes against the back of your throat and you thank all higher forces you’re not one to gag easily.

“Y/N, fuck! You’re killing me,” he growls, unable to hold still, his hips start to meet with your head movements, pushing himself even deeper into your warm mouth. You come up for air, moving your hand up and down his length as you make eye-contact with him. His green eyes are filled with bliss and adoration, he always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. You take a few breaths before going down again, determined to take his whole length into your mouth at least once. So you shut your eyes and try to focus as you push your head down, his cock sliding into your mouth again, but this time you go deep. He fills your mouth completely, the head already down your throat as your nose meets his pubic bone and you keep him there for a second before coming up.

“Oh fuck! You take me so well, baby. You’re fucking amazing,” he whimpers, unable to contain himself. His chest is heaving, his whole body buzzes with his excitement so you decide to go deep again.

You take another deep breath and push your head down, nose pressing against his pelvis once, twice and even a third time before you detach yourself from him.

“Holy shit I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack,” he breathes out and you can’t push your smile down as you go back to bobbing your head like in the beginning, picking your pace up a little as you know he is close to his orgasm.

“Yes, fuck! Just like that, baby. You are doing so good,” he encourages, moaning your name as you keep sucking him off, one hand pumping on his base, the other one massaging his balls to throw him over the edge completely. “I’m gonna c-cum, fuck! You feel amazing!”

You make sure to suck on him harder when your lips slide up on his length, giving him some extra sensation before his cock twitches in your hold and he cums into your mouth, his pleasure spurting into the back of your throat.

“Baby, oh my God! I love you so fucking much,” he whimpers, his words coming out all rushed and melted together.

You let go of him with a popping sound, swallowing without a second thought as you give him a few more pumps, making sure he has ridden his orgasm out fully.

“Holy fuck!” he pants, rubbing his face with his hands, clearly awake now. You lick him off, making sure he is as clean as he can be before you climb up him, cuddling to his side with a proud smirk on your face.

“So, did you like your surprise?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“You kidding me? I fucking loved it. You and your wonderful mouth, I can’t believe you,” he chuckles softly, pressing his lips against you, kissing you as a thank you.

“Happy birthday, H,” you smile against his lips, pecking them a few more times before pulling back.

“Twenty-seven feels fucking fantastic so far,” he sighs, holding you tight to his side as you giggle into his shoulder.

[erythrum]

𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘖𝘯𝘦

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧,𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦,𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹,𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴,𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1.9𝘬 +

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘨𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘺/𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

The boneyard was a melting pot, pogues, tourons, and kooks unalike all gathering for one of the last kegger's of summer. This mash together of kids from all over Kildare and the mainland always ended in chaos, it was just a matter of time before shit went down tonight.

Rafe had his arm thrown around my shoulders as we walked down the path to the boneyard. I could faintly see Topper and Kelce downing the cups of pogue provided beer. Didn’t matter whether or not the kooks or pogues could get along, as long as it was on the cut and alcohol was provided, the teens could get along for a limited amount of time.

“Hey y/n! What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving for college this week?” It was Sarah who yelled out to me, running up to her brother and I in her floral printed dress. Rafe’s arm dropped to his side as she came with Topper not far behind.

“Oh I just couldn’t miss my last kegger before leaving, Duke can wait on me one more day.” The two of us embraced in one of those hugs that has you shifting your weight from side to side. I guess she didn’t realize I wouldn’t leave for college for another month, but I was sure she was already too drunk for me to explain it to her that she was not thinking of the right month.

As Sarah was hanging onto me probably a little too tight, Topper was giving Rafe one of those looks that said everything but also nothing at the same time. Like prior knowledge had to be known to understand the context. I of course did not, those two always had some stupid shit planned and I can almost guarantee it had to do with messing up the pogues’ little party.

The sun hung low on the horizon after I had finished my third cup, the colors illuminating the sky so brilliantly it felt like a fantasy. I stripped off my top and headed for the water, the pinks and purples of the sky reflected in its crashing waters. It was so cold, the temperature sent shivers up my body and a familiar rush in my energy. Almost waist deep now, I submerged my body completely under the water. It was always how I remembered it, calm and refreshing.

“C’mon Rafe! Don’t be a little bitch and get in there, I see the way you look at her,” Topper spewed, pushing his friend to have a little courage.

“Man what the fuck are you even talking about?” Deny everything Rafe thought.

“Oh come on dude, you’ve been making please love me eyes at her since the sixth grade, and please fuck me eyes at her since the tenth, when are you gonna do something about it for once? You’ve got a month to make a move, or regret it your entire life,” Topper continued his monologue as Rafe tuned him out, too distracted by the girl, his girl, staring out into the Atlantic like it was calling to her.

His heart was pounding as he made a B-line for the water, a light jog, but not so fast someone would think he’s crazy, or just madly in love. He swiftly pulled his polo over and off his head before plunging into the chilly water. Topper clearly knew whatever he'd said had worked.

I heard him before I saw him, Rafe approached and submerged himself just as I had a few minutes before.

“If we get hypothermia I'm sending you my hospital bills.” He laughed, wading around in the shallow water.

“Oh shock! Rafe Cameron threatening his medical bill payments? I never could’ve guessed!” We enjoyed our few minutes of peace before talking again.

“But it’s basically impossible anyways, you get use to it after awhile, maybe it’ll calm your hot-headed ass down,” I giggled and prepared for what always came next. Rafe pickup me up around my waist, lifting me over his shoulder before attempting to sprint as fast as he could deeper into the water. His hands had been wrapped around the back of my knees for a few moments until he threw himself and I down into the deeper water, both of us completely submerged beneath the surface.

The sun was dipping below the horizon now, and the deep blue of the sky was beginning to envelop the boneyard. We had come up for air, and I began splashing him with the water around us, payback for his antics. Theres no way in hell I’d be able to throw him down into the water too, this was the best I could come up with. The two of us were laughing before Rafe grabbed my arms and twisted me around so my back was flesh against his front. I gave up on trying to fight him off. Instead I just rested against him in an attempt to catch my breath.

“Hey Rafe, can we talk about something?” Oh fuck she knows, he thought. This was gonna be it, it’s going to fuck up his entire plan.

“Yeah, uh sure, like here?” He questioned.

“Maybe not here, I think we’ve got as audience,” he knew she was referring to Topper and Kelce, they were watching from the beach.

"The truck then?" I nodded my head, not at all prepared for the favor I needed to ask of him.

The sand stuck to my feet as we headed back to where his truck was, the chilly air wrapping around my body. Rafe opened the backseat door and pulled out a towel for me, always prepared. He pulled the passenger side door and I slid into the seat, the heat of his car pumping through the interior. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t sure if his was too. We made it about halfway to tannyhill before speaking.

“Soooo,” he said.

“You’re going to think I’m absolutely crazy, Rafe," I laughed in an attempt to hide my nervousness.

"First of all, you're already crazy, and second of all, I'm pretty sure I know exactly what you're going to say," his hands were clenching the steering wheel harder now.

""Oh really? You already knew that I was going to ask you to take my virginity?" I don't know why, but I just blurted it out.

His car came to a screeching halt on the side of the road, lunging me forward as he stared in disbelief at the road infront of him.

"Im sorry, what did you just say?"

"That I want you to take my virginity? V-card? Cherry? Damn Rafe how else am I supposed to say it?"

"And," there was a pause in his voice like he didn't believe me, "your being serious, correct?"

“Correct.”

“And, come again? I need to hear that one more time.”

“Jesus fuck Rafe, I’m being dead serious, I want you to take my virginity, what about that is so hard to explain?” It came out as more of a yell than a scream, he took a long sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. He was thinking long and hard, I knew because he always had something to say, and now he wasn’t saying anything at all. It felt like hours had past before he spoke again.

“Why?”

It was my turn for a long sigh.

“Well, I guess I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and I want to do it, but whenever I think about it in my head the only person I can see doing it with is you. You’re the only person I trust enough with my own body, I mean shit,” I had to think for a long time before admitting what came next.

“Whenever someone, you know like Scarlet or whoever, asks about who I’m interested in or whatever it may be, not a single person ever comes to mind except you, it’s like all I see when I look at you is you, everything else is like blurred around you and whenever I think about who the love of my life will be, I always think of you, not some mystery guy that I haven’t met yet.” I didn’t plan for this to be a full confession on how I feel about him, but here I am spilling everything I’ve been holding in my heart for the last three years.

“And I know that sounds fucking stupid I know, I mean we’re still teenagers for crying out loud, but when I’m with you it always feels like I’m home.” I was nearly crying at this point, struggling to get the words out of my chest that had been waiting for so long. He was listening, deadly quiet, and I had no idea what he was thinking for once in my life.

“You know what? Just forget about it, can you take me home please?” I was definitely crying now, it felt like I’d ripped my own heart to shreds. Theres no way he could ever feel the same way about me, he protected me like I was his own blood, not like he was in love with me. My face was nestled into the sleeve of my hoodie as the tears came out. His hands had moved back to the steering wheel now, gripping onto it so tight I thought it might break. The muscles in his forearms almost looked like they were twitching, but he still had the car in park.

He wanted to just grab her and kiss her right now, the girl he'd been in love with since the sixth grade sitting in his passenger seat, her seat, confessing her feelings to him. Rafe knew it was alot for her to ask, but it meant even more to him everything that she had said after her original question. And there was no way in hell he was going to let her get away again.

Rafe reached his hand over to hold onto her tear stained cheek.

"y/n," The bother of them were breathing heavily.

"I'm in love with you," it slipped from my mouth and he leaned in to kiss me. It felt like I had a wave of electricity coursing through my body. His hand grasping onto my face as he leaned over the center console. My hand reaching for his chest, his lips on mine as we intertwined with one another. It felt like everything in my life was complete, and the tension has been released. His fingers tangled in my hair.

It was over before I realized it, and Rafe was driving me home. My breathing hadn't normalized in any way, it was like I needed to throw up my heart to get the knot out. I couldn't stop thinking about the way his had felt on me, the way his lips felt on mine, the way it felt for once in my life like I was loved.

"i'll think about it," his voice cracked.

I leapt out of his car as fast as I could with tears streaming down my face. Did he feel the same? Did he not? My brain was spinning so fast I barely made it inside my bedroom door before collapsing. I wrapped myself up in the thick comforter, a heart full of ache and a body exhauster with sleep.

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

[silkenstarlight]

wild cherry sweet

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to dress up for a mission. Bucky likes Reader’s look, maybe a little bit too much.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!reader

Warning/s: smut (18+ only, minors dni); dirty talk, oral (male receiving)

Word count: 1.9k

Find part two here

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Author’s note: i have really been wanting to buy some red lipstick recently so this may or may not have been inspired by that oops

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

“You are breathtaking.”

You turned away from the bathroom mirror, leaning against the counter and meeting Bucky’s gaze with your own. His eyes raked up and down your body, clad in a slinky, silken dress that shone bright beneath the fluorescence and clung to your every curve like liquid. You smirked at his gawking eyes and raised brows, carefully wiping the excess lipstick that bled from the corner of your mouth with your pointer finger. That motion drew his attention upward, his eyes settling on the plump set of your mouth, painted a sultry, deep shade of scarlet.

He huffed a breath and shook his head, trying to form the right words to compliment you, but they seemed to instantly evaporate from his tongue the moment he opened his mouth. Instead, he walked towards you, taking your hands in his and stroking his thumbs against your soft skin, laughing at himself as he gaped like a fish out of water in response to your beauty.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You jutted your chin slightly at his suit, a neatly-pressed, all-black ensemble that only seemed to further enhance the icy blue shade of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Lipstick’s a good look on you.”

You shuddered, pressing your body closer to his warmth and rocking your hips into his. When he started kissing that sweet spot at the juncture between your jaw and your ear, you couldn’t help but let a breathy moan escape your lips.

This had been your plan all along, of course. You didn’t wear a full face of makeup often, usually foregoing the glamorous, airbrushed look for the bare-skinned practicality of moisturizer and sunscreen. Your job as an agent required you to be on the ball, willing to give up the remainder of your day for the sake of a mission, oftentimes on just a moment’s notice. You couldn’t afford the time and effort of beautification with an occupation that required so much blood, sweat, and tears on the daily. But, tonight was different. Tonight, you and Bucky were preparing for a different kind of mission than either of you were used to.

The GRC was hosting an exclusive gala, invitations to which were only granted to the wealthiest elites in the country. Politicians and A-listers would surely be in attendance, secretly and silently admitting their support of the GRC’s eviction of post-Blip refugees. Such an event was bound to attract some hostility, whether through hush-hush internal transactions between its elite, yet seedy, attendees, or from some outside menace, like the lurking risk of a re-established force of flag smashers. You and Bucky both decided that it would be prudent to attend, just in case you were dealing with fraud or a full-blown terror threat. You both wanted to be ready, to be able to face whatever troubles may arise, from the inside. So, you had to look the part.

You had chosen the dress with the event’s black-tie dress code in mind, of course, but the lipstick was all for him. You had been picking up the bare necessities at the mall, a tube of concealer and a new type of mascara, when the red-gradient display of lipsticks caught your eye. Every shade, ranging from coral to plum, offered a different mask, a slight variant on the character you would be playing the night of the gala. Would you be the coquettish twenty-something, all bright, glossy, and new? Or, would you be the mysterious seductress, daubed in smokey shades of maroon?

After a few moments of careful deliberation, one shade in particular had caught your eye, and your lips twitched into a small grin. You plucked the tube from the shelf. Velvet ribbon red, its label read. A deep, sultry shade, reminiscent of the garnet, wine-soaked tones that were so popular in the ‘40’s. The natural shade to choose, of course, for Bucky Barnes’s companion.

Now, you felt his hands release yours, grasping the fabric at your hips with greedy hands. He continued kissing your neck in a blatant, hungry display of need, lips bowed in a slight, mocking smile when he heard the soft moans that his affection pulled from you. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, desperate for purchase, and dragged your other hand up his abdomen, settling your fingers lightly on his chest.

He drew his teeth against your neck and sucked lightly, and you were sure that he was trying to leave a mark, a flagrant signifier to the attendees of the gala you were already late to that you belonged to him, and him only. When he pulled away, examining the petechiae he had branded on your skin, you brought both hands in front of you, tracing them down his front in a flirtatious caress and settling on the buckle of his belt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, taking in his blown pupils as you adeptly released his buckle and unzipped his pants. In a sudden gesture of dominance, you pushed him back to the opposite wall, directing him by the hips. When his back hit the wall, he let out a soft, purring laugh, pleased by your control. He pecked you on the lips, a quick and chaste gesture that contrasted with the unexpectedly sensuous direction the evening was heading into, and you slowly lowered to your knees, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, pulling his pants down slightly to expose his underwear.

You braced your hands against his quads, running your fingertips up and down his legs in a slow, teasing motion that made his jaw clench. He balled his fists at his sides, not ready to usurp control from you just yet. You simpered, proud of the fact that you had this man coming undone in the palm of your hand, without having even touched his cock yet.

Soon, though, you brought your mouth close enough to his lower half that he could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric layer of his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, hips rocking towards your face, and he combed his fingers loosely through your hair, tugging lightly to grant you permission to keep going. It was sweet, the way he was simultaneously so respectful of your boundaries, but so eager to feel your mouth on him. Neither of you cared that it would ruin your makeup, that after this, you would be late for the gala. You both craved a distraction from the nerves that accompanied a mission like this.

You dragged your fingernails along the waistband of his underwear, leaving light scratching marks across his lower abdomen. He moaned softly, a sound that you hoped to sear in your memory forever. And then, you reached inside, pulling his already-erect cock from the tented, taught fabric. The tip glowed an angry red, already leaking pre-cum.

You looked up at him through your lashes and flattened your tongue against his base, dragging it all the way up to his tip. He gripped your hair tighter, the delicious pull of your hair taught in his fist driving you to swirl your tongue around his tip and take him slowly in your mouth.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered as you slowly began to bob your head up and down his length. “Gonna ruin that pretty makeup of yours.”

You pulled back to respond, lips separating from his cock with a satisfying, wet pop! “‘S’alright,” you slurred, palming him roughly with your hand, fingernails dragging against sensitive skin to offer the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He bucked into your grasp, breath stilling in his throat, and you smiled, sucking the tip of his cock back into your mouth.

You worked him slowly into your mouth, until he hit the back of your throat and only a couple of inches remained outside of your mouth. He noticed this, eagerly watching your progress, and took control, holding your head against him, applying a gentle pressure until you slid down the rest of his length. When your lips pressed against his base, you gagged slightly, inhaling deeply through your nose. You maintained eye contact the whole time, even as your eyes pooled with tears from the strain of looking up.

“What a good fucking girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips against your mouth and smearing your lipstick on his skin in a vulgar imprint of wet, lusty red. You felt a wet, needy warmth accumulating in your core at his acknowledgement, but you kept your hands firmly rooted at his hips, so desperate to please him. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” His voice was gruff but lilting and playful, as if he knew that this turned you on as much as it did him.

Finally, he released the pressure, pulling back to let you breathe. After a few seconds, though, you increased your pace, guiding one hand down to his balls and gently massaging them. He closed his eyes again, lost in the tantalizing sensations of your tongue, but he held back, refusing to let the slow and steady pistoning of his hips devolve into the frenzied motion he so desperately desired to adopt in order to finish. Your cheeks hollowed against him, sucking hard, granting him permission to let go.

He understood. Short, shallow movements quickly turned into deeper thrusts, punctuated by quiet moans that rose in pitch as he came closer and closer to coming undone.

“Gonna paint you with my come. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t respond verbally, could only stare up at him as his cock breached the entrance to your throat in faltering, uneven motions. That was the final straw. His grip on your hair tightened and he held your head down flush against him, cock pulsing, as his orgasm ripped through him. One final, unabashed and guttural groan escaped his lips as he succumbed to his ecstasy and painted the back of your throat with ropes of come. You mirrored his sound, moaning around him with an enticing vibration.

He held his length inside your mouth for a few seconds, still holding your head against him, not ready to let you retreat just yet. But as his cock grew sensitive, he pulled back with a quiet, overstimulated moan. Your mouth felt empty without him, lipstick smears and strings of spit painting your face in a satisfied, sexed-out portrait of lust. He beamed with pride, hooking his hands under your elbows and pulling you up to your feet before pressing his lips firmly against yours in a gesture of gratitude.

You broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hand. Laughter bubbled in your throat, and, seeing your light-hearted demeanor, he began to chuckle. You stood like that for a minute, laughing in each others’ arms, momentarily uncaring about upcoming missions or smeared makeup.

He took a deep, yet shaky, exhale, and smirked. “Well, we’d better get you cleaned up. Those mascara tracks are pretty telling, and we’re already late.”

You shrugged. “Worth it.”

He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek and wiping the messy smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Part two

[pugh-bug]

Scott Lang x Reader Chapter 13

This chapter follows directly on from chapter 12 I REALLY need to make a master list I know. Ended up way longer than I expected but I hope you enjoy! :)) and let me know if you want to be added to my tag list <3

Warnings: smut, age gap, swearing as fucking always

‘Oh fuck,’ his eyelids fluttered as he rode into you. You wanted to take his shirt off and take all of him in but the pleasure was keeping you lay down. Scott felt your walls tightening as you struggled to decide where to look and what to do with your hands. He seemed to sense the indecision because in a surprisingly wholesome twist, Scott’s hand found its way in your hair before caressing your cheek. All you could hear was both of your heavier breaths matching each other’s rhythms. You’d known before (and of course said before) that you loved Scott but having him look at you with such compassion in bed made you know for certain.

You both let the pause continue but Scott’s impatience was obvious, despite him trying to hide it for your sake. ‘You’re wearing too many clothes,’ you finally said before smirking up at him. The atmosphere took an instant shift as the two of you fought with the fabric and felt it rip off of his chest. And oh fucking hell was the sight of Scott shirtless a treat. You knew he worked out, Tony had a gym everyone used for training, but you never knew he had actual ab muscles. Scott chuckled as he watched you stare at them in awe. Fuck fuck fuck. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

Scott’s finger below your chin guided your gaze back to his green eyes. There was no hesitation after that. As the two of you kissed with lust filled ferocity, you postured up and pushed down on Scott’s shoulders so you could sit in his lap. You tried to continue devouring each other’s taste but the sound that slipped from you as you sank down onto him was pornographic and distracting as hell. You rode him slowly because after such a long wait why not tease him? He could have made this happen ages ago. Selfish of him really.

‘Jesu-fuck Y/N,’ the poor man struggled to keep his head facing you and not back looking at the ceiling. ‘You feel amazing,’ you couldn’t help but beam at his praise. After spending so many nights touching yourself to the fantasy of riding him, having it happen in real life was overwhelming. His large hands gripped your waist while you continued your torment of slowly filling yourself up and down. You didn’t want this to just become another memory in the past that would never happen again. Scott’s firm hands digging into your waist brought you away from the nagging thoughts. ‘Fuck you’re so tight.’ He felt so good it was driving you insane. As he hit your g-spot dangerously slowly you let out a whine.

‘You..can go,’ he already sounded wrecked which made you smug as anything. ‘Faster than that Y/N.’ His eyes were closed but you were determined to keep yours open to look at his face. The obvious pleasure he was feeling. You decided to oblige him and speed up, never once did his cock grazing your g spot not send wonderful shivers down your spine. Your face felt hot- your whole body was on fire.

It was your turn to throw your head back. No one had made you feel as high as Scott, not even close. The man was fucking addictive.

All you could focus on was the full feeling you had in your stomach, Scott’s wrecked voice and his firm grip on your waist. Part of you wished they were around your neck. Maybe next time. ‘Scotttttt….’ you moaned. He fucking adored hearing you moan and hearing you say his name was going to send him over the edge. You wanted to see it. With desperate, yet shaky hands, you thought about crawling his back but it felt forced for a moment. Once again he sensed your minor uncertainty and handled it for you. ‘Come here,’ his voice was husky but breathless as he pulled you into a kiss while you rode him faster and faster.

Your walls were tightening and your toes began to curl on the bedsheets but you felt a sudden impulse to move so you pulled him on top of you. It broke the kiss but it meant on Scott’s next thrust you felt him even deeper and a prolonged moan left your open mouth as you came. Your eyes closed and your body jerked and writhed underneath Scott’s panting chest. He didn’t move for a moment, completely lost in witnessing you enjoy every second of your orgasm. It hit you in waves that felt endless for a moment before your entire body stopped its uncontrollable writhing that pushed Scott over the edge.

He came inside you and, for a moment, almost lost balance. You were so in shock from the huge mass of pleasure you’d just felt that your chest was rising and falling heavier than it did after a run. That orgasm had hit you like a brick. You struggled to sit up as you felt Scott, to your surprise, move down your body. How did he have any energy left? You were exhausted.

One more feeble attempt to sit up was not needed because Mr Scott Lang had decided to surprise you by inserting his fingers in your pussy and smugly licking your clit. Without the much needed warning. ‘Ah- too sensitive!’ You squealed, backing away from Scott on the bed to escape. He was definitely amused. ‘You okay over there?’ Wow. After the sounds he had made?! He was going to make you out to be overwhelmed? However his confident side made you wet and you were not one to complain after sex so:

‘I’m great.’ You smiled coyly and closed your legs as if you weren’t leaking his cum all over the bed and just there to talk. Scott smiled and made his way back over to you like a panther on some sort of sick hunt. ‘You’re trouble.’ He responded, almost judging but still humorous. When you didn’t respond you saw his face change to show some insecurity about his actions. ‘Are you already regrett-‘

‘I regret not getting you to slam me against a wall to be honest.’ You hugged your knees, your breath had returned to normal and you were grinning at Scott like a cat that had gotten its own way. Finally.

‘Well shit,’ he paused with his hand on his forehead and a raise of his eyebrows. ‘That can be arranged.’

Yes but not now, you thought, too tired for that. Must sleep. Must lie down.

The bed, despite being wet, was so inviting and Scott following your lead and wrapping his arms around your waist even more so. You felt safe next to him. At peace. You heard Scott’s breathing normalise but neither one of you spoke. There was no awkwardness like you’d feared and apart from the horrible intrusive thought ‘Am I better or worse than his ex wife’ you felt calm and… happy. Really happy. Tentatively, Scott’s hands found themselves stroking your hair. He ran his fingers through it gently and you smiled and closed your eyes. The smell of sex had filled the room but your arousal was somehow being overpowered by the calm. And there was one question you were curious about.

‘How long for you?’

You expected a brief silence or atleast a ‘Huh’ due to your vagueness but Scott just knew exactly what you’d meant.

‘Atleast a year,’ you quietly turned to face him so he knew he had your full attention. ‘But I really knew when you came to comfort me, on my anniversary.’ You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows and scoff. ‘You mean when I came to annoy you on the roof?’ Scott’s smirk grew into a full grin at you. ‘And why is that so surprising?’ To be quite honest you’d felt like an intrude that night and not much help to him at all but it was nice to know he felt differently. He looked so pretty lay opposite you, your hands found their way into his hair ruffling it even more. ‘I don’t know.’ You lied.

‘What about you?’ It was his turn to play with your hair again. Oh that was easy. Too easy. ‘First day I met you,’ it was growing harder to look Scott in the eye as you admitted it. ‘I kept thinking about y- I only ever asked you dumb questions as an excuse to talk to you until- well until we were friends.’ He was listening intently which you were not used to men doing. “Were?” Scott questioned knowingly, he waited for your response and you could practically see his ego growing by the second. Of course ‘were’.

‘Well would you call this friendship?’ You laughed, gesturing to the two of you in bed slightly sweaty from moments earlier. After a second too long for your liking passed your eyes widened at the sight of Scott’s hoodie on the floor. You’d forgot he’d brought it with him and it looked comfy as anything. ‘Hold on I’ve always wanted to do this,’ you grinned excitedly like a little kid and Scott watched you in amusement. Struggling for a moment, you pulled the black hoodie over your head (because your hair wasn’t messy enough already) and gestured proudly to your new (stolen) outfit. It smelt like him which just made you giddier.

‘You’ve never slept with a guy and stolen his hoodie before?’ Scott raised his eyebrows clearly not believing you or understanding the appeal. ‘They’ve been out the fucking door too fast.’ You shrugged trying not to let that harsh fact sink in. Oh well. You were feeling good now at least. Scott frowned but once again you couldn’t help but not wait for his reply- just in case it hurt you in some way and brought your high down. ‘Kinda hungry not gonna lie.’ You hadn’t even eaten yet but that wasn’t what you were really thinking about as you stood over Scott as he sat on the bed.

Slyly, he ran his calloused hands under his hoodie and up your torso making you gasp. He couldn’t help but grin at the strong reactions you had to his mild touches. Deciding to really tease you, Scott’s hand traveled down to your pussy so he could finger you but being overstimulated you whined and grabbed his wrist. The man just thought you sounded pretty. ‘Fuck- you’re dripping sweetheart.’ You grinned once again at his words and clenched your thighs together. ‘Who’s fault is that?’

Tags: @supraveng @thottio @wandamaximoffshoe @aliceblxck @merleisapartygod @brianmayscurls

[todoscript]

Purr For Me

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x catquirk!fem!reader genre: smut. word count: 1.6k+ warnings: 18+. quirk play. spanking. pet play (maybe?). kitten kink. reader has cat ears and a tail. just straight up filth.

anonymous requested: SHINSOU X READER WITH A CAT QUIRK AND HE GOES “purr for me baby” PLS PLS PLS

author’s note: something sweet, short, and lewd i whipped up fairly quickly. this is my first time writing smut for shinsou so i hope it’s okayyy (also reposted because i found out the tags weren’t working)

“Oh kitten,” Shinsou calls out to you in the low husk of his voice that sounds almost muffled to your cat ears as you’re consumed by both the pleasure of his fingers—knuckle deep in your cunt—and the haze of his quirk at work in your head. “I love all the sounds you make, you know that? I could just sit here and listen to you become a hot puddle from me just playing with your pussy alone.”

His deep words bring shivers down your spine. Every ounce of lust dripping from his voice courses through your tail that curls at your side as you lay in front of him, entirely at his mercy. Using his other hand not occupied thrusting his long fingers into you, he strokes it, admiring its softness. His dark violet eyes rake over your naked body, taking note of how every part of you begs for his attention after being denied any movement, commanding you to lay still as he works in you at an agonizing pace. Your cat ears are perked on your head, your nipples stiff and pebbled, long tail coiled tightly, and pussy an utterly wet mess from him merely playing with it.

Shinsou grins at the debauched sight. “Seeing you like this is doing some things to me, you know. My kitten, so wet and mewling out for me like that. I want to hear more.”

With his quirk’s hold on you, your moans resonate from your lips in cat-like whimpers. He lifts his free hand to drag a thumb down your bottom lip.

“Tell me what you want, kitten. C’mon, I’ll let you speak.” He offers your mind a chance to relay your desires to him, and you feel some of the fog lift for a moment.

“T-Toshi, mmm, I want your cock inside me… I want your long, thick cock to fill me up, please—” you manage to say despite your mewls threatening to take over your voice. He chuckles at how unhinged you are in your desires, wondering if it’s really his quirk making your words sound so lewd or if you truly are that desperate for him.

“Already? I barely had my fun with you, but,” he breaks off, roughly cupping one of your breasts in his hand and tweaking the bud between his index and middle finger, while the one at your pussy finds your clit, which releases a sharp gasp from your throat, “you’re just an absolute slut for my cock, huh? What a naughty cat you are.”

“Ah! Please, I—mmm-mmh…”

Rubbing up and down your clit delivers sweet, sweet moans to his ears. It’s practically music to him—your little kitten wails. He’s so infatuated with you and your cute reactions. Like how your ears quirk up at his ministrations, and your sharp nails involuntarily delve into the pillow behind your head. You are, in every essence, his cute kitty cat after all. And thankfully, he’s willing to sate his kitten’s needs.

“But I never leave my dear, precious kitty unattended. On your hands and knees then.”

Right away, you settle into position with his mind control and your incredible arousal coaxing you into complete submission. Your ass lifts into the air. His hands drag across it, squeezing the delicious flesh into his palms before bending down to press a kiss on an asscheek and stroke your tail. You arch your back at the sensation.

“Such an obedient kitten. You’re gorgeous like this baby—” He sends a sudden smack to your ass, and you purr delightfully at the sting. It’s an enthralling sound that sends blood spiking his hard cock. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous. God, I love it when you purr for me like that.”

Shinsou rubs down his stout length—only inches away from your sopping entrance—and groans under his breath. Though he wanted to tease his kitten a bit more before getting to the main event so soon, he’d be lying if he wasn’t a tad impatient to stick his cock inside you already. When the head nudges against your sex, you mewl out, his pre-cum mixing with your slickness. He wonders if his mind control has already worn off from how unsparing your reactions are. Either way, he leans down over your lithe body and growls a command into your ear.

“When my cock is in you, thrusting inside and out, I want you to keep crying for me. Let me hear all my kitty’s moans, got it?”

The glassy eyes you give him as you turn to nod your answer is enough to get him going immediately. He starts slowly sinking himself into your wetness inch by inch. Your hands clutch onto the sheets below you as you archer deeper at how well he’s filling you up, feeling the vein on his length against your silky walls. Exactly as you wanted.

“Agh, god, your pussy’s so damn tight, kitten. Squeezing my cock like that. You really are a desperate slut for this, aren’t you?” His hold is solid on your ass, hands boring into your skin; you’d likely have handprints on your cheeks by the end if they haven’t appeared already from his harsh spanks.

“Yesyesyesyessss…” you drag out languidly from the column of your throat. Shinsou grits his teeth.

Fuck, you’re doing it again.

You’re purring for him.

The sensual sounds vibrate so shamelessly as he begins driving his cock in and out, pace quickening the more he hears them. It’s like your voice contains a side effect belonging to your cat quirk. Perceiving your purrs feels similar to the nature of his own, but instead, a lustful haze envelops his subconscious. It hypnotizes him to desire digging deeper within you, to get even more sounds from your pretty, plush lips.

“Fuck, I love every sound you make. Keep purring for me, baby, just like that,” he encourages as he makes sure each thrust of his cock reaches inside to the shaft before moving out again. It makes you feel so damn full every time. In fact, you’re squirming beneath him with tears on the edge of your lashes from how amazing everything feels.

Every time his balls smack against your clit, it sends jolts of pleasure across every nerve in your body. Shinsou watches your tail somehow coil tighter. Deciding to be a little mischievous, he drags a hand on it before tugging slightly, not enough to hurt of course, but just the right amount to keep your attention on him. At the pull, he’s rewarded with your pussy clenching around his cock, and he grins like he’s found an earth-shattering discovery.

“Oh? Kitten likes having her tail tugged while I’m ramming into her, doesn’t she?” he teases, and you let him indulge in his mischief.

“Yes— Fuck, I love it,” you admit without shame, uncaring due to the ache building inside you.

“Be rougher with me, Toshi! Please!”

Shinsou quirks a brow. “Rougher, huh? You sure about that kitten?” he asks this with a hint of playfulness in his tone, but he’s more concerned about your request than anything else. Despite his desire to pound inside you without restraint, his love for you overpowers that need.

“Yes, yes, fuck, I can take it, Hitoshi! Just please, make me cum!” you assure firmly, desperation laced in your tone that has Shinsou biting his bottom lip. While he continues pulling on your bundled nerve of a tail, his other hand travels up to your shoulder. He grabs onto it, making you curve your back further under him.

“Alright, kitten. You asked for it.”

Before you can think to retract your request, he���s already resuming ramming back inside your pussy at an unbridled pace. His hips piston into you without difficulty, with your tail and his grip on your shoulder acting as his support that also help him hit the spongy zone inside you easily. Pleasure flows through your body at an indescribable rate; you can only respond to it with your moans of pure ecstasy—your purrs. Your nails practically tear the sheets underneath from how hard you’re clutching them.

“You feel fucking amazing! God, I can’t wait to paint you so full of cum. Can’t wait to overflow you with my seed, kitten!”

His obscene words have your ears twitching atop your head, eyes shut with your tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you clamp around his cock.

“Ah, ah—! Do it! I want all your cum inside me, Toshi!” you respond, and that surge zaps through him at the visage of you turning to him with your pleading expression—his cute kitty cat begging for him to let you come undone on his cock.

“Fuck! Cumming— Fuckfuckfuck!”

With that, his final thrusts slam forward deep inside you before the both of you peak into your climaxes. His groans leave his mouth, overpowered by your screams that rip into the room as you lift your body from bed at the white hotness shooting inside you that breaks the coil tightened in your belly.

“Oh kitten,” Shinsou sighs at your tired and sweaty state while he slowly moves his softening length out. His cum seeps down your thighs, but he’s quick to gather it in his fingers before pushing it back into your sloppy entrance, earning him your whines at how sensitive you are in the aftermath.

“My sweet kitten, you did so well,” he praises. He runs his knuckles soothingly against your cheek when you turn over to lay on the bed. You smile at him with lidded eyes, purring at his comforting touches that reach the back of your ears. You nuzzle against his chest as he settles beside you, laying a kiss on his skin.

“I love you, Hitoshi,” you tell him with pure adoration. He returns your kiss into your hair as you doze off next to him, muttering all his affections into your ear that lull you into sweet dreams.

[shokobuns]

“see”

in which you warm up to your stepdad while your mom’s not home.

prequel to feel.

pairing: stepdad!sukuna ryomen x reader

genre: smut, taboo

word count: 1.4k 

warnings: smut, parental stepcest, mutual masturbation (f/m), taboo, daddy kink, scenes (sex, overstim, size kink), slight mommy issues (only if you squint tho)

“behave while i’m gone, i gotta get something at the store.” she says sternly.

you nod, putting the last of your plates on the rack before turning on the dishwasher. “is sukuna coming with you?”

“no,” she replies, scrolling through her phone before slipping it in her purse, “he’s taking a nap right now. you better leave him alone.”

“i will.”

“alright. i’m not planning on leaving him any time soon. you need to warm up to him somehow, darling.”

after you hear the click that signified she was out, you groan exasperatedly.

sukuna.

he’s the only thing your mom had paid all her attention to these past few months. you want to be happy for her, you really do, but it almost feels impossible and you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. you don’t know what it is about the man. the cocky expression on his face that never falters, his tanned skin clad in tattoos, his piercing gaze that always radiates an aura dominance, it all made you feel uneasy.

of course, your mom would notice. it wasn’t uncommon for you to keep your interactions with him short and limited despite the fact he had been living with you for months. it wasn’t uncommon for you to retire to your room once he came home from work. and for your mom, it was all translated to one thing; you simply just did not like him. at all.

if only it was that simple.

you truly wish it was that simple because you’ve been repulsed by people before. hell, you’ve disliked tons of people and still continue to do so. you know the uneasiness that hits you whenever you’re near them. you know how hard your teeth clench, how your chest burns, how your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of their voice.

but that wasn’t it. this uneasiness came with fast heartbeats, fluttering feelings in your stomach, and flushed cheeks. this uneasiness came with the inability to form sentences, unconscious stares, and invaded thoughts. this uneasiness came with imagination, slight jealousy, and damp underwear.

so, no. it wasn’t that simple and it would never ever be that simple. you don’t know who you should feel sorry for. maybe your mother. your dear, flawed mother who decided that you needed a father figure after eighteen years of its absence. maybe sukuna, who probably was just looking for a wife or some fun, not a family. maybe yourself, your own clouded mind betraying you with sinful lust.

nonetheless, here you are.

here you are, chores done, bedroom door wide open, pulling your shorts down and throwing them off somewhere on your bed. he’s in the master bedroom right across from yours in the hallway, sleeping soundly. you can just barely make out the little snores leaving his mouth which is enough just for you.

you can’t help but admire him while he’s in this peaceful state. he’s handsome with structured cheeks, black ink that adorns most of his skin, and big hands that can completely cover yours in his fist with ease.

your panties are damp, sticking to your wet cunt. they become more and more ruined the more you think about him and you sigh. it happens every time. it starts with a thought, some kind of seed that sows in your head, and your mind elevates it until the thought progresses to something dirty, something shameful, something that is so wrong.

you should be happy for your mom.

it all goes out the window when you think about the large hand that steadies your waist every time you almost fall, one with a tight grip that brings back that fluttering feeling in your stomach. more black ink that compliments the veins running through them and silver rings that decorate his fingers. you’re sure, positive, that they’re thicker than your own, able to reach deeper than you ever could by yourself.

your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing slow circles on the small bud as you sigh in relief at finally being able to touch yourself after weeks. you travel lower, your finger prodding at your hot core before slipping in until you’re knuckles deep. starting off with slow strokes, you build everything up until you’re ready for another finger. you squeeze your eyes shut, an image in your mind forming as it always does when you’re in this state.

and it’s sukuna.

it’s sukuna and his fingers that would fill you up nicely, stretching your hole to the point where the line of pain and pleasure is difficult to decipher. and he’s looking at you with that piercing gaze again, the one that demands control and submission. he’s pumping his fingers at a painstakingly slow pace and so are you. when you imagine him hitting that sweet spot, you curl your fingers.

your shirt is pulled up above your breasts, one hand massaging your tit as you get lost in your own pleasure. it all feels so good, the knot in your lower tummy forming and tensing while your pussy drools all over your sheets. you’re letting out involuntary squeaks, your senses being overcome by the impending wave of bliss.

a groan from the other room interrupts the scene in your head.

the sound causes you to freeze, eyes suddenly widening as you turn in its direction. there’s a smirk plastered on sukuna’s face as his eyes follow your figure intently. from what you can make out, it’s possible that he’s been awake for a while now. your heart pounds out of your chest, body shaking from the amount of guilt and embarrassment. does he know you were thinking about him? can he sense the lewd scene you’ve put together to get off?

a million thoughts race through your mind, but the most prominent one is louder than the rest; why was he looking at you like that?

he folds over the blanket, revealing an intimidating imprint that pokes through his boxers, all the while staring straight at you. your cunt still stuffed with your own sopping fingers and you take it as a silent demand to keep going.

you obey, something that any good girl would do.

“come on, princess,” he calls out from his room, his cock springing up to his stomach as he pulls down his underwear and it’s better than anything you’ve imagined. the pink tip drips with precum and like his fingers, he’s thick and long. he spits in his hand and you gawk at the sight, saliva spilling at the side of your parted lips and he returns with his usual cocky expression.

three fingers thrust into you, knuckles deep, while he pumps his pretty cock in his fist, eyes following your every aspect of your current position. you pinch your nipple, letting out a small mewl, while attacking the spongy spot that never fails to have you squirting all over your sheets.

but you wish it was his thick cock filling you up instead.

you know that if you ever got the chance to have him stuffing you full, it would ruin the sensation of your fingers. you know that your little digits would never be able to compensate for something that huge. and seeing him fuck his fist makes your walls convulse because you know that this isn’t one sided. any crumb of guilt that was there before is wiped from your mind.

the only thing you can think about is his cock splitting your little cunny in half, pounding into your cervix while you struggle to take his full length. he wouldn’t be gentle, you know that, but you’d prefer it that way. he would pin your knees to your chest, caging your body with his arms, balls slapping against the skin of your plush ass. he’d hit every spot that you couldn’t, driving into you ruthlessly. and it wouldn’t end there because he would want to ruin you. he’d want you cumming over and over again on his cock until you’re a ruined, babbling mess begging for him to stop.

“oh- oh fuck, daddy!” you breathe out between moans, feeling wet liquid coat your thighs as your walls clamp down on your fingers. he’s almost there with you, streams of sticky white spilling onto his stomach at the sound of your sweet voice. your back arches of the bed as you cream all over your fingers, panting exhaustedly while bringing them up to your mouth, sucking softly. he’s practically staring holes through your body, his cock twitching once again.

but your mom can be back anytime with the groceries. and he really needs to clean those sheets.

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (Five)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) panic attack, miscommunication, fingering ( female receiving)

Notes: here’s ch5! Hope you guys like this chapter. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @getmemyfries @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous --- Next

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The silky robe is a deep burgundy and it looks divine draped over your skin…Taehyung watches as you stand between his spread legs and the silky material begins to slowly slip off your shoulders. He can’t help but gulp when the robe falls down your arms and your matching lingerie set is finally exposed. The material that covers your breasts is lace, he can see your hardening buds and he sighs out in satisfaction… the rest of the lingerie top is sheer and flowy. He only observes as the robe finally falls to the floor and you step closer to him, bending down giving him the most immaculate view of your cleavage…god, he can’t wait to have your tits in his large hands. He is a man of self-control though. He just wants to watch you for a while before he even touches you, which ultimately drives you crazy.

You finally begin to crawl into his lap, settling over his bulge. He leans away from you, his head hitting the cushion of the sofa when you continue to bend forward until your lips are on his neck. Taehyung smirks and releases breath after breath when he feels your tongue run up his throat.

“Taehyung…” you whisper, “Taehyung, what are you thinking about?”

“Taehyung what are you thinking about? Hello?”

“Taehyung? Earth to Tae?” You continue to wave your hand in front of his face. You both are sitting on the living room couch watching a Disney movie when Taehyung obviously stopped paying attention. The boy is completely zoned out.

“Tae?”

“Huh? What?” his eyes zone back in and he’s whipping his head in your direction. “What?”

“I asked what you were thinking about, you really zoned out there.” You giggle. Taehyung’s eyes skim over your body, you’re wearing a t shirt and some shorts…definitely not the lingerie set he was just imagining you in. Yet somehow you still look sexy and it’s driving him nuts.

“Oh nothing.” Taehyung grins, feeling himself grow warmer at the memory of his imagination.

“Movie night is boring you, huh?” you steal the blanket from Taehyung’s lap and wrap it around yourself. “We can play a game instead? Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, you can show me that song you’ve been working on.” You eye him, waiting for his reaction.

“It’s not ready.” Taehyung pouts, “I promise I’ll show you when it’s ready. I’m just stuck.”

“Maybe I could help? You never know.”

“y/n…” he whines, “Just wait.” Then he’s scooting a little closer to you, “Patience isn’t really something you’re good at, huh?” he teases then his voice goes lower, “I’ll have to teach you.”

“Fine, fine. I can be patient.” You roll your eyes at him, you unwrap the blanket from yourself and put it out in front of you, offering to share with your roommate.

Taehyung accepts the invitation by inching closer to you and going under the blanket, his body heat sticking to your skin.

“Want to go for a walk?” Taehyung asks, snuggling further into the blanket.

“A walk? It’s so dark out?”

“I bet the moon looks nice over the ocean.” Taehyung points out softly, “I bet it feels nice and cool.”

“Hmm, okay.”

~

Taehyung was right, the moon looks absolutely hypnotizing over the water. You two are sat in the sand near the shore and you can feel the mist of cool water greet you as the waves come in. It feels amazing.

“Can you believe it’s been a little over 6 months?” you sigh, “Time is flying by.”

“You don’t sound as bitter as you usually would.” Taehyung playfully bumps his knee into yours. “You like my company that much?” he teases.

But you tense at his words…he isn’t that far off and you know that’s dangerous, almost as dangerous as him.

“I’m tired of being so bitter.” You admit, “Doesn’t mean I love this situation. I want to return to the real world…I have a lot of things to take care of. I can’t use the island as an excuse anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“My life is a mess, Tae. This island was like a break from that…I know that sounds crazy—”

“No, I get it.” Taehyung says softly. “I get it.”

“But can you believe we are still here? I mean, we flirt but I don’t know if it’s getting us anywhere.” You whisper. “And are they really taking us seriously?”

“What’s that mean?” Taehyung raises his brows, “Take us seriously?”

“We don’t view each other that way.” You say as quietly as you can, making Taehyung’s heart race. “We never will.”

“Oh.” Taehyung drops his head low, “Right.” Then he raises his head. “So are you saying you would never view me in any way besides a friend?”

“Obviously.” You chuckle, “That’s what we agreed on.”

Taehyung let’s your words marinate for a second…you’re right you two agreed to get along and nothing more. But things change? Taehyung is the type to realize things pretty quickly and go for it. He’s questioning a lot right now. Is he just super fucking attracted to you? Or does his feelings run deeper than that. And he just got his answer.

The fact that you say you would never view him that way has him feeling down, like a major state of depression is coming, like a large storm cloud is making its way over his body.

He wants you to change your mind. He wants you to like him. Why? Isn’t it obvious? He likes you.

“I guess.” He finally says after a long while, he doesn’t know what else to say honestly. He knows you aren’t anywhere near ready to hear his feelings and honestly he isn’t ready to say them out loud yet either. He knows he isn’t technically dating Hana but he still feels like he’s doing something wrong…like he’s cheating or just straight up betraying.

“Let’s walk.” He says standing to his feet, he leans down to help you up by the arm.

“Okie.”

You two begin walking down a path underneath the starry sky, his hand keeps bumping into yours as he talks and you grow nervous at the small contact. You can handle it, or so you think but when his skin touches your skin you feel a bolt of electricity fly down to your lower belly.

“And Jimin is my favorite.” He chuckles, “I mean, don’t get me wrong…I love all the guys but Jimin and I go way back. He can read me like his favorite book and vise versa.”

“That’s awesome. I wish I could meet them.” You admit shyly and Taehyung smiles down at you.

“You can!” he grins, “When we get out of here, I’ll fly you to Korea so you can visit me and you’ll meet the guys. Trust me, they’ll love you.”

You nod your head blushing like a middle school girl who just confessed a crush, you can’t help how rosy your cheeks get.

“You really think you’ll want to see me after this? Aren’t you tired of me yet?” you joke.

“Why? Are you tired of me?” Taehyung’s voice dips down an octave. “You can be honest.”

“No, Tae. I’m not tired of you….yet.” You bump your shoulder into his side and he chuckles.

“Good. Because…” Taehyung pauses, not entirely sure of what he was going to say. “Because…” he begins again. “I think I’m just getting used to you.”

“Only now?” you half joke, teasing him. “We—”

“I just mean,” Taehyung clears his throat, cutting you off. “I think I mean like I’m used to you in a way that I look forward to spending everyday with you.”

Oh. Oh. You stop walking abruptly making Taehyung stop as well, he blinks at you in confusion like ‘why the hell did you stop so suddenly?’.

“You look forward to spending time with me?” you swallow down your spit as you try to speak. “That’s…really sweet of you.” You admit.

Taehyung walks to you and stops just when his toes hit yours, “I can be very sweet.” He whispers to you. “I can show you.” Then he’s taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers, you only stare up at him confused by his action.

“For the cameras?” you ask as quietly as possibly.

“Not everything is for the cameras y/n. When are you going to get that through your pretty head?”

~~~~~~~~

Lately, Taehyung is confusing the hell out of you. He’s doing things he wouldn’t normally do, you think. You can understand flirting for the camera but why is he doing shit even when the cameras aren’t around? It’s not like you hate it…no, it’s not that. You hate to admit it but you fucking like it. A lot. The way he leans into you, the way his hands grip at your waist, the way his touch absolutely melts you. But it’s dangerous. You can’t get attached to him. He’s the first real friend you have in so many months…and that makes you feel pathetic. Poor guy is forced to be friends with you, flirt with you and so on.

You can feel the anxiety start to build…you hate this. You hate how easy it is for you to break, for you to crumble. It’s one of those days, right? You’ve barely made much of an appearance downstairs and you know that worries Taehyung. But today is just one of those days. The heartbreak of your real life seeps into the joyous façade of your island life. Fuck, you hate this. You hate how messy everything is and how nothing feels right or feels real.

It feels like your old life is becoming more and more out of reach, like you run after it, extending your hand out but it’s too far away from your grasp and that has you feeling helpless.

And that overwhelming dread suffocates you. Its hand wraps tightly around your throat, threatening to cut off your air supply. You’re sat up in your bed, your knees pulled into your chest as you try your hardest to level out your breathing, but it’s no use. No fucking use. The dread is too strong, its fingers leaving bruises around your neck.

“Breathe…breathe.” You repeat the words over like a mantra but your throat burns as tears threaten to pool your eyes so you keep them screwed shut.

Suddenly, you hear soft knocks on your bedroom door. Your head snaps upward. Shit.

“Y-Yeah?” You manage to choke out.

“Can I come in?” Taehyung’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door, his voice laced in concern.

“Uh…” you try to calm yourself down so you can respond properly.

“C-Can you just come by later?” You weakly suggest.

There’s a few beats of silence, you start to think he’s given up on you and left when you hear his soft voice once again,

“I have strawberries.”

You feel the pounding of your anxious heart relax just the tiniest. He brought me strawberries…of course he did.

“Umm sure, come in.”

Taehyung slowly creaks the door open, exposing himself.

He walks to the side of the bed, approaching you carefully, one hand carrying a bowl while the other carries a can of whipped cream.

“Snack?” He shakes the can in offering.

You try to smile, you really want to at least. But you feel your chest growing heavier and tighter, your breathing once again becoming uneven. Images of your family and your friends—the ones who didn’t totally shun you—come to mind and you just can’t take it anymore. Everything is too much. Tears well deep inside and before you realize it, tears are racing down your cheeks. You look up at Taehyung, without say anything you are begging him to comfort you. You weakly smile.

“Its…hard.” You admit between choked sobs. It so fucking hard. You miss your old life—believe it not—and the life you have now…is just playing pretend. Everything’s just too much for you right now.

Taehyung seems…surprised. He looks like he’s being torn apart.

“Woah, woah.” He rushes to set the bowl and can down on the nightstand.

“Hey, shh shh.” Taehyung sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He reaches for your shoulder and begins rubbing it soothingly. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

You cry even harder at that. You reach your hand towards your shoulder and grab his, holding it tightly. You try your best to calm down, his touch relieving some of your pain.

“That’s it… In and out…good.” He continues rubbing your shoulder, even with your hand attached to his. He then releases your hand and finds his way into your hair, massaging your scalp, slowly and tenderly. A long sigh escapes you.

“I…I’m sorry for this…” You take a deep breath, “I just miss them so much.” You laugh pitifully, your head falling into your hands. “I know it’s pathetic.”

“No!” Taehyung’s stern voice startles you. “Don’t you say that. It’s understandable y/n…if anyone understands you, it’s me, right?” He reaches for your hand. “And I think you’ve been amazing, it’s okay to break down every once in a while.”

You manage to nod your head, as you stare down at your connecting hands.

“I know I can’t make up for the people we’ve been ripped from…”

“Don’t do that.” you say, squeezing his hand. “Don’t compare yourself with people from my old life.”

“I…sorry.” He breathes out, squeezing your hand back.

The two of you let long moments of silence pass between you, they are comfortable moments though. Just feeling his hand in yours is enough to make you breathe easy again.

“We have each other.” He says out of nowhere. He gazes into your swollen eyes and he can’t believe he didn’t notice before…he always thought your eyes were dark, plain, boring but he sees how gorgeous and deep they are. They look like the setting sun, they look like they could hold stars, they look mesmerizing.

“Yeah, we do.” You try to smile. “Will you…will you stay with me tonight?” Your voice is small and timid. Taehyung is surprised to say the least, that you would request such a thing but he’s softening his features and smiles for you.

“Yeah, of course.” Taehyung breathes out. He rises from the bed and walks to the other side, he makes his way to the spot he is supposed to occupy.

“This is okay, right?” he asks, making sure.

You can’t help but swallow hard as you answer. “Yes.”

Taehyung slips into the bed, sliding underneath the sheets…yours are way softer than his, he thinks. He lays on his side, facing you.

“I miss my sister.” You whisper. “She could be so annoying and over protective but,” you pause, trying not to cry again, “But I do miss her.” You laugh as Taehyung stays silent.

“My-my mom’s cooking, it’s the best. We may not always get along and we kind of fight a lot…but her way of apologizing or making sure I am okay is by cooking me some amazing meal.” You turn to your side as well, your back facing him. You’re too embarrassed to look at him.

“My dad…he always comforts me…he always has my back when I fight with my mom…” you chuckle and then you feel Taehyung’s hand on your back. He begins tracing circles on the fabric of your shirt.

“You know I use to go to this coffee place almost every single day. I miss it. That routine. It’s called Cozy Coffee…a small, family owned shop. Only one of its kind. I would read, write, journal. Just relax. Every day.” You breathe out, missing your comfort spot.

“My friend Layla…who isn’t really my friend anymore…she used to give the best advice. She would probably know exactly what to say to help me get through this situation.” You say a little bitterly. Taehyung feels his heart start to ache as he listens to you.

“You have me to get through this.” Taehyung whispers.

“I know I have you, Tae.” You move from your side to your back. “It’s crazy…I’ve only known you for 6 months but I…” you pause, hating yourself for admitting this. “I feel so close to you.” You quietly admit. “Can I ask you something?” you don’t wait for him to respond as you begin speaking again. “You think if we had met organically…we would get along?” you swallow hard before continuing, “Or are we only getting along because we like, have to? Because face it, you have no one else to talk to and—”

“y/n.” his tone is firm. “Don’t.” he warns. “Don’t think of it that way.”

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I won’t.” you snap, surprising him.

“We will still talk after we get out of here…we will visit, we will make this work…” Taehyung tries but you scoff.

“If that’s even possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“We live so far from each other. And sure, we have texts and video chats but what about the time difference? Huh? This isn’t going to work afterwards. I’m already…” you take in a shaky breath, “I’m already getting so attached to you.” you then release that same shaky breath. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch when I don’t hear from you months at a time…” you shake your head, “and that’s okay! Because you’re just living life.” You clear your throat, he can tell you’re on the verge of crying. Fuck, what does he do?

“I’m sorry.” You wipe your face with your hands, “This convo took a turn, I’m sorry.”

Taehyung feels his heart aching still, it hurts. He hurts because you’re hurt. He just wants you to feel better.

“C’mere you baby.” He says while tugging on your arm towards his body…you barely even think about it as you scooch closer to him and you let him hold you in his arms for a short hug. You pull away just as quickly as you get comfortable in bed again.

“Get some sleep y/n. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

~

The A.C is kept rather low, and the buzz of the spinning fan keeps things cool…so, Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you is more than welcome. WAIT. Your eyes shoot open now, realizing your position. Your back is facing him, and your-your butt is shoved into his crotch. If the word ‘shoved’ was too aggressive you apologize but shit is true. Your ass is shoved deep into his crotch, you mean, you can feel everything. It’s an awkward position to say the least…you mean, or is it?

You glance around the room, your eyes fluttering all the way open. It’s now just hitting you that you two really slept in this room together.

His limbs are heavy, slung over your smaller body. His body is acting like your own personal heater, it’s pretty nice, not gonna lie. And his scent—don’t get started on his scent. His breathing is calm, each fan of his breath tickling your skin. Should you try to escape his hold? Or just let it be? Is it weird if you intentionally stay? Your mind is starting to race with a thousand questions, your overthinking getting the best of you. You lay still while your mind drowns in thoughts of Taehyung. Suddenly, you feel Taehyung stir behind you, so you immediately slam your eyes shut in panic, pretending to be asleep.

You can feel Taehyung sit up, just the slightest , one arm still under your head. But then Taehyung slips down further into the sheets once more, his body moving even closer to yours. His arms engulf you into a tight back hug, you can feel his face nuzzling the back of your neck. And the worst part is you feel him inhale you, snuggling impossibly closer. This makes you tense and melt at the same fucking time. He just nuzzled and inhaled you like you were what? He fucking safe space? You feel pulled into him, drawn to him. So you sleepily turn over in his arms, you wrap an arm around him while keeping your other arm safely tucked into your chest. You open your eyes to take a look at Taehyung’s sleeping face when you are met with two wide eyes. He looks…shocked at first but then the corners of his lips turn upwards. He gently squeezes your body into his and slowly closes his eyes again.

How can he sleep again?! Your mind is racing, your heart is racing, your body is racing even if you are frozen. Your nerves are very present, you feel your stomach turn, you feel butterflies flying, you feel restless. But Taehyung? He is absolutely fine. And that makes your body feel an ache you wish it didn’t.

~~~~

“Uh, can I help you?” You wait impatiently for an answer…you were just falling asleep!

“Sleepover.” Taehyung says nonchalantly while pushing past you, entering your bedroom.

“Um, sleepover?”

“I can’t sleep. I want to cuddle. Very innocent stuff.” Taehyung says as he pulls back the covers on your bed.

“Tae…” you hesitate to close the door, “What do you think you are doing?”

Ever since your little panic attack and your little sleepover with Taehyung, he has gotten used to the idea of snuggling closer to you even on places like the couch. And now tonight, he is here in your room requesting to sleep with you. You go red just at the thought.

“Don’t be a brat, y/n.” he says slipping into the bed and patting the spot next to him, “Now come over here.” He grins at you and you flush.

“Fine…” you can’t say you hate the idea…after getting a taste of cuddling once you have been yearning for his touch…just a little. You turn off the lights and step over towards the bed, sliding inside and snuggling in the blanket.

“No, come here.” He softly commands, “Lay on my chest…ah, wait.” He stops you from moving. “Do you mind if I sleep with my shirt off?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before so sure.” You mumble. Taehyung winks at you before he’s lifting his shirt over his head, sliding back down into the bed. “Now come.”

Taehyung slips an arm underneath your head as you lay down on his bare chest…you won’t lie…his warm skin on your cheek has you melting.

“So you think you and Hana would be a couple by now?” you decide to ask but you cringe at your own question. Why the hell did you bring up Hana? Taehyung’s face falls into a frown.

“Probably...maybe…I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Why are you saying sorry, it’s not like it’s your fault.”

“Somehow it feels like it is.” You admit, you lean a little closer to Taehyung, your body feeling heavier and heavier.

“It’s not…” he wraps his other hand around your waist, “I don’t regret meeting you y/n.”

“Do you mean that?”

You lean away from him and scoff, “Your life could be perfect right now but I’m ruining it.”

“Hey, don’t do that.” Taehyung warns, “It’s not you—”

“It is me! This company paired you with me! A complete and total stranger!” you whisper, “You’re stuck here with me, Taehyung. You’re forced to be what, friends with me?”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything. I genuinely enjoy spending time with you…” Taehyung tries to explain, he’s becoming really confused. Where is this all coming from?

“y/n…”

“What?” you snap and he flinches, “sorry…what is it?” you ask more softly.

“I could say the same about me, that I’m ruining your life too—”

“My life is already a mess before you.”

“We’re friends y/n. When we get out of here I will find you on twitter or what—”

“I don’t have social media.” You say.

“Fine, we will eventually exchange numbers. You get the point, we’re friends. Real friends.”

“Sorry I’m just overwhelmed…” you finally admit, “We’ve been here over six month Taehyung…why are we still here? How hasn’t anyone found us yet? Aren’t they looking for us?”

“I’m sure people are trying.”

“I don’t hate being with you.” You say, “But I want to go home.” You begin to sniffle and Taehyung panics. He tightens his hold on you, he wishes he could bring you in even closer.

“I know. Me too.” He admits, hugging you tight. “But at least we got each other, right?”

Taehyung is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in months…you don’t want to get this attached to him. When you guys get sent home…he’s going back to Korea and you back to your home and he will move on with his life and you won’t have him anymore.

“Sure.” You reply weakly, “Sure.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Taehyung whispers.

“What should we talk about then? Or should we just go to sleep?”

“No, I want to chat.” He chuckles. “Why do you seem nervous around me sometimes?” he decides to ask, his hand loosening around your waist.

“Me? Nervous? You’re just imagining that.” You breathe out, “and if I have been it’s not like you have never been nervous around me…right?”

“Who says I haven’t?” His chuckles come out dark and low. “I think I make you nervous.”

His hand slides down until he grips at your thigh before he’s letting go and gliding his fingers across your thigh and up to your hip. Your bare legs feeling the electric touch of his fingers. You suck in a long breath at the contact.

“W-Why would you make me nervous?” your eyes flutter shut and you bite down on your bottom lip as he continues to stroke your thigh. Your breathing picking up unknowing to you, your chest rising and falling faster than before.

“Your body tells me I do.” He says slowly, his voice deep.

Your quick breaths fan across his chest…he obviously knows you are getting affected.

“What does that mean?” you sigh but Taehyung doesn’t answer he just continues his ministrations on your skin. The way your shorts ride up gives him access to your thighs and hip. He lightly strokes you over and over, making you lose some of your composure. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched. And Taehyung knows this. He knows he should probably stop…but your skin feels so warm, so soft. His fingers skid across your upper thigh again and he notices how you exhale deep long breaths at his touch, how you close your eyes, how you bite your lip.

“If I don’t make you feel nervous,” he begins, his light touch never stopping, “then what do I make you feel?”

“Good.” You breathe out, “You make me feel good.”

Taehyung raises his brows in amusement, clearly liking your admission.

“You don’t know how good I can make you feel y/n.” Taehyung’s voice goes low, it makes the goosebumps on your skin rise.

“Taehyung…” You open your eyes again and find his, his gaze is so dangerous you could honestly feel the torture of it forever.

His hand travels lower to caress your calf, then he’s sliding it back up again this time closer to the inner part of your thigh. Without thinking you slightly spread your legs apart, letting his fingers play with your more sensitive skin.

His touch is sending heat waves throughout your body and God, you are melting at his burning hot touch. You start to dance your hips around, too turned on to actually feel embarrassed.

“Jeez…you’re really getting worked up.” Taehyung darkly chuckles. He stares down at you with dark, intense eyes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“S-Shut up.” You breathe out. “We probably…we probably shouldn’t do this…” you say, your voice strained.

Taehyung only smirks. “Do what? What exactly is it do you think we are going to do?”

His fingers slide closer and closer to the place that he shouldn’t. Your inner thigh is dangerous enough…but he lightly strokes you closer anyway. He knows exactly what he is doing.

“Do you think I’m going to make you come?” he teases. You hate how deep his voice gets when he talks to you like this—not that he’s ever said anything this bold.

“Lay on your back for me.” You nod your head until realization hits you.

“WAIT WHAT?” you sit up. “I am not going to like, have sex with you! Plus how can you even be sure I would come during sex?” You cock a brow, “You are a real cocky bastard, you know that?” Taehyung rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head.

“We aren’t having sex.” He assures you. Oh. A little tiny voice in your head is asking why not. “And I definitely could make you come during sex. Jeez y/n, what type of incompetent guys have you been with?” Taehyung smirks, sitting up as well.

“T-Then how would you make me come?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze. The gaze that drives you fucking nuts.

“With my fingers?” He shrugs.

“Aren’t you afraid this will ruin our friendship?” you pull at the ends of your hair, you know, a bad fucking habit.

“Not at all.” He says with total nonchalance. Jesus this guy is something else.

His features soften as he stares down at you, “Just let me take care of you.” He says.

You need to say no. This crosses way too many lines. But you can’t. You won’t. You figure you can just forget about it because that’s your only choice since you are already nodding your head in agreement.

“Then relax for me.” Taehyung uses his hand to softly push you down by the shoulder. “Please.” He licks his lips watching you ease yourself back on to the bed. You never break eye contact with Taehyung as your chest heaves again. How does he affect you this quickly? You are full of nerves, no shit, but you are so turned on by Taehyung’s low voice and sharp gaze that you nod your head, going along with his words.

“Good.” He says and you let out a long, harsh breath in response. Almost a moan.

“Taehyung…” your voice comes out more breathy than you intend and you immediately blush. You can feel his erection struggling in the confines of his sweats, poking the side of your thigh, you hope you calling out his name is making him suffer even more. Taehyung hasn’t made another move yet, just staring at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Please…” You reach for his hand and set it between your inner thighs. Wow, when were you this bold? He immediately smirks.

“Patience, baby.” The pet name has you rolling your eyes and not in a sassy way. Your lips part and your eyes are half lidded, you are a goner. And from what? This barely counts as foreplay! You are just so deprived of sexual attention. Taehyung watches you and you feel him rut against your thigh, God he feels so big.

“Sorry,” he says weakly, his own breaths sharp.

He takes a moment to compose himself, but to be honest you wish he wouldn’t. Taehyung lets out a long breath becoming even more serious, if that is possible. His hand is already dipped between your thighs and you are sure he can feel how desperate you are by the way you squirm. Even though he hasn’t even touched you. But you ache for his touch, it honestly hurts.

Finally, he cups you in his large hand. “So warm.” He says lowly. He wastes no time, using his fingers to move your shorts and panties to the side and swirls two fingers over your aching clit. You are dripping in arousal, his fingers getting coated in your juices within seconds.

“Did I make you this wet? Just by barely touching you?” He sounds genuinely surprised. Taehyung continues to glide his fingers between your folds.

You try to stay quiet, not trusting your voice at this point. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched that the feeling of his fingers, his long, beautiful fingers has you struggling to keep quiet. But you choke out when Taehyung slips a long finger inside you, pumping in and out very slowly. You whine at the sudden contact.

“I asked you a question.”

He enters another long finger into your greedy cunt. You want more of him. You are starting to think his fingers aren’t enough, but that’s your horny haze talking. His fingers begin thrusting into you, twisting his fingers in a way that has your body rutting against him. You can’t help the long dragged out moan that escapes your parted lips. Maybe they are enough, holy shit.

“Who made you this wet?” he asks almost like he genuinely wants to know like it’s not obvious.

Taehyung inserts another finger. Fuck. You moan over and over, loving how he explores you.

“Huh, baby?” he questions while you squeeze your eyes shut, while your mouth hangs open.

“I need you to use your words.” His fingers come to a sudden stop, he pulls them away from you. You gasp at the loss of contact. How un-fucking-fair. Your eyes shoot open, looking at him with eyes on fire.

“Y-You!” You finally choke out, “You made me this wet! Please Taehyung, please don’t stop.” You are a whining, withering mess. Taehyung just watches you, a dark smile appearing on his face.

“So greedy.” He says, his wicked grin taking over his face. “So fucking greedy.”

And before you know it, his fingers are back inside you but this time moving at a greater force than before, leaving you fucking breathless. His long fingers are reaching places so much deeper than you ever could.

“There…there. Don’t stop.” You pant.

The slick sounds of his fingers pushing into your body is delicious and disgusting. Between your moans and his harsh breaths and the sound of his fingers inside your body…it’s music to your ears.

“Need…need more…” you pant, your hand coming to your mouth.

“More? I got you babe.” His fingers leave your core, leaving you frustrated. How was this more? But then suddenly those same fingers are on your clit, your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Gonna—gonna make you feel so good…” You glance Taehyung’s way to see him with his gaze directed towards you already, his dark eyes somehow even darker.

You bite back a moan, your hand still covering your mouth.

“Let me hear you. Don’t cover your beautiful sounds.”

His fingers rub your aching clit even faster, harder, added pressure that is making you see stars and you aren’t even coming yet.

“So close Tae, I’m so…so”

“Yeah baby? Wanna come?”

“Yes yes yes” the coil twists tighter between your legs, already ready to snap. Taehyung repeats his motions, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Taehyung watches with parted, panting lips as you lose all composure.

“Fuck, y/n.” Taehyung grunts under his breath, his voice taking you to the end.

Your body is twisting and turning, your hair is stuck to your forehead as the sweat builds up. Your eyes are slammed shut and your lips are apart releasing moan after moan. His other hand is at your core as well, two fingers entering you.

“Come all over my fingers, y/n. Let go baby, let go.”

Taehyung’s words has your vision going white, your entire body goes tense and then you are letting go. Cumming all over Taehyung’s fingers as his pumps slow and you begin to come down from your high. Your hand reaches up and grips his left arm, you whine at the feel of his muscles underneath your touch—only further turning you on. You clench your thighs together, bucking your hips into his slowing hand. Finally, you grind against his hand one last time, letting out all your last moans.

“You did so good.” Taehyung teases, his fingers leaving your body.

“Shut up.” Your breaths are heavy but you smile. Taehyung’s breathing isn’t much better. What do you do now? Say thank you?

“I’ll wash up and bring you a towel.” Taehyung informs you, breathing out roughly. He is painfully hard, you could feel him rutting against you the entire time he fingered you. Probably why you came so fast, honestly.

You hear Taehyung in the bathroom washing his hands. The sound of the running water giving you time to think. Sooooo what the fuck just happened? Did you just let your friend, your roommate, your fellow victim…finger bang you? Finger bang…what are you, 14? Either way, what the fuck? This is a lot to take it…you didn’t hate it. What do you do with that thought? No guy has ever made you come that fast and just from his fingers? Dear Lord, dear sweet baby Jesus. This is obviously because you haven’t come in so long…you mean, you’ve touched yourself, don’t get it wrong but it only ended in frustration. But tonight…you met a different fate. A fate that was in the hands of your friend. Your fucking friend. All the sudden tears prick your eyes—you’re just friends. You quickly pat your eyes dry with your T-shirt and shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Why are you disappointed you’re just friends?

Before you know it Taehyung is back in the room, he’s holding a towel in his hand. He walks to your side of the bed and crawls on top…he looks hesitant. He almost looks afraid of you.

You reach for the towel, its warm and damp.

“No, I’ll do it.” Taehyung smiles softly, his eyebrows creasing as he does so.

He takes the damp towelette and begins cleaning up. You hiss at the contact, you are still incredibly sensitive. He only takes a few seconds to clean up the mess you two made before he’s pulling back.

“Thanks…” you mumble. Him cleaning you up was oddly intimate. Maybe it’s not that odd how intimate it felt actually. Because you know what? It was fucking intimate! This whole fiasco was intimate as hell! And it’s all your fault.

Taehyung sits on his knees, awkwardly might you add. You don’t know what to do with the towelette so you just throw it behind him. He looks at you with slight disgust before he’s smiling.

“Really?” he gives you a pointed look.

“What? I’ll throw it in the dirty clothes basket in the morning.” you smile back, then you become shy. Yes, fucking shy. Like you weren’t just a moaning mess for him minutes prior. You don’t know what to do with yourself. What do you say? What do you do? A sigh of relief is pushing past your lips when you realize Taehyung probably feels the same. He is looking at you like you might break. Suddenly you don’t feel relief, you feel guilt. This is your fault, you did this. You allowed this. What does he think of you now? You don’t just usually let your friends finger bang you—uh, you really need to stop saying it like that—this is bad.

“Aren’t you going to lay down?” You gesture to his side of the bed real awkwardly.

“Yup.” He then rolls his entire body over yours, like his weight wouldn’t crush you, landing in his previous spot on the bed. He sinks down into the sheets, leaving like a foot of space between you both. He is literally on the edge of his side of the bed. Shit. You did this. Now you’re fucking awkward.

“So.”

“So…”

Taehyung isn’t one to get weird after a sexual encounters but this is you we’re talking about, the girl he is stuck on an island with, the girl who is apparently his best match, the girl he definitely wants to fuck and last but not least, the girl he has real romantic feelings for.

He had the fanfuckingtastic idea of fucking you with his fingers…yeah, real smart on his part. He feels himself fill with pride that he was the first and only to make you come since you’ve been here.

He knows you two need to talk. What could this mean? He knows you enjoyed yourself…he knows you loved every moment his fingers were inside you. He is well aware of that fact. Your moans and cries of pleasure are indication enough.

He needs to talk to you though, he needs to hear how you feel. He wants you. He wants you so fucking bad. Taehyung smiles because he has a feeling this will turn out alright.

“So about what just happ—”

“Thanks for that,” you’re quick to cut him off, “but can we pretend that never happened?” you laugh, humorless.

Oh.

“Okay.”

~~~~~

It’s been a week. A fucking week. And you have hardly even looked at Taehyung much less spoke to him. It’s kind of hard to ignore the one person you live with but he guesses in such a big house he’s able to stay out of your way. Because that’s what you want, right? He thinks that’s what you want. You’ve been spending an awful amount of time in your bedroom and your dance studio and not a whole lot of time in the common areas. So basically fuck Taehyung, right? At least that’s what he’s thinking.

You…you regret it, right? Letting things escalate? You want to forget all about your little sleepover—like it never happened. And he has no one to blame but himself. But he couldn’t contain himself…touching you felt so good, felt so right. And the way you reacted from his simple touches…you want him, don’t you? At least that’s what he thought. He knows this is his fault. And he wants to take responsibility, as a man, as a decent human being…but he doesn’t know how to talk to you. When you two do pass each other, you either look at him with a tense, tight lipped smile or you don’t even acknowledge him at all. Both fucking hurt him. He feels like if this was the real world this is where you ghost him and he hates people who ghost.

Taehyung is just lying in bed, chest being crushed by a massive fat man as he wishes you would just talk to him. At this point that’s kind of all he wants. He has to accept this fact...this is an unrequited love, isn’t it? He groans in frustration, a heavy hand dragging down his face.

“y/n…” He whispers your name like a secret. It escapes past his lips without him really realizing. Why did the company set him up with a girl who will never feel the same? The thought rings in his head. The more he thinks about it the more he hates the company. He fists his hands in the sheets beneath him until his knuckles turn white. This fucking company is the one to blame for everything. He could be home, he could be making music, hanging with his friends and maybe even have Hana to call his. But no, he’s here. With the most amazing person he has ever met and it’s all one sided.

Would he change things? Wish he never came here? He honestly doesn’t know. But he can’t change things so why even ask that stupid question. Does he really wish he was back home and maybe be with Hana? But Hana didn’t do this to him. Didn’t make me feel lost and crazy and so fucking happy to even be in the same place as her. He loosens his grip on the sheets, flattening his palms on the bed. No, Hana was never the one for him. That he is certain of. But if you don’t feel the same way then you’re not the one for him either. And that fucking crushes him.

He huffs out a long breath and sits up, he tangles his fingers in his hair trying to soothe himself. It doesn’t really work but it was worth a shot. He gets off the bed and heads toward the door, he wants to wash his face with cold water, he needs a refresher, so he exits the room and begins walking towards the bathroom. As he reaches the door, he hears the sound of your bedroom door opening. You are leaving your bedroom for the first time today he believes and you immediately stop in your tracks when you spot him. Your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open just the slightest. He stares at you, just stares at you. His expression hardens when he remember this is you ghosting him but you speak up. Actually speak up.

“Hi.” You squeak out.

Explosions. Taehyung feels explosions everywhere. His heart is exploding, his mind is exploding, the world is exploding. How does one girl manage to rile him up this much? All you said was say hi…

“Hey.” He grumbles, not really doing much to hide his bitter tone.

You can’t help but wince at his response.

“Umm,” you start, your eyes darting all around the hallway. “Wanna…” your words get lost on your tongue.

“Wanna what?” he says harshly, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“Wanna watch a movie?” you whisper, your eyes down at your feet.

“Do I wanna watch a fucking movie?” He scoffs. Loud and clear.

“Oh.” You say, your eyes finally meeting his.

“Oh.” he mimics, his stiff expression never letting up.

“Taehyung—”

“What?” there’s a bite in his tone.

“Please watch a movie with me?” Your eyes are pleading. God, that’s when they are his favorite.

Taehyung stares at you from across the hall, just staring, he lowers his arms to his side and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweats.

“What movie?” He finally asks, his tone still tight.

“Any movie, it doesn’t matter.” You rush to say, feeling hopeful he will take you up on your suggestion. You shift from one foot to the other, your nerves spiking. He loves seeing you nervous like this, he can’t help it.

“Can we talk first?” He takes a few steps towards you but you clumsily move backward, backing away from him.

“We’re talk-talking right now.” You breathe out, your eyes never leaving his.

“You know exactly what I am talking about y/n.” his voice goes lower.

“Just wanna watch a movie.” You take another step back.

“Jesus y/n,” Taehyung rolls his eyes at you, “you really suck ass at confrontation.” He bites back.

You’re quiet for a moment, your eyes still on Taehyung. You suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard. You are lost in your thoughts, trying to focus on the specific one you need. You’re swaying from side to side, clearly thinking of how to respond to him.

“You fingered me, big deal.” You finally huff out, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not a big deal? Then why haven’t you talked to me all fucking week?” He takes a few steps closer, closing the major distance between you two. This time your feet stay planted on the ground.

“Was worried you might take it… the wrong way.” You say, your eyes slide to the side. You understand this is a weak ass excuse but…

“Take it the wrong way?” He takes another step forward.

“Yeah. We’re just friends, right? Friends don’t let friends get them off. Didn’t want you to think this was something more.” Your words slice through him, cutting him up. Something more. Of course that’s what you were worried about. You just didn’t want him to catch feelings for you or whatever the fuck. Well too fucking late babe, he thinks bitterly.

“Right.” He finally says, taking one last step forward. He won’t lie, his heart doesn’t feel good. It feels sick probably, like it has an aching fever. Taehyung leans forward until his lips are barely touching the shell of your ear. His warm breaths tickling your skin.

“Just friends also don’t moan out for them over and over wanting to come.” He whispers, “And just friends don’t enjoy what we did as much as we did.” His deep voice sends chills across your body as you sigh out. “But right, we are just friends.”

“Yeah.” You release a shaky breath, “So…A movie?”

“Sure, y/n.” he leans away from you and he gives a half smile, he looks pained. And it hurts you. You nod your head towards the stairs and he nods in agreement.

But there’s still a lingering tension in the air, you can feel and you are sure Taehyung feels it too. There’s no way you are imagining a tension this thick. Somethings not right and after all of this, and you aren’t sure it ever will be.

~

You’re full of regret. Don’t get it wrong, you don’t regret crossing the line with Taehyung…you regret telling him to forget about it. You just got so scared…he is closest thing you have to a friend and you hope you didn’t ruin that. But there’s more. You feel something more and that scares you too. What happens if you tell him you liked it and you want more but he rejects you first? He beats you to it.

“Should I make some popcorn?” Taehyung asks, his hands fiddling with the TV’s remote as he lowers the volume.

“Sure.” You respond a bit awkwardly. You find your way to the couch, sitting on one end, pulling the blanket to your lap.

Taehyung takes his time in the kitchen, he gulps down a glass of water as he waits for the popcorn to finish in the microwave. Once the timer is going off he takes it out and pours the popcorn in a large bowl and makes his way to the living room finding the sofa and taking a seat on the other side of it.

“You can sit closer Tae…” you shyly offer, your hand gesturing towards the spot next to you but Taehyung stares at you with hard eyes.

“No thanks. I’m good here.”

“Seriously Taehyung? You pout, “Can we try to be a little normal?”

“Don’t know if that’s possible.” He quickly retorts, staring straight ahead now.

You frown at that, your lips turning downward in the most animated way. This is a mess. Everything is a mess. And it’s your fault. You feel bad, so fucking bad. You feel like Taehyung hates you. And that thought breaks your freaking heart into a million and one pieces.

“Taehyung?” you start to inch closer to him and he whips his head in your direction.

“”What?” He leans away from you, confused why you are scooting closer to him.

“Taehyung…” you sit as close to him as possible and he looks at you with a face void of emotion. You eye him carefully and he looks numb. This just makes you feel worse. Tears start to prick your eyes and your face scrunches up…Taehyung’s features soften when he realizes how close you are to crying.

“Cry baby.” He states, his voice much softer than he intended. “Come.” He pulls you by the arm, bringing him to his body.

“Taehyung.” You sniffle.

“What is it?” he replies back easily this time, no harshness in his tone…like, instead it’s the sound of comfort.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, burying your head into his chest. You inhale him and his scent makes you feel dizzy. You breathe him in again, getting high off of him. You start to silently cry, your tears wetting his shirt…he doesn’t say anything though, he just rubs your back soothingly.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks, almost hesitant.

“Everything.” You admit. “Sorry for what I said in the hall…sorry for…” you cry a little more.

“For?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to forget about that night.” You finally push out, sliding your eyes to the side. Taehyung blows out a puff of air and offers you a small smile.

“Why did you?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know.” You answer with a half-truth. Taehyung creases his brows, pulling them together so dramatically as his expression hardens again.

“You don’t know?” he pinches his nose with his fingers. “Listen…did you enjoy it?” he asks bluntly. His eyes finding yours again and it’s that same gaze that drives you insane.

“Taehyung…”

“Did you enjoy it y/n?” he asks again, this time more demanding.

“I…” the words get lost in a lump in your throat.

“Words y/n.” His hardened expression intimidates the fuck out of you to say the least. “Is that what you are afraid of? That because you liked it so much…you’ll want more?”

Bulls fucking eye. You swallow down your response. You just let your mouth open and close and open and close again, unable to say anything.

“What did I say about using your words y/n?” Taehyung scoots closer, making you feel fucking suffocated…but not entirely in a bad way.

“Tae…” his name escapes you in a breathy moan.

Taehyung stares down at you, his eyes narrowed and serious. He breathes out roughly before scoffing.

“I think we’re done here.” He states coldly, he stands to his feet and begins walking away, leaving you confused and breathless.

Done? How? What does he mean? Taehyung then continued to avoid you for several more days…until…

~~~~~~

“I’m not doing it.” Taehyung yells out, loud enough for you, who is in another room to hear.

“What?” You shout back, wiping your forehead with a towel. “Did you say something?” It would be the first time he’s saying something to you in several days.

“I said I’m not doing it!” and with that you hear him bolt up the stairs and after a few seconds the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut could be heard throughout the house.

“Jeez…” You step out of your dance studio, sweat patted dry into your skin. “What’s he throwing a tantrum over?” but somehow you have a feeling. You walk into the living room towards the bright TV, you face falling at the sight. The TV is bright white with black letter painted across, showing the ‘Request’ that has your face as white as a ghost.

Request: make out for 1 Minute.

Penalty: no power for 5 days.

You reread the words at least 30 fucking times, letting each syllable sink in,

you sigh to yourself, feeling fucking lost. You know you have to talk to Taehyung, his reaction also repeating in your crazy mind. You slump your shoulders as your head bows down in defeat. He fucking hates you, wants nothing to do with you right now. It’s just some kissing right? You both have literally done worse. You have to talk to him. You lift your head and look in the direction of the staircase, your lips pulling into a pout. How would this go?

~

“I said we’re not doing it.” Taehyung plainly states. He sits on the edge of his bed, fists balling up the end of the blanket. You look between him and his cool statement and his fists of frustration.

“Taehyung we—”

“We can just take the penalty.” His tone is firm.

You look at him incredulously. Take the fucking penalty? 5 days without power?

“You’re saying you would rather have 5,” You lift up your hand showing him your five fingers in case he doesn’t know what 5 looks like, “5 fucking days without power then to just kiss me? Like really?”

“Really.” He stands from his bed, stepping in front of you, walking you backwards. You step back until your back hits the wall next to the door. Taehyung stops only a few inches away from you, looming over your body.

“So…I’ll be taking a nap now.” He says flatly.

Is he serious? He really won’t do this with you? You have seen each other naked for Christs sake! You’ve never not done a request! You get that he’s mad at you, but 5 days? 5 whole days?

“It’s just a minute Taehyung…” You murmur more to yourself than him. Hurt probably written all over your face. You are feeling absolutely rejected. A feeling you hate the most.

“Yeah.” he takes a step back. “A minute I don’t want to be a part of.” He spits out at you.

Fucking ouch.

Things with Ben hurt. Bad. But Taehyung wanting nothing to do with you? Hurts worse.

You look down at your feet, fidgeting with your digits.

“Why are you being such an asshole?” You say between deep breaths. You can’t cry. He’s quiet. Too quiet. You suck in a shaky breath, “I already said sorry so why are you treating me this way?” You don’t mean to sound so pathetic but you do because well, you are. He lets silence linger in the air. You can’t muster the courage to look up at him, he’s probably void of all emotion, probably will give you some robotic answer. If you are even lucky enough to get an answer.

You hear Taehyung exhale through his nose but that’s it. Without even sparing him a glance, you turn towards the door to take your leave but then you feel Taehyung’s hand on your arm stopping you.

“Wait.” His voice is rough. He clears his throat and releases his grip on you.

You turn to face him, finally lifting your head to see him. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are set in a firm line. At least he has an expression.

“What?” you mumble, your eyes glossy.

“Don’t cry.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing even more. His gaze is not one to fuck with.

“I won’t.” you say, unconvincing.

“y/n…” his gaze begins to soften.

“I won’t” you repeat, still just as unconvincing. Your eyes gloss over even more and you feel your throat beginning to tighten.

Taehyung relaxes his features even more, and to your surprise he reaches forward and rubs your shoulder.

“Please don’t cry.” His voice loses its edge, all softness now.

“I won’t” You choke out, barely able to keep your lip from quivering. A single tear falling from your eye.

“If I agree to do the request will you stop?” he asks, still rubbing your shoulder.

“If you-if you stop being an asshole I’ll stop.” Another tear.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just…I just had to be firm with you.” He admits, his voice low.

“I don’t understand…” You cry out. More tears fallen on your cheek.

Taehyung looks at you with an odd expression you can’t decipher.

“Trust me, I know.” He says, defeat lacing his tone. “Can you just…respect my decision?” he adds on.

“I just don’t see the big deal…” you sniffle, “We’ve done worse.”

“And look where that got us.” He laughs bitterly.

He’s not…wrong. But still, for some reason you keep pushing it.

“It’s just a minute Tae.” You try again, wiping your flushed face of tears.

Taehyung raises his brows at you and sets his lips into a firm line again, he places his hands into his pants pockets and rocks back and forth.

“Wanna do it that badly?” he lightly snaps. “Fine.”

You feel the shift in his mood again, he’s been a roller coaster lately—it’s so unlike him. Are you doing this to him? Damn, girl you toxic as fuck.

You step forward and reach for his hand, he lets you.

“What’s wrong?” You finally ask.

“What’s wrong?” he mocks your voice.

“Taehyung please—”

“I want to kiss you.” He states. “And…and...” he tears his gaze away from you, looking all around the room instead. “And you just don’t get that.”

Taehyung steps forward, a fire in his eyes as he speaks up again.

“It’s cruel for me, don’t you think? I get to kiss you until that timer goes off and then what? I have to pretend we didn’t just do that? Have to pretend we didn’t do something I have been wanting to do for god knows how long! I have to pretend we’re just fucking friends?” he shouts, laughing bitterly again.

You’re…stunned. Taehyung takes a step back again, his eyes never leaving yours. You look up at him with pinched brows and a confused mind.

“But yeah, let’s do the stupid request. That’s a great idea.” He rolls his eyes.

“Taehyung…” You start to feel guilty, like maybe and by maybe you mean obviously, you struck a chord.

“No y/n, we’re doing the request.” He cages you with his arms on either side of you, he leans forward until his nose is brushing yours. “I’m going to kiss you, and I am not responsible for what happens after that.” He leans away again, “So, I’ll see you tonight.”

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[valdomarx]

Untouchable

Octoberfest day 31: cursed

“Fuck! Geralt! Help!”

Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier comes skidding to a halt in front of him. He dreads to imagine what trouble he’s gotten himself into now.

“Something terrible has happened! I had an, umm, unfortunate encounter with a sorcerer.” He blushes, pink creeping over his cheeks. “And he put some horrible curse on me and portaled away, the bastard.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

“And now I can’t touch anyone. Look!” Jaskier holds out a hand to stop a passerby. He goes to shake the confused man’s hand, but the moment their skin makes contact Jaskier gives a yelp of pain and leaps back.

That reaction isn’t feigned, Geralt is sure, even as the man gives them both an odd look and leaves.

“When you touch someone, does it hurt badly?”

Jaskier’s bottom lip wobbles. “It really does.”

He sighs. A lack of touch might be a mere annoyance for him, but he knows it’s more than that for Jaskier. “I’ve heard of a mage who specialises in lifting curses. But he’s all the way in Kovir, and that’s no small journey.”

Jaskier turns big, pleading eyes on him. “Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything. You have to help me.”

As if he could ever refuse him anything. “Alright,” he grumbles. “We’ll head to Kovir.”

-

At first, Jaskier appears as bright as ever. Yet as the days pass, more and more often he chews his lip in a nervous habit, and he rubs his fingers together when people come too close. He smells of anxiety and restlessness.

Each evening, once the dinner has been eaten and the sun has set, they lay out their bedrolls by the embers of the fire. The scent of anxiety is replaced by one of loneliness and Jaskier will curl in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It’s sad, how much lesser Jaskier seems to feel without touch.

Geralt is used to being shunned, to going months without a friendly clap on the shoulder or shake of the hand. But Jaskier isn’t, and the curse is taking a toll on him. Geralt wishes he could help, that he could provide some comfort, but he knows right now all he can cause Jaskier is pain.

-

They need coin for their journey, so Geralt takes jobs along the way. He’s on a contract to clear a nest of nekkers and he has, for some unknown reason, allowed Jaskier to accompany him. Jaskier had wheedled and pleaded and in the end Geralt had found himself unable to say no.

It should be fine. A nekker nest is an easy job, and as agile and springy as the creatures are, they’ve no stamina and they’re easy to kill.

That must be why he allows his concentration to slip when he’s approaching the nest, his eyes darting to the side to check Jaskier is safe behind a rock. The momentary slip lets one of the foul little things bounce up to him and sink its teeth into his gauntlet, more of an annoyance than a real threat. He shakes it off with one hand and uses the other to cut more of the creatures down with his silver blade. His gauntlet goes flying, but no matter, he can collect that later.

He rounds on the last few of the creatures who are nickering angrily. As he circles them he sees Jaskier peeking his head over the rock and then creeping closer, trying to get a better look.

Fuck. He kills two of the nekkers quickly, but the last three have picked up on Jaskier’s scent and are eyeing him with interest. Geralt sees two leaning back on their hind legs, preparing to leap at Jaskier and cut him to shreds with their sharp claws.

He has a split second to make a decision: Grab Jaskier and risk hurting him himself, or leave him where he is and watch the creatures go for his chest. It’s no choice at all really, so Geralt sends up a quiet word of apology and grabs Jaskier firmly around the neck with his ungloved hand and shoves him out of the way.

The last two creatures leap into the air, but with their target gone they’re easy prey. Geralt cuts them down with minimal effort and turns, expecting to see Jaskier writhing on the ground in pain.

He’s not though. He’s sat in the mud with a puzzled expression on his face.

“That didn’t hurt,” he says, seemingly mystified. “Well, being thrown to the ground was not the most delightful experience, but when you touched me - it didn’t hurt.”

That is strange. Geralt had been sure he’d triggered the curse.

Jaskier gets to his feet and regards Geralt quizzically. Very carefully, he reaches out and touches his fingertip to Geralt’s bare hand. He doesn’t flinch back or gasp in pain. Instead, he takes Geralt’s entire hand in his own, and a beautiful smile blooms over his face.

“I can touch you! But how?”

Geralt stares down at their joined hands, unsure why he feels unsteady. “Witchers are immune to magic?” he guesses. “I suppose that could be -”

He’s interrupted by Jaskier throwing his arms around him and hugging him close, happy little sounds of joy and relief spilling from him. “Oh, Geralt, thank the gods, I was losing my mind.” He snuggles deeper against Geralt, rubbing his face into his neck and hanging on tight.

“Oh. Well.” It seems the only thing for Geralt to do is to hug him back, so he puts his arms around his shoulders and draws him in.

-

Jaskier keeps touching him all the rest of the day. Whenever he bumps their shoulders or grabs Geralt’s hand, he breaks out into a wide, goofy smile, like it’s novel and fun every time.

Perhaps the curse has worn off? The next traveller who passes them by, Jaskier finds an excuse to stop him and shake his hand. But the moment their hands touch, Jaskier yelps in pain.

He’s still cursed then. But he can touch Geralt. Strange.

And Geralt can’t help but indulge him, even though he knows Jaskier is touching him because he’s the only option, not because he really wants to. He reminds himself that Jaskier would surely rather be off with some pretty lady, not grasping at a crotchety witcher for comfort.

But still, every time Jaskier brushes their hands together and smiles, he feels a little wobbly inside.

-

That night, he watches as once again Jaskier curls in on himself, small and sad by the fire. The further north they travel, the colder the weather grows, and the more distressed Jaskier becomes.

“Hey.” He keeps his voice soft, and Jaskier turns to look at him with big, wide eyes. “Join me?” He lifts a corner of his bedroll and waves him over; an offer, not a command.

Jaskier immediately scurries over and burrows into him, all hands and hot breath and happy murmurs. He settles into Geralt’s chest with a contented sigh, and Geralt wraps his arms carefully around him.

This, at least, he can do. Jaskier will find someone else to warm him soon enough, but for now, he has Geralt.

-

Geralt is on his way back from a job when the sound of raised voices makes him quicken his step. Outside the inn where he’d left Jaskier, he spots a distinctive bright blue doublet in the midst of a gang of angry-looking locals. They’re poking at him and taunting, and Jaskier is gasping in pain.

“Look at this precious little thing,” one of them sneers. “So delicate he can’t even bear to be touched by us lowly folks.”

The man reaches out and grasps Jaskier firmly around the wrist, and Jaskier screams, raw and excruciating. The sound reaches into Geralt’s chest and twists painfully, and he breaks into a sprint.

The next thing he knows, the man is on the ground before him, sobbing as Geralt twists his arm to the point of breaking. The others have fallen back, trying to hide behind each other, and Jaskier stands off to one side cradling his wrist.

“You don’t touch him,” Geralt growls, and the man before him pales even further. “Understood?”

The man nods frantically, babbling apologies, and as much as he’s tempted to break a few bones to drive home his point, he knows Jaskier wouldn’t want that. He drops the man’s arm and snarls, “Go.” He and his friends beat a hasty retreat, leaving the street empty but for him and Jaskier.

“Jask,” he says, and it breaks his heart to see Jaskier so pale, a tear running down his cheek. “Are you alright?” He’s wracked with guilt - he should have been here to protect him.

Jaskier smiles sadly. “I’m fine. My own fault, really.” He reaches out as if to touch Geralt’s hand before faltering, unsure.

He’s clearly in need of comfort, so Geralt pushes his own uncertainties aside and steps closer. He brings up one hand to wipe away the tears from Jaskier’s cheek, and cradles his face as gently as he can. “It’s okay,” he says in the tone he uses to reassure Roach when she’s frightened. “I’ve got you.”

Jaskier blinks up at him with watery eyes, but his smile is more genuine now. “Yeah,” he sighs softly. “Yeah, you do.”

-

Jaskier still insists on performing as they travel, and as much as the thought of him among all those grasping hands sets Geralt’s teeth on edge, he does understand. For all the times that he’s been injured and insisting on continuing to work, it would be hypocritical of him to deny that to Jaskier.

He sways carefully around the tavern as he plays, and to a stranger he’d seem relaxed and at ease but Geralt knows him well enough to see the anxiety in his rigid movements. Each time a hand reaches out toward him he flinches, though normally he’d be luxuriating in the attention.

Each flinch has Geralt’s grasp on his mug of ale tightening, until the wood is groaning beneath his hand and he has to shake it loose lest he crack the mug and send ale flowing over the table.

Jaskier can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.

-

He certainly does seem fine, and by the end of the evening he’s caught the attention of a pretty girl with voluminous curls spilling out from the dainty handkerchief tied around her head. When Jaskier is done with his performance she buys him a drink, and she leans over the table to giggle as they speak in low voices.

Geralt watches from his corner table and scowls. He tells himself his foul mood comes from concern for Jaskier, from worry that this woman might hurt him unintentionally. He almost has himself convinced it’s true.

There’s no point skulking in the shadows all night, he knows, so he finishes his ale and heads upstairs to their room. As he lays down, the bed feels strangely empty without Jaskier’s bustle and scent and colour. Wondering when he became so damn soft, he slips into a meditation.

-

It’s not long before he’s revived by the sound of Jaskier creeping into the room and hurriedly undressing.

Geralt rubs his eyes, dispelling the lingering wooziness. “I thought you’d spend the night celebrating,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “With that nice young lady.”

In the low light, he sees Jaskier shrug. “It got rather awkward when she kept trying to touch me and I kept having to run away.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” He settles into bed next to Geralt. “It’s just -” Geralt can smell the mixture of exhilaration, arousal, and frustration on him. “It’s frustrating. Wanting something and not being able to have it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt knows that feeling all too well.

“I’m -” Jaskier turns his head away a fraction, and Geralt can see a blush spreading over his cheeks. “I’m not used to going so long without… you know. It’s making me antsy.” He rubs the palm of one hand against his crotch, shifting awkwardly in the bed.

“Hmm.” He inhales again, and the scent of arousal is sharper, more prominent. He rolls onto his side, tentatively places a hand on Jaskier’s thigh. “I could help,” he offers. “If you want.”

He’s expecting to be told no. He’s expecting Jaskier might even push him away, disgusted. He’s not expecting the way Jaskier sucks in a breath, the way the scent of arousal blooms, the way Jaskier squims beneath his hand.

“You’d do that for me?” Jaskier’s voice is breathy.

I’d do anything for you, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he places his hand on top of Jaskier’s and guides it to the fastenings of his trousers. Jaskier unlaces himself in a clumsy rush which Geralt can’t help but find endearing, and then he’s working his cock free, rubbing gentle strokes with their two joined hands.

It’s nice like this, where Geralt can let Jaskier guide him, show him what he likes. His fingers tease along the soft skin on the underside of his cock, the delicious slick at the head. As he strokes, Jaskier shakes in his arms, gasping and writhing. When he comes, it’s with a soft, gentle sigh of contentment that Geralt wants to bottle and keep forever.

Jaskier makes a tokenistic effort to wipe himself down with a shirt and collapses back into bed. “Should I…” He chews his bottom lip. “Would you like me to return the favour?”

Geralt’s cock is pressing against his trousers like iron, and Jaskier must be able to feel it. But he didn’t do this with the expectation of recompense. He just wants Jaskier to feel good.

“No, it’s okay,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Jaskier sounds disappointed, almost. “Okay.”

They fall asleep like that, curled up close together, but a feeling of uncertainty hanging between them.

-

In the weeks after that, Jaskier takes to touching Geralt even more. They sleep close together every night, and they find pleasure in each other when they need to. Geralt makes his peace with this unspoken arrangement: he is a hand to Jaskier when he needs it, and Jaskier returns the favour as a politeness.

The first time Jaskier kisses him while they rut together, his heart is fit to burst out of his chest. Trading favours is one thing, but the surge of love and heat and affection that erupts in his chest when Jaskier brings their lips together can’t be denied. He could kiss Jaskier every single night and never tire of it, he thinks. Late at night, as they move together, Geralt feels himself falling.

It’s not everything he wants, but it’s enough.

It has to be enough, because soon they’ll make it to Kovir, and then they can lift the curse, and then Jaskier won’t need him at all any more.

Geralt catches himself wishing that the curse won’t be lifted, and then he’s disgusted at himself for being so selfish.

-

Kovir is beautiful. Sharp, snow-dusted mountains dart up into the sky, and great rivers flow with fresh water through green, lush lands. The city of Pont Vanis is breathtaking, with spire towers reaching up toward the heavens and rich mosaics of glasswork covering every surface. Each new corner seems to hold some elegant delight of artistry, and Jaskier grabs his hand to pull him along each new street to behold some fresh wonder.

But they are not here for gawping, Geralt tells himself, and he steers them toward the address of the mage he’s heard is an expert in curses.

Once inside, the Koviri mage stares at the pair of them.

“A curse, you say?” He raises an eyebrow.

Geralt stands protectively behind Jaskier, ready to leap to his defense should the mage prove troublesome.

“Yes. Whenever anyone touches me, I feel horrendous pain.” Jaskier grimaces. “Except for Geralt. For some reason, he can touch me and it’s fine.”

The mage nods. “I see. Did you perchance anger a magic user?”

“Ahh.” Jaskier looks at his feet. “Well. There was a mage whose acquaintance I made. He seemed… less than happy when I declined his offer of companionship.”

The Koviri mage shudders. “What monsters southerners can be. Cursing someone because they rejected you, what hideous behaviour.”

Geralt is warming up to this mage already.

“Let me see what I can do.” The mage closes his eyes and reaches out his hands, holding them a few inches from Jaskier’s chest.

He opens his eyes again and squints curiously. “Strange. I can’t feel any curse upon you.”

He reaches out, and pokes Jaskier in the chest. Geralt leaps forward, ready to defend his bard from this onslaught, but he’s stopped in his tracks by Jaskier’s voice.

“Huh.” He sounds perplexed, not pained. “That’s odd. That didn’t hurt at all.”

They reason perhaps it’s because the mage is a magic user too, so they bring in the mage’s servant. He touches Jaskier’s hand and again he’s fine. Then they try the washerwoman next door. That’s fine too.

The mage shrugs and smiles. “It seems that the curse has worn off. Some weaker enchantments only last a matter of days.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “You mean… all this time, I’ve been fine? I could have been touching anyone?”

The mage hums, eyes sparkling. “So it appears.” He looks at Geralt, and his gaze is penetrating. “Perhaps it has not been such a loss for you though, hmm? There are many paths to knowledge.”

-

They stagger out into the weak Koviri sunshine and Geralt is consumed with guilt and relief and worry. Surely Jaskier will hate him now. Hate him and leave him, now they’re no longer tied together.

“Jaskier-” he begins, just as Jaskier turns to him to say, “Geralt-”

They stare at each other a beat too long.

Geralt’s shoulders slump. Let the end come if it must. “Go on,” he says, bracing himself.

“Thank you.” Jaskier is giving him that soft, quiet smile that he loves. “For taking care of me.”

That doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I should have known better. I understand if you want to leave.”

Jaskier shakes his head and takes his hand. “Come on.” He leads Geralt toward one of Kovir’s elegant public parks. “Let’s walk.”

-

They stroll beneath a series of wooden archways, woven thick with roses. The sunlight peeks through in dappled spots on the springy grass.

“I don’t regret it,” Jaskier says. “These last weeks. I don’t blame you. You’ve done nothing but try to help me.”

“But you could have been with anyone.” Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought he’s been keeping Jaskier against his will. “You could have touched anyone. Kissed anyone. Found anyone else to bring you pleasure.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier stops and tenderly brushes a stray hair from Geralt’s face. “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Geralt barely dares to breath. Hope rages within him, frothing and exuberant. “You mean-”

“I didn’t want anyone else then, and I don’t want anyone else now.” He leans in and presses the softest kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I always just wanted you.”

His heart feels like it could beat out of his chest. “So you’ll stay with me? Even now?”

Jaskier strokes one finger down his cheek, and his entire world narrows to the joining of their bodies. “Always,” Jaskier promises. “There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

[unresolved-kpop-thirst]

happy trails

pairing - yuta x reader

genre - smut, lil fluffy

contains - dom Yuta, chubby f!reader, outdoor sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it fr), D/s, fingering, some body love/praise

wordcount: 1.7k

summary: hiking in the woods and getting it on in the great outdoors like nature intended.

-

"Can we take a quick break?" You ask, doubling over to brace yourself on your thighs for a quick second. You didn't recall this hiking trail being this hard, and you were evidently not prepared for the steeper slopes in the second half.

"We're not too far from the point where it's all downhill," Yuta reassures you, retracing his steps and offering you a bottle of water. Seeing how out of breath you are, he smiles sympathetically. "But we can stop a while here."

"Thanks." You take a swig of water. It's not like it's too tough, you're just a bit out of shape from a whole ass quarantine spent mostly indoors. Yuta seems unbothered, but he had kept up dancing while the world was shut down so it's no surprise he's lost very little athletic ability in comparison.

This trail usually is a cinch for both of you, more for relaxed sightseeing than a challenging hike. You lament your lack of fitness and find a spot to sit and rest amongst the roots of trees lining the dirt path.

"Ugh, I'm in worse shape than I thought," you admit. Yuta crouches in front of you, elbows resting on his knees.

"It's not that bad," he reassures you. "A year of being a couch potato doesn't look too bad on you." He pokes your cheek and you bat at his hand.

"I know full well how you feel about it," you say, narrowing your eyes. He smiles, angelic, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Last night he had squeezed your hips, your thighs, where you've become softer in your sedentary lifestyle, and described in detail how good you felt under his hands. He had surprised you a bit with his enthusiasm for your rounder, softer body, but then you had a sneaking suspicion he would like any type of body as long as it was yours.

That said, the aforementioned enthusiasm was part of why you were struggling today; your inner thighs had taken a battering from his hips and you rode him for nearly an hour, making up for lost time. You'd had better ideas in your life than hiking after a session like that, but the way Yuta always lit up in nature swayed you to go anyway.

He rocks forward, falling onto his knees, and nudges your legs apart with his hands sliding up your bare thighs to the hem of your shorts. You glance up and down the trail. You're not well hidden, but you can't see anyone.

"Yuta~" you sing-song, patting his head. "Whatcha doing?"

"I just missed you," he says, smiling brightly. He shifts to grasp the back of your thighs where they meet you butt, a ticklish spot that makes you squirm.

"We spent all yesterday together," you remind him, "and I'm here now."

"Mmhm," he agrees, kissing your inner thigh. "So I want to touch you more."

"Maybe somewhere a little more hidden?" You suggest, making him grin as you grab his hand and you both stand up, you leading further into the trees.

It's a warm, bright day, and the long undisturbed forest shelters you from the direct sun. Still, when you find a spot well hidden from the path and turn to Yuta, the dappled light on his face is so pretty you have to kiss him.

He cups the back of your head with one hand, the other resting on your waist, and despite what you said moments ago you sigh in relief now you're getting to kiss him again. It really was too long; your body missed him just as much as your heart did. He slowly presses you back until your back hits the trunk of a broad tree, then tugs your hair gently to change the angle and deepen the kiss.

When you run the tip of your tongue along his lip he opens to you eagerly. Just kissing him excites your instincts, a pulse of heat building in your lower stomach. His fingers dig into the soft give of your hip, making you let out a soft, encouraging little sound. His tongue explores your mouth, re-mapping you, claiming ownership, eliciting faint whimpers and moans until his hand glides down your stomach and slips under your shorts.

He finds your clit, skimming over it with his fingertips before pinching it between the pads of his fingers and rolling it between them, and you can't help the needy sounds that leave you or the way you arch up against him, greedy for his hands all over you, his lips on yours. You can only whine in disappointment when he breaks the kiss to look at you.

"Cutie," he says, but it sounds like you're getting a telling off. "You can't be so noisy. What if someone hears you?"

On the contrary, that spikes another sound from you, a startled little cry while he continues playing with your clit.

"I forgot, that's not a problem for you, is it?" He goes on, tucking his tongue into his cheek for a second to suppress a smile. "You like when people watch. When they hear how well I fuck you, the pretty noises you make with me inside you."

You nod mindlessly, his continued attention and his words twisting up inside you, making you clench down around nothing, a gnawing need growing in the pit of your stomach.

"You want me inside, don't you, baby?" He asks, a hint of pity in his voice, and you give him the puppy eyes.

"Mmhm," you respond, taking his wrist gently in your hand and tugging him closer. "I want your fingers inside me, puppy, please?"

The use of your affectionate nickname for him makes him smile warmly, before he slides a finger into your slit. You roll your hips, pulling him deeper and giving an encouraging moan, and then a squeak of surprise when his other hand presses firmly over your mouth. You blink up at him.

"Be quiet," he warns. You nod dumbly. As he starts moving his finger inside you your sounds are muffled against his hand, and you cling tightly to him. He crooks his finger against your g-spot, makes you yelp and buck your hips forward, before he surges forward and presses you into the tree trunk, pinning you there and assaulting that spot inside you until your cunt tightens down around him. "Cum for me. Right now."

You can only obey, a flush of heat rolling over your skin, the tension breaking and your muscles fluttering around him as you cum with a muffled whimper.

He pulls out, manhandling you until you're pressed face-first against the tree and he unfastens your shorts and pulls them down to your knees. "You want your puppy to use you, baby? Use his favourite little toy?"

You gasp as you feel the head of his cock press at your entrance from behind, slipping in your slick, stretching you already as it pushes an inch into your needy cunt. "Y-yes- please use me, I wanna make puppy feel good..."

He drives his cock into you with a firm shove, bottoming out with his hips against yours, growling low against the back of your neck when you gasp and moan at the way he stretches your cunt mercilessly with his girth.

"Feel that?" He asks, grinding into you, and your body allows him entrance, moulding to the shape of him while you whimper from the sheer pleasure. "You made your puppy so hard. You're such a good little toy. I'm gonna breed my pretty toy now, fill you up with cum."

You push back against him and feel his arms come around you, one hand grasping your shoulder and the other on your neck. Then he draws his hips back, slamming back into you to elicit a choked groan. The full force of his thrusts borders on painful, but your pussy clenches and drips around him, serving its purpose as a tight, wet hole for him to use to get off.

"You're squeezing me so tight, baby," Yuta pants. "It feels that good? You like getting your pretty little cunt pounded like that?"

Between his hand on your neck and your barely muffled cries, there's no way you could start to respond. You nearly sob as he brings you to another mind shattering climax, upping his pace as you clamp down around him.

"God, I love feeling my little toy cum on my cock. Makes me wanna breed you." You cry out, feeling him pulse and grow harder inside you, his deep thrusts turning your mind and your legs to jelly.

"Yes, please," you choke out. "Fuck me full of your cum, I'm yours, all yours, puppy."

He growls, movements verging on feral, his nails digging your shoulder as he rails you for all you're worth. His other hand goes tight, cutting off your sounds and your air supply, and you grit your teeth, another orgasm ripping through you before he shoves deep, giving a few short and sharp thrusts and filling your insides with his seed.

You tap frantically at his wrist and he releases you, letting you heave in a few deep breaths and get yourself under control. Yuta rubs his cheek against the back of your neck, almost like he's scent marking you.

"Ugh," he groans. "You drive me crazy. You know you do, right?"

You laugh breathlessly. "I kind of gathered."

He laughs with you, his arms around you turning into an affectionate back hug as he softens inside you. You sigh, content, but aware you can't stay like this forever. Eventually, Yuta gives a brief warning before pulling out, his cum dripping out and down your inner thighs, sending a hot shiver through your body. He pulls your shorts back up, your panties getting soaked from the mess he left, making you squirm.

"Yuta," you whine, "that's gross."

He leans in, kissing your cheek and jaw. "If you prefer, next time I'll gather it up on my fingers and feed it to you." You squeak, both mortified and weirdly turned on at the image. He chuckles. "But this time my little toy gets to walk home proud to be soaked in my cum. Okay?"

Dizzy and sub-spaced, you nod obediently, and he pats your head.

"Good. We've only got about a quarter of the trail left. Let's go."

[wandsandwheezes]

Brat | G.W

George Fabien Weasley is a Brat tamer. This is not up for debate.

WARNINGS // SMUT 18+, rough sex, oral, throat fucking, brat, cheating, consensual relationship, breeding kink, dirty talk, degradation kink, daddy kink, dom/sub, brat taming, Husband!George <3

A/N // I can only apologise to my vanilla beans on this one... its pure, raw filth. 

The bass was pumping through your veins as you danced, swaying your hips to the beat against some poor man’s crotch, liquor glazed eyes locked only, however, on your boyfriend from across the dancefloor. He sat with his legs spread on a bar stool, his full body turned towards you as he observed your every movement. George wasn’t mad yet, you hadn’t quite pushed him far enough to get there but he could already feel his own possessiveness begin to creep up on him, while a part of him loved watching other men (and sometimes women) throw themselves at you, another part ached knowing full well he would always be the one to take you home.

Your hand was on the man’s chest as you leaned up to speak into his ear, shouting over the music. The way you pushed up onto your toes with that movement made your ass stick out perfectly, the skirt you were wearing riding up just enough to give your husband something to think about. You liked this game just as much as George did, having set out the clear rules of the relationship, way before you would have let things get this far; he didn’t stop you from kissing other girls at the clubs you went to, he couldn’t deny the way it made his cock twitch when he caught your lips locked with another girls. It would always drive him crazy, seeing you so needy but knowing that the true ache was only for him. You both drew the line at kissing other men however, unless you were searching for a particularly rough punishment, which tonight you were not; only wanting to play. 

Your hands were threaded in a gorgeous brunette’s soft shoulder length hair as you pulled her in for a kiss. She smelled divine, like the strongest flower in a whole garden and in that moment you were shocked to feel her pull a more dominant rank in the kiss, her hands firmly cupping your cheek as her tongue explored the dip and curve of your own. It was an unusual experience to be dominated by a woman but it was something you enjoyed, her touch more feminine than George's, but still just as firm, making you weak at the knees. She pulled away, ears pressed against your ear as she spoke.

“Guy in green by the bar can’t take his eyes off you, wanna give him something to stare at?” Your breath hitched in your throat as her lips trailed along your jaw, watching from across the dancefloor as he twiddled with the wedding band, no expression on his face but his eyes were locked on you. You breathed out a ‘yes’ in response to her, her hands coming up to grope at your ass as she went back in for another kiss. Something bubbled up inside George, wanting to tear you away but he was far too pleased with the show. So it seems, a few other men in the club, ogling at the sight of two gorgeous girls causing a scene. 

You loved the way other boys would stare, It drove George mad; making him all the more possessive and commanding. When you broke away from her lips again, you caught your husband’s eyes once more, watching as he lazily beckoned you to him with his middle and pointer fingers, his elbow resting against his knee. 

“Mm sorry, I’ll be back.” you whined against her lips as she tried to pull you back in, focused now only on George. She gave you a wink as you slipped from her grip, the burning eyes of your lover drinking in the sight of you, making his heart beat out of his chest in sync with the bassline of the pulsing song playing.

“What was that all about, doll, hm?” his hand found your hip as you nestled between his thighs, your head resting innocently on his shoulder as you caught your breath, still winded by the intense kiss. 

“You know I like it when other boys give me attention, daddy” your fingers raked delicately through his hair, knowing you’d pushed him to the right space, your eyes trailed away from him, causing you to tilt your chin up so that your eyes could lock, he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was all too sweet for now and it seems he was easing you in gently. 

“And other girls it seems, is my cock not good enough for you, princess?” You were fully aware that you were surrounded by other people, but the dirty looks the two of you got never seemed to deter either of you, knowing full well that you loved each other deeply, trusting of one another so much that you could do things like this. His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out your wedding band, slipping it back onto your finger. The sign he was ready to take you home, already riled up enough by what he’d seen. 

“It really is such a shame you’re such a disobedient little brat, we could’ve had lots more fun tonight” His hand held yours as he pulled you through the crowds, slipping past the bodies till you reached a hall, making you stop in your tracks, crossing your arms. 

“I don’t want to go.” you pouted at him, feet planted firmly to the ground in protest, you'd gotten this far and you were more than ready to push your luck. He instead stood there waiting, not even attempting to continue to entertain your charade, no matter how bratty you wanted to be. You stood with silence between you as the thump of the bass filled the air, elevating the tension. 

“Ready to behave and be a good girl?” He spoke softly as she shoved his hands in his pockets, watching you shake your head as you stood your ground. 

“No? Wrong answer” He mocked, while he quickly spun on his heel, heading towards the exit, leaving you to call after him, stopping dead in his tracks when when you yell his name at him. "Where are you going, George?" 

“Where am I going? I’m leaving you here, daddy doesn’t take bratty girls home, since you want to stay so much.” His tone made you rethink your action, quickly falling to his heel as your arm wrapped around his, pressing yourself into his side to steady yourself as he guided you out of the club. 

“That changed your tune quickly, still… you need a lesson in obedience, I think.” You walked along the bustling streets of London, finding a small secluded alley to hide away before you are apparated back to yours and George's shared home. He wasted no time, having you pinned against the wall as he kissed you hungrily, showing exactly who was the dominant one as his grip tightened on your jaw. You let him kiss you like a filthy whore, even let him pull away to observe how your lipstick smeared so perfectly with his rough kisses. 

It wasn't long until he had you on your knees for him, hand wrapped around his shaft as you stroked him gently, but your teasing touches weren't enough for him, holding your jaw open with one hand as he slapped the tip of his cock against your begging tongue. His eyes burning into yours with every passing moment. 

"Does my desperate little brat want her mouth fucked, hm?" You nodded eagerly as you began to take his length in past your lips, attempting to bob your head, but every time he pulled back, tutting at you. His fingers running through your hair to pull it out of your face into a makeshift ponytail as he used his other hand to tease your mouth in the same way he did your cunt when you desperately wanted him, pushing his head just past your lips before pulling back out and repeating it 

"Open that throat up for me, doll, you ready?" you hummed a quick please off of your tongue before his cock was pushing into your mouth, hardly managing half of his length as the tip hit the back of your throat, causing the sound of a gag to echo through the room. His hand was on the back of your head, pushing your mouth to take him a little deeper before pulling out completely. Leaving you gasping for air as a trail of saliva connected his cock and your lips together, mouth open and ready again to take his length. 

"Just like that, princess" He praised as you took him in once again, this time gagging as he held your head in place to push himself as deep as you could take down your throat once again, you were getting there, you just needed the training before he could really make use of your mouth. You were eager this time he pulled away, taking another gasp of air before spitting into your hand, pumping his cock before letting him slip inside your mouth once again. You let him push, let him sink his entire length in your mouth, feeling his cock slipping down your throat with every push.

"That's my girl, take it all in darling" The symphony of moans that fell from his mouth were hidden by the fact that he could hardly function. He slowly began bucking his hips as he fucked your mouth, the room filling with wet gagging sounds as you choked over him, saliva falling from your lips whenever he gave you a breather. His hand was smoothing down the hair at the back of your head gently while his hips set their relentless pace. You enjoyed this as much as he did, moaning over him as you looked up at him with begging eyes. 

"You look so pretty with your mascara running down your cheeks, baby." he cooed as his thrusts grew rougher and slower, causing more tears to spill from your eyes, drawing his favourite gagging sound from your lips more and more often. 

"Fuck, I love your Throat." He moved you to the bed, letting you lie down on your back before he was fucking your mouth again, at first his slow thrusts were to watch the way his cock made your throat bulge, hand coming down to press against it, the sensation made him twitch but he held himself strong as he fucked your throat until you were begging between every breather. 

"Use your words, brat, what do you want?" 

You were taking deep breaths as you tried to voice what you needed from him, reserved only to needy whines and moans for him, causing him to stuff his cock inside your mouth once more. 

"Daddy doesn't understand whimpering, Princess, words only." He pulled from you again, this time you found the breaths within you to attempt to ask for what you wanted. 

"Fuck me, Please." You begged, eyes desperately searching for his as you reached for him. Still you took deep shallow breaths as you watched him walk around you like a predator stalking its prey. 

"You think bratty girls get their cunt fucked? You've been a very good girl tonight though, I may have to oblige." He didn't take much convincing before he was buried deep inside you hands gripped possessively to your hips as he set his pace, begs falling from your lips every time he hit your back wall. 

"Want me to fill you with my cum, angel? Fuck a baby nice and good into your belly?" His delicious words ripped a moan from your throat as his hands brushed your hair out of your eyes, it didn't take long for you to be on edge, thumb rubbing across your clit as he fucked you. The way you squeezed around him as you came helped milk him of his cum, feeling it drip from your cunt as he pulled out. 

"You've been such a good girl, let's get that makeup off your face, hm?" He reached into your bedside table drawer, grabbing the makeup wipes, using one to glide along your tear stained cheeks, part of him guilty to remove such a stunning mark left on your face. He took extra care in gently caressing your skin as you came down from your orgasm. 

He ran you a bath, sitting outside of the tub as he helped clean the sticky sweat from your skin, massaging your scalp as he washed your hair and making sure that you were comfortable, relaxed and feeling safe. He had pushed you far this evening and it was only fair to check in and make sure you were happy and satisfied. 

He carried your clean body to bed, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you. you snuggled into your fresh, clean sheets that your husband had prepared, waiting for his presence in bed patiently, immediately feeling safe the second he was next to you. 

"Georgie, I was thinking… What if we stopped using the contraception spell?" His eyes went wide, pulling you into a cuddle as he hummed in satisfaction, fingers finding yours to tangle together. Bringing your hand up to press a kiss to your wedding band.

"I love you, If you're ready to be a parent, we can try for a baby, as many times as it needs, if you want a baba, we'll have one, Princess."

TAGLIST // @starlightweasley​​ @slytherinsunrise​​  @gcdric​​​ @theweasleysredhair​​​ @whiz-bangs78​​​ @vogueweasley​​ @minty-malfoy​​​ @vivianweasley​​​​ @feetoffthetablee​​​ @thisismynerdyself​​​ @witch-and-a-half​​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​​ @rip-us​​ @hopemalfoyweasley​​ @pigwidgexn​​  @pansydaisy​

[tenskittens]

Not Enough - part 1.

Smut <3 Fluff <3 Angst (lots of angst) <3 sex, foreplay, ass, outdoor reader x Johnny pairing. Mentions of johnten pairing.

Not Enough - part 1 - the first part of the JohnTenReader saga.

Wordcount - 2.5k.

You chose to study at NCIT because you had heard that there were great opportunities in technology, and you knew coding was your strongest skill when you were younger. A few years into your time there, you realised that, whilst you were alright at computers and tech - especially for a girl, as some of the younger guys would frequently point out - you were nothing on the natural talent that seemed to have been bestowed upon most of the guys here. In fact, you’re pretty sure you only got a place on your course for some sort of diversity purpose, and the fraternity lifestyle you had ended up being dragged into certainly wasn’t helping your case. Going into your final year, it’s your last summer - you’ve been contemplating leaving the frat house - and the chaos that came with it - once the new semester started.

“Hyung, we’re leaving!” yelled Ten down to the rest of the house, dragging Yangyang out of the door with him. You knew he was yelling goodbye to his closest “friend” in the house, John Suh, and didn’t actually care about the rest of the frat boys hearing him. Ten just wanted to make John jealous because he was taking Yangyang out to one of the more inclusive bars in Itaewon. He initially planned on going out with Johnny tonight, just the two of them. But Johnny wasn’t really down for it today - he had thought he was supposed to be going out to a restaurant with just him and Ten, and when Ten suggested Itaewon John just presumed that it meant everybody else was invited out, too. These two were always getting into these complicated misunderstandings in their entangled feelings, and you’re pretty used to dealing with it by now. But actually, Ten was just as annoyed that Johnny wasn’t out with him tonight. He loves Yangyang, his closest Dongsaeng, but he wanted to spend tonight with Johnny. This whole situation was just a misunderstanding, but neither Johnny nor Ten realised this. “Bye guys!!” yelled Yangyang, excited for this rare occasion that he got to spend with Ten, now that Ten and Johnny were both all-but-dropped out of NCIT.

Once Yangyang and Ten had left, the house was quiet. The others were mostly working on assignments and projects, as they tend to do in the late evenings. Doyoung and Taeyong were probably upstairs bickering about the most efficient way of writing a code, Yuta almost certainly glued to his screen typing out a written assignment - the only one of the group also studying a language alongside computer science. Haechan, Jaemin and Mark were probably out at the student union Dream bar. That left just the two of you - you and John Suh - alone in the frat house.

“What’s up, Johnny?” you ask, putting on a slightly dramatic pout to try to invoke some sort of response from your most-likely-stoned-over best friend and boyfriend. “Nothing, y/n, just don’t ask” replied Johnny, sort of bluntly which took you by surprise. You wait in silence for a moment. “Except, look, I did my hair and makeup to go out with Ten and he just goes and turns our date into a party night and then I don’t even end up going and -” Johnny is interrupted.

“Date??”.

You both shoot your heads around, and sat in the corner of the living room, slumped against a beanbag in a hoodie that disguised any level of his presence, was Jae.

“Yeah bro, you know, was supposed to just be us guys tonight nothing out of the ordinary I jus-”. Jae interrupted again.

“John, you know how often i’m lurking in here and nobody notices me? You don’t need to cover this shit up with me”.

You and Johnny look at each other, and back at Jae. You wonder how much he knows. To the others, you and Johnny were basically a married couple, and Ten was your best friend. What they didn’t know was that, of everybody in the house, the most involved pair was certainly Johnny and Ten, and you didn’t mind that. You were best friends with both of them, and romantically involved with Johnny, but nothing made you happier than knowing how happy Ten and John - the two polar-opposite NCIT dropouts - were when they were together.

“Y/n, come outside with me a second?” asked Johnny, seeming genuinely stressed and upset.

Stood on the roof of the frat house, lined with bottles and scattered with cigarette ashes and joint ends, Johnny opens up to you.

“Y/n, Ten was so mad that I’m staying with you tonight, but I was so mad that he went out with Yangyang. There’s some shit going on here and I don’t feel comfortable and, you know, I really like you y/n but it seems - agh, whatever, that’s not true” - Johnny rests his hand against your cheek and looks down at you. “Y/n, I like you both, but its so hard keeping this shit with Ten a secret and shit like this always happens and y/n I’m so sick of coming to you being stressed and -”.

You raise your hand to Johnny’s cheek too, and brush his hair behind his ear.

“John, you’re so beautiful, you’re so fun. You’re the best friend - and boyfriend - that I could ask for”. He places a kiss on your forehead, and you look at him with wondering eyes, gazing into his dark irises and losing yourself for just a second, stood there under the night sky feeling safe in the arms of Johnny Suh.

What Johnny wanted to tell you, you know, is that he can’t really handle dating both of you anymore. But the thing is - you know that, and you understand that. Right now, though, you don’t want to accept that. You just want your best friends. Johnny seems anxious, and he mutters something you don’t quite hear, although you know for sure you heard an “I love you” slip from his soft, gentle lips. But Johnny isn’t one for romance - not for more than a few minutes. His vulnerable side is only ever present for you and Ten, and it’s always suddenly replaced with his intense energy and both caring, yet intimidating, control.

You didn’t realise John’s hand had moved to the band of your panties, and he had been playing with the lace for a while now. You tune in as you feel his passionate and dominating lips crash down on yours, pulling you in tightly and resting his palm across the small of your back. He drags his sharp, manicured nails across the line of your underwear, shocking you compared to the softness of the hands that were holding you close and tight. You’re feeling vulnerable and lost, knowing that you’re so close to having to let go of the man you love the most, and all you want to do is feel close to him. To submit yourself to him, and to be under his control and to feel his passion and his love, is all that can comfort you right now. Johnny feels the same - you both need eachother.

“Y/n, are you okay with this here?” Johnny asks you. The rooftop is pretty secluded - nobody was around and it was very unlikely anybody would appear up here at this time. It’s not necessarily the most comfortable of places, but the slight risk of being outside, practically in public, sort of turns you on even more, and you can tell Johnny is desperate. “Mhm, please Johnny, just have me” you whisper breathlessly, looking at the ground and avoiding eye contact with Johnny out of shame for how desperate you are for his touch. “Look at me, y/n,” Johnny commands. You look up at him, and he crashes back onto you, moving his hand back under your pants and roughly taking hold of your thigh as he holds the back of your neck with his other hand. You can feel how much he needs you, and you need him.

“So wet, y/n. So needy and yet so patient for me. Such a good kitten”. You shift under him as he finds your clit, gently feeling for where he knows he will get the strongest reaction from you. He’s right - you’re dripping for him. You’re just imagining him taking you against this wall, pressed up against the cold, rough bricks as you support yourself with the pipes running alongside the building. You already need him inside you, but he’s just playing with you - teasing your folds carefully and attentively, occasionally pausing to place kisses on your neck, breathing deeply onto your neck, his breath against your ear making you shudder. Each delicate kiss is followed by the movement of his fingers as he edges closer towards being inside of you, teasing you strongly enough to encourage you to play games with him in return.

You shift your stance to allow Johnny to grind himself against you, and you ensure your thighs place a decent pressure against the bulge in Johnny’s joggers. Johnny moans in pleasure and annoyance as you move against him, and - possibly to stop you from edging him closer to his own orgasm - he pushes his fingers deep inside you, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. He stays there, and looks at you with deep and wanting eyes. You return the action by grinding up against his bulge, which also moves his fingers deeper into you. Johnny takes this opportunity to curl them up, hitting your spot and letting out a mischievous “mhmm” as he does.

“Y/n, are you playing with me? You can’t win, you know that” Johnny announces playfully, with a tone of seriousness that reminds you who is in charge. Johnny rhythmically curls his fingers towards your spot, his thumb playing carefully with your clit, driving the little moans to slip out from between your lips, the sound landing in between the two of you and filling the atmosphere with a sense of vulnerable pleasure.

“Johnny, please, just fuck me here” you beg, the words tumbling from your mouth. Johnny’s eyes darken and he takes on his dominant tone once again. “Y/n, you’re so pathetic, look at you falling apart under my fingers”. He continues to edge you closer, grabbing your ass hard with his other hand, pressing your face into his chest and leaving you in blackness, lost in the pleasure and your quickening breaths as he curls his fingers over and over. You can feel how his other hand keeps you steady but, at the same time, he is ensuring that your leg continues to slightly ride against his bulge. Johnny needs you - his y/n, who wants him more than anybody else has ever wanted him. But he still feels hurt, and Ten crosses his mind again for a split second, frustrating him enough to pull out of you and flip you around, pushing you against the walls so he has full access to your ass. You take a moment to orientate yourself, looking over your shoulder to see Johnny stood there, his hair now sweaty and the veins in his arms pulsing. He looks so naturally beautiful, looking down at you with lustful eyes. You can tell from his expression that he’s feeling distracted and frustrated, and you don’t care. You just want him to take out his feelings on you. You want to feel vulnerable for him. Johnny feels your ass, pressing his thumb against your entrance. He bends over you and wraps his arms around your stomach, stroking your nipple for just a second before stopping, and simply holding you. With his head resting on your shoulder, he tells you “I do love you, y/n. I do”. You both stop there for a moment, heartbeats pounding in unison. Johnny is still holding himself, preparing to take you. “Do I get to come then, Mr Suh?” you ask playfully. And with that question, Johnny snaps back into his dominant position, guiding himself carefully into your pussy whilst still gently teasing your ass. He’s always gentle with you to ease you in, but you’re quite used to his size now so you push yourself back onto him. This catches him by surprise, clearly, as he lets out a tense moan and mutters “fuck you, y/n”. That was all he needed to know that he could take you harder, so he grabs your hips and fucks you, and you both moan together each time he pushes all the way into you.

You gasp for air, feeling johnny is now also moving his hand hard against your clit and driving you further and deeper into a blissful, well-deserved orgasm. You can feel the warmth of his precum, the extra lubrication heightening your senses as he doesn’t stop fucking you. “Fuck, y/n, I’m going to c- fuck, y/n, fuck” Johnny loses control of his words as he comes inside you, the feeling driving you to do the same, as your knees shake and you grasp onto the metal pipe that is stabilising your position. Johnny pulls out of you, and for a second stops to once again hold himself against you, feeling your hearts once again. But Johnny knows he doesn’t want to let you down, and he knows you haven’t finished yet. Within moments of his own orgasm, Johnny’s own lips hit your throbbing and sensitive clit, lapping up the sweet honey that you’re creating, and passionately licking and kissing around your clit. Your breath once again quickens as you feel yourself about to come - and John teases your ass again, just enough to send you over the edge. “Fuck, Johnny, there - yes, please Johnny”. “Sweet kitten, come for me” Johnny commands, and you come undone over his face, knees collapsing as your eyes roll back in bliss. He places steady kisses on your clit, your thighs, and up towards your nipples. He kisses your neck, past your ears, and finally places a kiss on your forehead. Right back where you started, you stand in the comfort of Johnny’s arms, under the stars.

You both stand there for a minute, breathless and warm, Johnny keeping you steady as your orgasm continues to pulsate gently through you. A tear rolls down your cheek as you think about how this can’t last for much longer - you know things are going to end one day. But you don’t want to lose a single part of Johnny, not as your boyfriend and especially not as your friend. You love him, and he loves you too.

“Y/n, shall we head back inside?” Johnny asks you, feeling you shivering from the cold nighttime air. His breath is warm, and his voice gentle and steady. “We should probably get some sleep”, he tells you. You shrug and hold him closer, but Johnny turns you around to head back inside. And when he does, standing there, right behind you and looking at the floor with a tear trailing down his cheek, is Ten.

Ah, fuck.

Read Part II here.